Change of Focus
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Collected by Djian
Change of Focus
by Rajah Dodger
[2001]
Change of Focus, by Rajah Dodger
<rdodger@hotmail.com>, Copyright (c) 2001. All rights
reserved, except that electronic not-for-profit
reproduction rights only are explicitly granted with
the stipulation that this authorship and permission
note must remain attached.
"There once was a girl from Nantucket / whose
clit was so big she could..."
"Nawww..." Jack said, and viciously crumpled the
piece of notepaper before flinging it across his dorm
room. "I'm never going to pass this flippin' writing
course!"
His roommate, a one-time scholarship student now
in his sixth year and third major, intercepted the
paper missile and unfolded it. He shook his head
sadly. "That's pretty weak, even for you."
"Tell me something I don't know, Einstein. How
did you manage to get through this course anyway, Ken?
I thought you hated writing."
"I do, man. Can't stand it." A light gleamed
hidden in the other man's eye. "Maybe that's your
problem -- you're too focused on the task and the
mechanics. You know the story of the Foo bird?"
Jack winced and rolled his eyes. "I don't want
to hear this..." he warned, but to no avail as his
roommate began. "The Foo bird lives in the far
reaches of the island of Madagascar, and is the only
known example of a species intent on its own
extinction. This happens because the Foo bird
believes that something is trying to climb into its
bottom, and in a single-minded attempt to find the
intruder the Foo bird flies faster and faster in
ever-diminishing concentric circles until it vanishes
into its own anus."
At this point Jack attempted to smother his
roommate with a pillow.
Some minutes later, when tempers had cooled, Ken
picked up the conversation as if nothing untoward had
happened. "Your main problem is that you're too
focused. When you're looking at the crankshaft, you
can't get the feel of driving the car. You need to
relax your brain and come around the back side of the
idea in creative writing. Think like an artist, not
like the next partner at Dewey, Cheatem and Howe."
Jack shook his head and flopped back onto his
bunk. "You're going from making no sense to nonsense.
What do you mean, come around the back side of the
idea? And anyway, I'm nothing if not relaxed after
spending the weekend with Sherry -- I don't think I
have a stiff bone in my entire body." Sherry was
Jack's girlfriend, a fox from one of the better
sororities who had taken a liking to Jack and seemed
intent on working her way through the entire Kama
Sutra with him.
Ken nodded sagely. "Exactly my point. You're
using up all your 'chi' on that girl." He leered,
"Not that I'd turn her down for a minute, my friend.
You've got good taste there. But you need creative
energy for creative writing, and she's leaving you
drained not only physically but psychically. It's no
wonder you can't get anything down on paper." He
belched, which undercut his effort to sound
professorial.
Jack shook his head in bewildered disagreement.
"You're saying I have to give up my sex life just to
pass a stupid class? Man, with advice like that it's
no wonder I'm your eighth roommate in less than six
years."
Ken sighed, "Oh, you youngsters... I never said
you had to give up Sherry. You just have to find a
way to recharge your batteries, and keep your brain
from focusing so much on the ugly mechanics of
writing. Now I happen to know of an approach that
might work, if you're really interested. But it would
require you giving up one of your precious weekends
with that lithe sex goddess."
"Hell," Jack responded, "if you can guarantee me
getting through this class I'd even set you up with
Sherry for the weekend."
Ken chuckled. "Don't go writing any checks you
don't want to cash..."
*****
A couple of days later, Jack was kicking back in
the student commons, sipping at his beer and watching
the Cubs, when a woman came up to him. "Hi," she said
breathlessly, "You're Jack Falken, aren't you? I'm
your new tutor, Christine, Christine Keeler, but
everyone just calls me Chris."
Jack looked up without anything clicking other
than his hormones. She was tall, brunette, with a
nicely-filled midriff-baring blouse over low-slung
denim jeans. Intelligent, too, as she apparently
recognized the blank look in his eyes and continued
without waiting for him to respond. "Your application
to the creative energy weekend seminar was
conditionally accepted, and I'm to be your initial
tutor, at least until you've gotten through the
orientation and have your feet firmly on the ground."
"Conditional?" Jack didn't remember anything
about a seminar, unless this was the thing Ken had
been talking about. And he wasn't sure about that
word "conditional". Meanwhile, Chris was bubbling
along at full speed. "Anyway, I need to do an
in-person assessment of your suitability to our
program and your willingness to work. Can you arrange
to meet me for dinner tonight or tomorrow night?"
She paused, which gave Jack a chance to try and
catch his breath. All this was going too fast, but
after all, he did have to pass that class, and for a
tutor she was certainly easy on the eyes. He was
supposed to go out to the movies with Sherry this
coming weekend, but she probably wouldn't be upset
over one cancellation.
*****
They met the next evening at a dark little
Italian restaurant not far from the campus. Jack put
more effort than usual into his appearance, which made
him slightly late getting to dinner. Chris was
already seated, and he hid his disappointment at
finding her in a simple and demure blue dress. Their
dinner conversation touched on his career goals,
classes, extracurricular interests, and why he thought
he had difficulty writing. Several times during
dinner Jack tried to find out more about Chris, but
each time she deftly turned the inquiry back to him.
