The memory of a Boy Scout ski trip I went on as a child has repeatedly entered my mind over the past few months. My knowledge of cum at the time leads me to believe that it was probably the winter of 2010/2011. My cum informant was there alongside me, as he was a fellow Boy Scout of America (this was back when I had a penis). The previous summer he had taught me how to masturbate while hovering three feet above me. He refused to climb down to the bottom bunk as we stroked our dicks coz that would be gay, so I was taught how to do it without a visual reference. The way in which I jacked off on my first outing involved way more friction than it should have and the next morning I woke up with open sores all over my penis. I ran to the bathroom to apply band-aids before immediately realizing that this was a bad idea. I spent the next hour wincing in pain as I slowly peeled each one off of my dick skin.
Five months later I was on a mountain, riding ski lifts and obsessively referencing the Laser Collection with the dude who had technically given me my first orgasm. The kid's dad who had driven us there had just gotten a GoPro and would excitedly show us POV footage of him skiing next to us after each run. At one point my friend was entrusted with the GoPro and we rushed to the terrain park to film ourselves pussying out of the smallest jumps they had to offer.
Our Scout troop was staying at an oversized cabin that carried one undersized television. This was meant to provide incentive for the kids to fully submerge themselves in the cottage-living experience. The TV was set on a channel that played Terminator 2 and Spider Man 2 back to back. I caught bits and pieces of both as I went back and forth between the main floor to grab Sunny D and the loft upstairs to hide from the other Scouts.
Finding a shred of confidence, I made my way down to the older kids territory in the basement. Upon entrance I was immediately pulled aside, handed a shaken up can of Fresca, and instructed to hold it so the older kids could throw darts at it. With each needle-sharp dart wizzing by my face I held back a growing batch of tears. After a handful of misses one of the boys frustratedly walked up to me and punctured the can by hand. The pack cheered as soda sprayed all over the carpet floor.
The next morning we woke up to find one Scout had pulled a prank on another by ejaculating in his sleeping bag. I was still holding the can of Fresca that my friend and I had cut open the night before to make a portable campfire in. No one told the adults about the cum coz that would be gay.
Many of my recollections these days center around my time in the Scouts, even though they are amongst my least precious memories. I bet my friend would be happy to hear that he's not gay anymore. Not that he has time for me, he's busy making millions off of Portable Campfires.
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