One Last Morning

Author's note: This story contains elements that, while not intended to suggest a lack of consent (in fact, my intent was to imply reasonable consent), could be interpreted as dubious when considering the surrounding circumstances. I apologize if I give this impression, no matter how unintended. The story has been tagged as dubcon purely as a precaution.

It was right after my high school graduation when I found myself on a camping trip with close to a quarter of the class. I don't even know how I ended up getting invited; I had come to accept that I was never "one of the guys" before high school even started, and the next four years only served to prove me right. I was only ever that guy that nobody knew, a convenient target for being the butt of a joke if I was considered at all. I only had a few people I even considered friends, and that was only in the sense that they were also far enough down the social ladder that I'd occasionally end up being included in their plans for the weekend. I can only assume that the air of excitement surrounding graduation hit someone with the same things that everyone was feeling, the sense of nostalgia that came from looking back over one's life up to that point with the realization that it was coming to an end.

We didn't really understand or appreciate it at the time, of course, but starting a new chapter in one's life and heading into uncharted territory while not being able to bring any of your past life with you has a way of making you miss things that you never cared enough about to notice before. I'm guessing that at least one person in charge of organizing the event just started adding every name they could recall to a list and, somehow, mine ended up on it. I never cared much about those kinds of things before that point. Pep rallies, school spirit days and whatever qualified as the most recent iteration of "the big game" always bounced right off of me. Well, not always--I got as excited as everyone else back in the days when the idea of being in high school was still new. The depressing feeling of being alone in a sea of excitement while trying to create a pale imitation of what was happening around me caused the novelty to wear off fairly quickly, though. I spent most of my time just focusing on myself and trying to pretend that I didn't want to know what it was like to be on the inside and looking out.

I guess it's that feeling and the same nostalgia that was hitting everyone else that made me agree to show up for the camping trip when I realized that I'd actually been invited and it wasn't some kind of a prank. Before dawn on the morning after graduation, I was in my car and on my way to the camp site when everyone else was likely at home, either still passed out or nursing hangovers from the graduation parties the night before. I admit that I was pretty excited about four days and three nights surrounded by my classmates it in spite of my usual efforts to appear aloof. In addition to the emotions that I was still years away from knowing how to process, it was my first life experience as an independent adult--even if that really just meant that we were a couple hundred eighteen-year-olds running around without their parents for the first time.

I was one of the first to show up, something that I immediately regretted when I found myself forced to socialize rather than just blending into the crowd the way I usually did. The best I could do for an excuse to avoid it was saying that I needed to find a bunk and put my things away, something that ended up being somewhat true. There weren't any assigned bunks, so there was no way to have any control over where I'd be sleeping other than to claim a bunk early and hope nobody made an issue of it later. I chose one of the cabins closest to the parking lot, taking a bit of comfort from the fact that I could make a quick escape in the night if things turned sour at any point over the next several days. Even lost in the haze of graduation-inspired nostalgia, I knew better than to assume that things wouldn't find a way to go back to normal at some point and, as I generally did over the previous four years, I would find myself wanting to be literally anywhere else.

I was surprised when people started showing up around noon and, entirely contradicting the assumptions and expectations that I'd been building throughout the day, everyone who thought enough of me to greet me did so as if we'd been close friends over the past four years. My own sense of nostalgia had long since been tempered by reality at that point, but it was still refreshing to spend a few hours pretending that I actually got along with anyone there at any point before that day. None of my friends had bothered showing up, so it was really the only thing that kept me there. For just a little while, I could pretend that high school was something I could look back on fondly and I could create one last memory from that time in my life worth keeping.

Overall, it was honestly just the usual pretend camping that one would expect from a campsite with cabins, something closer to summer camps as kids than actually spending time surrounded by nature. That being said, though, it wasn't regrettable, especially considering that I was finding myself in pleasant company. It was really just the usual things one would expect to find; nature hikes, canoe trips across the lake and bonfires at night...and plenty of booze. Someone had the right friends in the right places and, with generous contributions from everyone in addition to the cabin rental fees, we weren't hurting for alcohol the entire time we were there. Judging by the occasional smell in the air, it didn't stop with alcohol. I was entirely too innocent to inquire at the time, though, and I didn't need it, anyway. I was already experiencing more than I ever had in my life, so it didn't take more than a few beers for me to get into the spirit of loving everyone around me in spite of what I'd thought of them only a week earlier.