As Jack was finishing the last of his veal, he
commented that he didn't seem to have problems in his
other classes, subjects like accounting, history and
pre-law. It was only in the "creative" writing tasks
that he ran into a blank wall. That brought a smile
to Chris's face. "That's quite good," she said
encouragingly, "when you recognize that yourself it
usually means we can unlock your creative juices -
with some hard work and a bit of a mental
realignment."
Chris put her napkin down and rose gracefully
from her chair. "Let's skip dessert, shall we? I
think you're going to be a good candidate for the
seminar, and I've got all the paperwork back at my
place. I've got to run to the little girl's room -
when I get back, why don't you just follow me and
we'll get you all set for the weekend." She brushed
his arm as she rose; her fingers felt cool against his
wrist, and he felt an odd thrill run up his arm. Jack
flagged the waiter for the check, and by the time
Chris came back to the table he was ready to leave.
Outside in the parking lot, Jack discovered that
her dress was by no means as demure as it had appeared
with her seated. The skirt hung teasingly well above
the knee, and he almost tripped over the curb for not
watching his own step. She drove a sleek-looking
Lexus, and he followed her into an unfamiliar and
disreputable part of town. The neighborhood gave Jack
had some concerns about safety, as well as being able
to find his way back. But when he locked his car and
followed her into her apartment his concerns vanished.
The apartment was upscale and classy, and Chris
pointed him to the couch and coffee table while she
went to get something for them to drink.
Jack sat down and started to look at the densely
filled papers, distracted momentarily by the sight of
Chris's long legs as she headed for the kitchen. She
returned with two glasses, and they toasted to
education, then to writing, then to creative energy.
Chris sat next to him on the couch, her leg pressed
against his, and helped him wade through the legalese
in the first stack of papers. Another round of
drinks, and this time when she sat down her skirt rode
up to show a tantalizing glimpse of thighs and
shadows. Another round of papers, an another round of
drinks later, Jack was congratulating himself on
determining that his tutor wasn't wearing a bra, and
he was more focused on trying to figure out whether
she was wearing panties than on reading the papers she
handed him.
Finally the last of the papers was signed and
countersigned. "Good boy!" she purred, and hugged
Jack tightly. A flush of warmth suffused his body,
and he missed what she said as she stood up. Her
finger caught him under the chin. "Woolgathering,
were we? I thought we might celebrate our new
relationship properly!" Jack wobbled to his feet,
suppressing a yawn, and followed her toward the back
reaches of the apartment.
*****
"Well, well, well... the sleeper awakes!" That
was Ken's voice. Why was he hearing Ken's voice?
Jack opened his eyes. He was in his own bed. He
shook his head experimentally; nothing fell out and he
didn't have a headache. Last night's events were just
too fuzzy to recall in any detail. "What time did I
get in, anyway," he asked his roommate.
Ken laughed. "Four in the morning, my friend,
and I had to threaten you with violence to keep you
from singing Barry Manilow songs for more than thirty
seconds."
Ken directed Jack's attention to a large manila
envelope on the breakfast table, which turned out to
hold Jack's instructions for the weekend. The list
was short: meet the group Friday at 4pm by the campus
store, bring toiletries, necessary medications,
comfortable footwear, loose fitting sweatpants,
necessary underwear and three shirts. He looked a
second time, then checked in the envelope as a thought
occurred to him. No, there wasn't anything mentioned
about money. Come to think of it, from what little
Jack could recall of the previous evening the topic of
payment had never come up. He asked Ken, who mumbled
something about arts groups and literacy grants.
There was one strange item in the instructions.
Participants were directed to wear clothing designed
for comfort, and they specifically barred briefs for
men and athletic bras or pantyhose for women. Jack
bristled at the restriction; he liked the way briefs
showed off his assets. Oh well, a little shopping
trip wouldn't hurt him.
Thinking about briefs brought the previous night
back to Jack's mind. His tutor had not, as it turned
out, been wearing panties. A sudden rush of blood
into his groin reminded him he needed to call Sherry.
He rearranged his shorts and reached for the phone.
She wasn't terribly put out about his canceling their
weekend movie, although she expressed some surprise at
his reason. "A writing seminar? Jack, it's unlike you
to be so... studious." She emphasized the "oo" sound
in "studious", holding it long enough for Jack to
picture the way her lips were pursed as she giggled
and hung up.
Was Ken staring at him? He turned around
suspiciously, but his roommate was merely sitting in
his chair, smiling faintly, headphones over his ears
and a thick book opened in his lap. The lack of
sleep, Jack thought, must be playing tricks on him.
Anyway, between the confused images of last night and
his conversation with Sherry, he needed a cold shower.
*****
Friday afternoon found Jack standing nervously by
the bookstore, his gear in a backpack (including the
newly purchased boxer shorts). By the time 4pm rolled
around, there were a half dozen students gathered, two
other men and three women, none of them anxious to
break the common silence. At the stroke of four an
SUV arrived with Chris driving and an athletic-looking
man in the front passenger seat. She introduced him
as Greg, another tutor, and they quickly got everyone
into the vehicle with the guys in the back seat and
the girls in the middle. They started off, the radio
playing some foreign sounding music mixed with white
noise and fading oddly in and out.
Jack dozed for a good deal of the drive, as did
his fellow passengers. They left the city behind and
entered an area with tall trees as the afternoon gave
way to dusk. When the van finally came to a halt,
everyone piled out to stretch their legs, and Jack
realized he had no idea where they were. Trees,
bushes, an open area with a large grill and several
long tables were visible nearby. At one side was a
wooden cabin of recent construction, and the sound of
a river echoed in the air. "Pretty," said one of the
girls. "Pretty bleak" grumbled one of the guys.
Chris and Greg wasted no time in chivvying them into a
line outside the wooden cabin for "check-in and team
assignment". There were already a number of people in
the line, evidently from the three other vans parked
nearby.
Inside the cabin, when it was Jack's turn, he was
greeted by an older couple who introduced themselves
as Carl and Maria Weber, "sort of den parents at Camp
Get-in-Touch". They went through his bag, checked his
newly-bought boxer shorts, and confiscated his CD
player and dress belt, telling him he would get those
back at the end of the session. They also asked him a
few questions to corroborate a medical form that he
didn't remember filling out. Finally, both welcomed
Jack to the seminar and expressed their hope that he
would find the experience insightful and mind-opening.
Carl shook his hand, and Maria gave him a very
thorough welcoming hug before they sent him out of the
cabin.
Conversation was scant among the group as they
waited for everyone to get through check-in. What
little talk there was revealed that they spanned the
range from freshman to senior, and all had coursework
problems of one sort or another. Eventually the last
of their group came through the cabin, and Chris and
Greg joined them holding clipboards. Chris spoke up,
"Okay gang, I've got Jack, Martha and Tom, and Greg
will have Sally, Nate and Shavonne. My group follow
me and we'll get you set up in our cabin."
The brunette set out into the woods, and Jack and
his new cabinmates followed uncertainly while eying
each other speculatively. Martha was a statuesque
redhead who radiated confidence and took the walk with
long hip-rolling strides. Jack found himself
wondering what she could possibly need from the
seminar. Tom, on the other hand, was a thin bookish
type with glasses and looked the type to need help at
most everything. Their cabin, when they arrived, was
a low-slung affair with an undecorated wood floor and
spare furniture, the only note of comfort being the
four large beds, two against opposite walls. "Where's
the bathroom," whined Tom. Chris waved a hand toward
the cabin door. "Those are outside; you'll get that
in the main camp tour and orientation. We'll go there
in a few minutes, but right now just grab a bed and
put your things on it." Tom slunk across to the
farthest bed on the right, muttering under his breath
about privacy. Jack took a bed on the left wall to
avoid Tom, and Martha took the bed nearest the door,
sitting down and bouncing experimentally. "Nice
mattress," was her only comment. Chris seemed to find
the appraisal humorous. "By the time you get to bed,
you'll appreciate it. Okay, folks, it's a short
weekend and you've all got a lot to do. Let's go!"
The camp extended much farther than the greeting
area promised. The grounds included a swimming pool,
frontage on the river, a well-groomed soccer field,
several camp-simple restrooms (which Tom gratefully
availed himself of), and a roomy combination meeting
hall and covered dining area. There they found some
thirty other students gathered, and everyone found
seats while the Webers and the counselors took the
front table.
Carl Weber came to the podium. "Welcome, folks.
We're glad you could join us for this weekend retreat.
All of you are having problems in focus, one way or
another, and we're going to give you some tools to
help you accomplish what you want in life. Or at
least in school." He chuckled at that, and his
audience did likewise.
"You've all had the camp tour and gotten your
cabin assignments, so we'll have a hike and some
warm-up exercises before dinner. The Romans had a
saying, "mens sana in corpore sano", a sound mind in a
sound body, and we adhere to that philosophy here.
During the weekend you'll probably experience a number
of activities that are new to you, from breathing
exercises to different ways to experience your
surroundings. Pay attention to your counselors, and
feel free to ask questions, but remember that this can
only work for you if you're prepared to have an open
mind and work hard. Remember, we're all here for the
same thing - to help you be all you can!"
And with that the meeting was dismissed. The
groups separated in various directions through the
woods to the various clearings scattered around the
grounds. Chris quickly rounded up her group, and
Greg's group joined them for what turned into a
strenuous five-mile hike through the woods. Even
Martha looked winded by the time they returned to the
camp. They followed their leaders to the meeting
hall, where dinner was already waiting. The food was
spare but tasty, heavy on the vegetables and fiber,
surprisingly filling, and apparently the seminar was
to be meat-free.
After dinner the groups retired to their various
cabins. Chris gave them all ten minutes to bask in
the after-effects of their meal, and then had the
three cabinmates sit on the floor in the middle of the
cabin. "This is an introduction to meditation," she
told them as she slid a CD into a small stereo. Muted
sounds of sitar and tabla echoed in the room. Chris
circled around and between them, slipping a soft
blindfold around each student's head. Jack smiled as
she put his on; he could tell she was wearing that
same perfume from when he had met her over dinner.
The next half hour was a somewhat fuzzy lesson in
floating, focusing, hearing the music and not hearing
the music. "Meditation," Chris said at one point, "is
about focusing and losing focus simultaneously. It's
like the old joke about being told not to think about
an elephant. The only way to succeed is to allow the
elephant into you so that you can get past it." At
least half of this was gobbledygook to Jack, but he
was trying to keep an open mind.
"I'm going to give each of you a focus phrase
now. The next time you do meditation practice, I want
you to repeat your phrase until the words lose their
meaning and just surround you with sound. Tom, you're
'Scent of Green Papaya'. Martha, you're 'Sliding on
Silk'. Jack, you're 'Hot Apple Pie'. Now I want each
of you to repeat your phrase, and keep on until you
forget I'm here."
This, thought Jack, is just plain silly. Still
and all, he went along with the gag, and a strange
thing happened. First, he did forget about Chris and
the other students; it began to seem as if he were
alone, floating in the universe, a babble of
meaningless syllables echoing in his head. Then, as
sudden and sharp as a flashbulb, he saw meaning
everywhere. He could picture the Earth and planets
orbiting the Sun. He saw the beauty in the whorls of
his fingerprints. He understood women. The tax code
made sense... well, almost. He felt a touch on the
back of his neck, and sensed a familiar perfume.
Somehow, he realized, Chris knew that he'd gotten it.
He felt oddly proud at the accomplishment, as a
student praised by his teacher.
After a time, Chris went around the room removing
the blindfolds. Jack and the other two each stood up
and shook their heads to regain their bearings. A low
gong sounded in the camp, and Chris nodded her head.
"Time to get ready for bed; we've got lights-out and
one last exercise, then you'll be up early in the
morning!" Somewhat subdued by their own individual
experiences, the three roommates quietly went through
their things, hiked to the restroom facility for tooth
brushing and other needs, and returned to the cabin.
Tom had taken his pajamas and changed in the restroom
since there wasn't any private area in the cabin.
Jack, on the other hand, planned to sleep in his
sweatpants and shower in the morning.
And then there was Martha. She stood up by her
bed and turned her back to the others, then smoothly
pulled off her t-shirt showing a broad expanse of
evenly tanned bra-less backside. Bending over the
bed, she slid her panties down her long legs and
waited just long enough to make it obvious that she
knew everyone was looking at her before pulling a thin
nightgown over her head. Jack clucked his tongue
admiringly then rolled over and was asleep by the time
his head hit the pillow.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, or at least
so it seemed, something cold and wet woke Jack by
running along his spine. "Ice cube?" he grumbled in
the dark. "Good boy," came the melodic sound of
Chris's voice, "let's see how we're all doing!" A
moment later, Jack heard Tom whine "Ow... emery board?
And why on my ear?" There was silence for a long
while. Suddenly a piercing shriek tore through the
cabin from the direction of Martha's bed. Chris could
be heard in the echoes, quietly commenting "Yes, but
what did it *feel* like?" Martha's response was low,
intense, and unintelligible to the two men.
Chris continued to make the rounds of the room
with odd items pressed to unexpected places,
occasioning puzzlement from Jack and at least one
embarrassed squeal from Tom. Finally, she pronounced
herself satisfied with the results and told them to go
back to sleep.
Jack slept, but not well. His dreams were mostly
unformed and unsettling. The cabin seemed too warm,
even after he finally gave in to necessity and
stripped down to bare skin on the sheets. Images of
apple pies floated in his head, and the sensation of
riding a horse. Toward morning, though, things took a
turn for the better. He found himself in a glade near
the camp, and Chris was sitting next to him. She
moved into his arms, his head spinning with her
perfume. Holding his head with both hands, she kissed
him deeply; her tongue seemed impossibly long, teasing
along the roof of his mouth and pressing against the
back of his throat. Meanwhile her fingers were
dancing along the back of his neck, little pleasurable
jolts of electricity hopping down his spine and
centering in his groin. Then suddenly she was no
longer in his lap, but sitting behind him with her
legs wrapped around his and her nipples hard little
points in his back. Her fingernails were teasing his
own rudimentary nipples; he wanted to move but her
legs held his down. Someone gave him a glass of milk,
and he drank as fast as he could but it still spilled,
running down his chest...
*****
Morning came far too soon. Jack's nose was
stuffy, and he had a horrid case of morning mouth,
complete with thick tongue. The outdoor air didn't
seem to be agreeing with him. Worse, when he got out
of bed his gut gave one premonitory twinge and he
realized he desperately needed to get to the bathroom.
He streaked for the cabin door, forgetting his lack
of clothes, and made barefoot tracks through the
dew-covered grass until he got to the facility. He
said a silent prayer of thanks at finding it vacant,
and took only enough time to lock the door behind him
before leaping the last few feet to the toilet.
About ten minutes later, he pressed the flush
lever one last time and staggered to the sink to wash
his haggard face. Something at dinner must have
violently disagreed with him. Worse, his bottom was
throbbing; the attack must have triggered a case of
hemorrhoids. Just what he needed to start the day.
After he cleaned up the bathroom, he walked,
bowlegged and suddenly aware of his nudity, back to
the cabin. The other students were gone to breakfast,
but Chris was still there. She took a look at his
face and asked with concern, "Jack, what happened?"
Despite his embarrassment he gave her the whole story.
With a no-nonsense tone in her voice, she gave him
directions to see the nurse. "And don't worry, I'll
let your morning session instructor know you'll be a
bit late."
Jack put on a clean pair of boxers and sweat
pants, and headed across the campsite.
The nurse turned out to be Maria, the woman who
ran the campsite with her husband. She listened to
Jack with a soothing and sympathetic manner, and then
asked him politely to bend over the exam table and
drop his pants. He did so, with the usual unsettled
feeling a man has when hearing the snap of latex
gloves behind him. Her touch was surprisingly
delicate as she applied a cream to the irritated area.
Next she put a cool hand in the middle of his back,
murmured "please stay as still as possible," and slid
a finger fully inside him. Jack quickly developed an
erection. Every time Maria moved her finger, Jack
felt another pulse of blood run through his swollen
cock. The examination continued until he finally had
to close his eyes and surrender to the inevitable; his
ass bit down tightly on Maria's finger as his balls
spasmed and squirted their sticky load between his
belly and the table. He could feel his face flush hot
with embarrassment, but Maria merely waited for his
bottom to unclench before continuing.
Finally, she withdrew her finger and Jack heard
the telltale 'snick' of the latex glove popping off
her hand. "That must have been a bad one this
morning," she said with some empathy, "You need to
put this ointment on three times a day for a couple of
days and you'll be fine. I'll get you started."
Jack felt her slide the glob of cream between his
cheeks and work it inside the tight ring of his
sphincter. It burned a little, but that passed
quickly and turned into a more general warmth, hard to
ignore but not unpleasant.
He stood there, getting used to the sensation, as
Maria went to the washbasin to clean herself up, then
returned and handed Jack a damp washcloth and the tube
of ointment. "I'm sure you'd like a little privacy to
clean up," she said, smiling. Jack nodded thankfully,
waiting until the door was closed to stand up and
clean the drying semen off his stomach and cock. He
got dressed, took the ointment, and went quickly out
of the exam room and back to camp.
*****
His morning class was yoga and aerobics, and he
found the group stretching in a dell near the river.
In the absence of formal exercise clothes, everyone
had stripped down to either underwear or nothing at
all. Jack joined them in a series of deep knee bends;
he was distracted by the effect those had on his
medicated bottom until he got into the spirit of the
workout. After a while he had worked up a sweat to
match his fellow students, and the instructor led them
to the river for floating exercises. This consisted
of floating on your back and trying to stay in one
place relative to the riverbank using the least amount
of energy. Jack found it surprisingly easy. In fact,
he almost fell asleep twice during the practice.
Next on the schedule was lunch. Jack would have
liked a shower first, but the instructor had
thoughtfully brought towels so nobody had to get their
clothes wet. In the dining area, Jack decided to take
the prudent course and restrict himself to soup.
Conversation today was much quieter than it had been
the previous evening. Everyone seemed to be only
halfway attentive to the meal, as if their attention
was distracted by something inside that only they
could see.
The afternoon class was creative imagery in
another meadow. The students were mixed from
different cabins, and his partners in this exercise
were a thin blonde named Becky, an athletic-looking
Hispanic who answered to Orlando, and a well-padded
redhead who called herself "Jade, as in Jewelry".
Carl, the camp's den father, was their instructor and
he quickly got the session under way.
"I want you all to sit or lie down comfortably,
and cover your eyes with these handkerchiefs," he
explained, "then we'll do some free association."
Jack folded his legs Indian-fashion while the others
found their own preferred position. When all of them
were ready, Carl called out "Fruit!" Becky came up
with "Pineapple", Jack said "Banana" for no particular
reason, and Orlando added "Melons". Jack looked from
Orlando to Jade, and decided the other guy's mind
wasn't completely on the task at hand. Jade's
response was "Mango", and next Carl prompted with
"Vegetable" which drew suggestions of Broccoli,
Cucumber, Carrot and Squash. Several more exchanges
in this mode followed, leaving Jack completely bemused
as to what they could be accomplishing.
After what seemed like a short time, but turned
out to be nearly an hour, Carl pronounced himself
satisfied and sent the students off for a quick break.
Jack took the opportunity to apply the second dose of
the ointment that Maria had given him. He shifted his
feet restlessly as the cream sent the same burst of
heat through his insides, then went off to continue
his day. The last afternoon session was led by Chris,
who led Jack and a dozen others hiking through the
camp and into the woods, finally arriving in a softly
grass-cushioned bower. "Sensory awareness," she said
as everyone got comfortable, "is about feeling, not
about intellect. Everyone please remove your clothes
and find a place to lie down. Don't worry," she
chuckled seeing some anxious looks, "we run a bug-free
campsite here."
There was a rush of bustling activity, collisions
and apologies until everybody got settled. "Feel the
grass beneath you, not just as a carpet, but as
individual blades, each with its own edge against your
skin. Find the places where the ground still has the
damp coolness of dew. Let your arms and hands float
by your side; let your mind relax while the sensations
come in."
Jack was having a hard time following the
instructions. For one thing, his head was on a hard
spot in the ground. For another, despite what Chris
had said he was sure he felt something crawling up his
balls. He wriggled to try and dislodge whatever it
was, but succeeded only in moving himself so that his
asscheeks were snuggled up against a tree root. He
didn't want to be the only one complaining, though, so
he did his best to relax. The afternoon sun and
breeze were certainly comforting, and after a bit he
found that he could indeed pick out individual blades
of grass against his back and legs. He could even
tell which of his chest hairs was being stirred by the
wind. His eyes lidded over, and he let the warmth of
the sun cover him like a blanket. Stray puffs of air
played tag from his head to his toes, and back up
between his legs. The grass beneath him shifted and
twitched like a living rug.
The next thing he knew, Chris was chucking him
under the chin. "Hey there," she said smiling, "I
don't think sleeping qualifies as awareness!" Jack
looked around and saw the other students already up,
around and mostly dressed. He blushed and pulled
himself quickly to his feet as the group got ready to
head back to main camp for the evening. Chris
explained that they'd have a bit of time to clean up
before dinner, and that after dinner there would be a
full camp meeting for demonstrations and awards.
As the group hiked back, Jack wondered what kind
of awards could be given out. He hadn't seen anything
in his classes that resembled a test. He eventually
gave it up as a waste of energy, and joined in the
lines for the cleanup facilities.
Dinner was - no surprise - pasta and vegetables.
Jack wondered if there was supposed to be a connection
between avoiding meat and being creative. After the
meal, Carl and Maria gave a brief speech about the
weekend being successful and reminded the cabin
leaders that the recognition ceremony would start
promptly in an hour. When they got back to the cabin,
Jack was tired and took a quick nap. His other cabin
companions likewise seemed to want to reserve their
energy. Only Chris seemed excited, watching them with
an "I know a secret" look on her face.
*****
The haunting, bone-chilling sound of an oboe
playing an Eastern melody floats through the air.
Chris gathered up her charges and accompanied them
through the dusky twilight across the campgrounds to
an open-air amphitheatre. Jack and the others took up
places on the hillside and waited to see what the big
build-up was about, while Chris headed elsewhere.
Down at the base of the hill was a small table with
two chairs, some papers and trophies, a pitcher of
water, a basket of fruit, a boom box, a standing
microphone, a video camera, and an upright wooden
frame resembling a reinforced doorframe.
There wasn't much time to wonder about that,
however, as Carl and Maria entered the field of view,
followed by Chris, Greg and the other cabin leaders.
They were all wearing something like academic gowns,
and would have fit in well at a college ceremony.
Carl stepped to the microphone and began the
proceedings, thanking everyone for their hard work and
participation. After that, Maria took the stage and
flipped a switch on the boom box. As the odd melodies
echoed off the surrounding trees, she announced
recognition of seminar participants for such obviously
gag prizes as most return visits to the salad bar,
fastest 100-meter sprint to the restroom (Jack was
very glad not to find himself the winner there), and
longest time balancing on one foot.
After the "winners" had come down, claimed their
certificates, and headed back up the hill, Carl once
again took over the mike. "Every time we run this
seminar, some of our attendees surprise both us and
themselves by demonstrating great talents in a few
specialized areas. You were all accepted here with
two things in mind; what we could do for you, and what
you could do for others. We're all very proud that
three of you have earned the unanimous recognition of
our teaching staff for outstanding achievement in both
areas of focus. Would someone escort Orlando out
here?"
At this point the Hispanic from Jack's free
association exercise came out, accompanied by a petite
counselor from one of the other cabins, both of them
in the academic gowns. As the music played, the
counselor unzipped the front of her gown showing that
she was nude beneath. She turned to Orlando and stood
between him and the audience to remove his gown, then
stepped aside. A soft gasp came from the gathered
crowd. Orlando's body had been oiled until it gleamed
in the soft lights, and he sported a massive cock in
full rampant erection. A few of the observers
whistled in appreciation. The counselor ran her hand
under his balls and up the shaft; her hand could
barely wrap around the head.
Maria pulled a chair up, and she and the
counselor guided Orlando into the chair with his legs
spread on either side. With barely a trace of
hesitance, the counselor climbed up into his lap.
Orlando held his cock in place while the other girl
positioned herself, and finally, she began inching
downward. The music faded, and for moments the only
sounds were the chirping of crickets and the audible
panting of the counselor.
Finally, and not without murmurs of disbelief
from the audience, the small woman was fully impaled,
her bottom resting between the bigger man's legs.
With unexpected grace, Orlando now stood up, his
passenger wrapping her legs around his back as she
held onto him. Standing in front of the audience, he
sank quickly to his knees, drawing a muffled squeak
from his passenger, then rose back up. He repeated
the calisthenics, each time with more alacrity, as his
passenger writhed against him and bucked up and down.
Finally she shrieked out in erotic ecstasy and dug her
nails across his back leaving long red trails. As she
did so, Orlando stood up straight and tall, and the
muscles of his legs went taut and starkly outlined.
His ass clenched visibly, and the girl atop him gave
out one last choked gasp before collapsing limply in
his arms.
Maria and the other counselor came out again, and
each held the still-shaking girl by shoulder and hip,
sliding her off the big man as his cock popped free,
shining with their mingled juices and only half-soft.
There was some soft applause and a few whistles from
the audience.
As the first group left the center area, Greg
from the other cabin led a nude and blindfolded Martha
into view. Jack blinked twice; the change in Martha
from the woman who had blithely shown off her nude
body in his cabin was striking. This Martha's body
had been oiled in the same way that Orlando's had, and
showed in its entire ripe splendor from the strong
calf muscles to the proudly erect nipples. Greg
fastened her wrists to cuffs at the upper corners of
the doorframe, and her ankles to matching ones at the
base.
As Greg left, another counselor came out from the
shadows. This woman was dressed in the academic gown,
and carried a small bag with her. She reached out to
pinch one brown-tipped nipple, drawing a long sigh
from Martha. Smiling, the woman began pinching
Martha's nipples and rolling the ball of her thumb
against them. Martha responded by arching her back
and pressing her breasts forward to the teasing hands.
The other woman stepped back, drawing a pout from
her bound target, and knelt to pull a small
nine-tailed cat from her bag. She moved around behind
Martha, and all watching were able to tell when the
little implement made its first impact. Martha's
mouth opened wide, but no sound came forth. For some
minutes, the woman alternately stroked and whipped the
leather implement across Martha's backside as Martha's
face showed both the anticipation and the impact.
Finally, the woman dropped the cat and stood
behind Martha, sliding her arms around the hanging
girl on either side. She moved her hands sinuously
down across bare belly to the girl's inner thighs,
pulling her legs apart as a spotlight came into focus.
Martha's pudenda were obscenely swollen, dark red,
visibly dripping. The woman waved a hand and two of
the counselors came over to release Martha from the
frame. They laid her down, feet toward the audience,
legs splayed widely. The woman squatted over Martha's
face and lowered herself down slowly, balancing on one
hand while her other hand pinched and tugged at
Martha's nipples.
The air of quiet intensity in the audience was
palpable. All eyes were on the two women, one rubbing
her cunt hard against the other's face, the other
lying spread-eagled, hips hunching fervently upward
into empty air. The woman on Martha's face came,
crying out into the night as her body stiffened. When
her eyes opened again, she dramatically licked her
index finger, reached outward, and flicked Martha's
clit just once. The reaction was explosive; Martha
nearly threw the other woman off her face as she
bucked and writhed in the throes of a massive orgasm.
Eventually Martha collapsed, limp and
sweat-slick, and the other counselors came from either
side to assist her out of sight.
Now, Carl and Maria took center stage again to
announce the presentation of the session's special
recognition, the camper who made the most unexpected
progress. Heads in the audience could be seen turning
this way and that, wondering who this unknown person
was. Jack had the same thought, when Chris showed up
and took him by the hand. Shocked, Jack followed her
without hesitation. She led him silently down through
the audience to the center of the glade, and stripped
him of his clothing, all the time stroking his
shoulders and settling him as she would a nervous
filly. "Close your eyes, Jack, and float with me..."
His eyes closed, then opened again unfocused.
His muscles relaxed, and he stood calmly as the
unknowing center of attention. "Feel the Earth Mother
enter into you," Chris prompted, and his cock jerked
by steps to its full glory. Her scent surrounded him,
and in his mind he was back in those hazy dreams.
Chris spoke, her words taking on the singsong quality
of ritual, and her hand slipped down between his
bottom cheeks. The rush of blood to his phallus made
his knees half-buckle, so that Chris and another
counselor had to help him stand upright.
As they held him in place, Carl joined them and
with quiet dignity slipped his robe from his
shoulders. For a man his age, he was in excellent
shape. Carl lay down on the ground between Jack's
feet, and Chris and the other counselor held the dazed
man by the arms and sides easing him downward until he
made contact with the older man's upright cock.
Jack felt the touch at his bottom, and he spread
his legs in an unconscious but well-trained reaction,
his anus widening and snapping against the entering
tip. Jack hunched down, his mouth gaping open, and
worked his way further by fractions of an inch,
bobbing and twisting like an Indian fakir until he was
seated in the older man's lap, his bottom filled and
his breath coming in quick panting gasps.
Jack's mind floated in an erotic haze, Chris's
perfume still deep in his mind, the feel of her finger
exploring his bottom as he parted his legs further. A
warm breath passed over his lips, and once more he was
in the lust-fevered dream as that long erotic kiss
pinned him in place, her tongue probing the reaches of
his palate...
The watching audience could not know that Jack
was yearning for his lover's tongue; what they saw was
Orlando, his cock still gleaming from his earlier
encounter, placing the tip at Jack's lips. Jack
reached lovingly around the Hispanic man's upper legs
to caress the other man's ass, pulling his cock inside
Jack's mouth. Jack's body moved in a hundred
different directions, and the two other men followed
his lead in a dance with only one possible conclusion,
a mutual explosion from above and below, matched by
the thick slow spurting of semen from Jack's untouched
cock as the audience burst into spontaneous applause.
Maria, Chris and a few other counselors joined
the three men on the stage as the audience left by
ones, twos and threes to their cabins. In only a
brief time, the glade was once again empty save for
the indentations in the grass and a musky scent
permeating the air.
***
Jack was in the glade again, only he knew now
that he was dreaming. Still, it was a pleasant dream
and he had no desire to wake up. He was swimming, and
the water around him was alive. It kissed his skin as
he moved through it, it grabbed and dragged at his
cock, it suckled at his toes.
Chris's perfume washed over him, and he felt her
cool hands once again slide down his back and into the
space between his rear cheeks. Her fingers applied
cream to his stretched hole, and he lifted his ass up
to spread his knees automatically. A puff of warm
breath teased the proffered entrance, but his
instructor had other activities in mind. She cupped
his rapidly filling shaft in her hand, and helped him
turn over onto his back. As Jack lay there, half
awake and half in the erotic dream that had consumed
him, Chris straddled his hips and slid onto his cock
then rode him slowly for what seemed like an hour.
Eventually they both came, and she collapsed on top of
him with her full breasts bouncing against his chest.
*****
Sunday morning started with the shrill trumpet
sound of Reveille echoing through the camp. Chris
zipped through the cabin slapping the tired students
on their respective rumps. "Time to get up, kids.
Polar bear swim, then we hit the running path!"
Thankfully she was only kidding about the morning
swim, but five minutes later they were joining the
other campers in a 20-minute jog around the camp,
beside the river, and finally to the meal hall.
Jack was still tired; he'd been too sleepy last
night to remember much of the recognition ceremony,
and he still seemed to have cobwebs across his brain.
The morning exercise helped a lot. Jack looked around
as he munched on his pancakes, and noticed that the
hall seemed less crowded than the previous day. He
looked more carefully, and sure enough there were
fewer people than he remembered. For one, his
cabinmate Martha wasn't there. Before he could give
the matter much thought, though, Carl ascended to the
podium for a going-away speech. Certificates of
attendance, duly marked as "suitable for framing",
were handed out, and in short order the stragglers
finished their food and were chivvied off to their
cabins for pack-up and checkout.
As Jack waited in line for the van to take him
back to school, he kept having the oddest sensation
that people were looking at him. Yet whenever he
turned around, everyone was engaged in normal
conversation. He shook his head; anxiety about his
writing class must be creeping back in. Shortly
afterward, Chris and Greg drove up and took their
passengers back on the road. Just as on the way out,
the odd music was playing on the stereo, and Jack took
the opportunity to catch up on his sleep. For some
reason he felt dog-tired this morning.
When he finally got back to his own room,
ensconced in familiar surroundings, Jack booted his
computer and took a shot at the writing assignment.
To his great surprise, he zipped through it in no time
and with hardly any effort. Three pages later, he had
a printout that was undoubtedly the best writing of
his college career. He whistled softly, and decided
to give Sherry a call to celebrate. Before he could
do that, though, the back bedroom door opened and Ken
came out. "Hey, roomie," he boomed out, "how did the
weekend go?" Jack couldn't restrain himself; he
showed Ken the printout and gushed about how amazing
the weekend was. "And the oddest thing is that I
would have sworn all weekend that we weren't doing
anything to help my writing. I tell you, Ken, I owe
you a big one for this!"
Ken's response was a muted chuckle, and the
enigmatic comment, "I think I've already been paid."
He reached out and stroked a spot behind Jack's left
ear, and whispered something only half-intelligible.
The change in Jack was both sudden and subtle; his
face became more placid, his nostrils flared and his
breathing deepened. Ken smiled, and this time it was
the smile of the predator. He unbuckled his belt and
slid his pants and briefs to the floor. "Here you go,
Jack, do your thing!" Jack smiled like a baby looking
at candy, and massaged Ken's balls and rising cock.
Pursing his lips, he moved his face forward smoothly
to take Ken's length easily while his free hand worked
its way between Ken's asscheeks. It was only a few
minutes before Ken pumped a load into Jack's willing
mouth, filling it until thick strands leaked out one
corner and down onto Jack's knee.
The sound of slow applause broke the subsequent
tableau. "Damn," said Sherry, "I swear the boy's a
natural." Ken grinned at her nude form, his cock
popping free from Jack's mouth. Sherry had obviously
been masturbating furiously while watching the two
men; her vulva was swollen and dark red, and her
nipples were standing out like firm erasers. "He's
good, all right," Ken agreed, "would you like to try
out the other end?"
"No thanks," Sherry said as she closed the
distance between them. "I'm sure he's trained as well
as your other roommates ended up. Right now I need
cock and I need it bad, so you'd better not have given
him everything!" She paused, and turned toward Jack
who was kneeling quietly in the middle of the room,
his eyes unfocused. "Go do your homework, sweet Jack,
and we'll talk about your trip later." Sherry grabbed
Ken by his cock and practically dragged him back into
the bedroom, slamming the door behind them.
The sound seemed to rouse Jack, who got up from
the floor as if nothing untoward had happened. He
went over to his computer and started writing. The
sounds from the back bedroom percolated through to
him, and he paused to reflect on what a lucky guy he
was. It sounded like Ken was finally getting lucky
too. Maybe he would set his roommate up with Sherry;
that would be a nice thing to do, kind of like paying
Ken back for helping Jack pass his writing course.
Life was good.
///// Completed 12-25-2001 by Rajah Dodger
rdodger@hotmail.com
All Rights Reserved
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