It would take me a few more years to admit it, but it really was a good time. With my inhibitions and social anxieties all but negated by the endless flow of alcohol, I spent the entire first evening there laughing along with everyone instead of being laughed at. I don't know which one did more for me in the moment, but I was finally able to ease into conversations and just be a part of them rather than constantly scrutinizing how everything I said and did would be received. I remembered something that happened in the years prior and people got the warm fuzzies as they reminisced along with me. I said something funny and people laughed. It was everything that I'd wanted from even a single day in the entire time I'd known any of them.

As the first night was finally winding down sometime after midnight, I was stumbling into my cabin behind the three others sharing it with me and thinking about what an amazing day I'd had. Even as reality crept back into my alcohol-soaked mind and reminded me that things might very well go back to normal the next morning, I was riding too high on my one good afternoon to give it any thought. It was, by far, the single best day I'd ever had and I'd refused to allow any intrusive thoughts to take it from me. My body too drunk and sluggish to respond to much in the way of my desires, I somehow made my way into my private room, stripped off my shoes and jeans and collapsed in my bed, thankful for the day and cautiously hoping that it wouldn't all disappear into thin air by the next morning.

I was lying there in the dark and wondering what I could realistically expect from the day ahead when I heard the door to the cabin open. Vaguely wondering who was coming in behind me, it wasn't until the door closed that it occurred to me that I should've been the last one in. My brain slowly lurched into gear and started to wonder who was walking in just in time to hear the door to my room slowly open. I hadn't turned my body halfway toward the door before I felt my sheets being pulled back and my mattress moving, a new weight pressing down on it from behind me. It's an understatement to say that I was startled. Just as I was beginning to shout a demand to know who was in my room, I felt a hand rest lightly over my mouth and a hissed whisper shushing me.

I always thought that if I ever found myself in that kind of a situation, I'd start screaming, throwing punches or doing anything other than just lying there silently. I wasn't afraid; whoever was in my bed with me, they weren't anything that I could describe as forceful or demanding. Even the hand over my mouth was barely touching me, as if afraid to exert too much strength. I don't know if it was genuine interest or morbid curiosity that made me remain still under their touch, but all I could think in that moment was that I wanted to know what was going on. I didn't feel anything like fear, only confusion. It wasn't until I'd remained quiet for a long moment and the hand over my mouth cautiously lifted before gently stroking my hair that the confusion began to fade. When I felt what I'm certain were lips softly kissing the back of my neck, any thought of resisting had long since faded. I was slowly coming to an understanding of what was happening, and all I could think in that moment was that I wanted to see where it would go next.

When I didn't react to having my hair touched or my neck kissed, the person in my bed seemed to slowly grow more comfortable with how bold they were being. The hand stroking my hair caressed my face before sliding down my chest, what felt like a single fingertip sliding down the fabric of my shirt until it reached my waist. When I felt the waistband of my boxers being pulled down over my hips, I went tense and the hand stopped immediately. I still wonder if they were gauging my reaction or if I'd simply startled them, but the fingertips hooked into my waistband didn't move until the shock faded and, again overcome by a need to know how far it would go, I let my body relax. They seemed to understand the signal that I was trying to silently send and, after a long wait with no further reaction from me, I felt my boxers continue to slide further down. Without thinking, I lifted my hip from the bed to free the part of my waistband pinned beneath me. The hand stopped again, only moving when I started helping to pull the fabric down. I felt a gentle swatting on the back of my hand before it was gently pushed away from my body, and the hand quickly returned to tugging at my waistband with a new sense of urgency, not stopping until it was near the middle of my thighs.

I tried to tell myself that I was just curious as to what was about to happen but, thinking back, I knew that the list of possibilities had been significantly narrowed by that point. I wasn't even surprised when, after another kiss to my neck, the hand slowly traced the outline of my cock in the darkness until it found the base of the shaft. Gently pinched between a thumb and finger, the hand began stroking in a slow rhythm as more kisses found my neck behind my ear. Until that moment, the only touch that I'd known was my own, always rough and urgent as if in a race against time as I held myself in a death grip. This touch was alien to me, gentle and cautious as it stroked me to my full length. I let out a soft moan, something I hadn't noticed until I heard a moan from behind me reach my ear, softly whispered and accompanied by a rush of warm breath. They began breathing heavily at the same time as I did, seemingly as excited as they were making me as I became fully erect. The gentle pinching of my cock became a delicate grasp, the hand wrapping around my shaft and slowly working along its length and stopping just beneath the head.

Curiosity got the better of me for a moment, and I tried to turn my head to see who was behind me in spite of not being able to see anything in the darkness. The hand on my cock quickly left it, and I felt fingertips gently pushing my cheek to turn me forward again. It didn't let go of my face until I let my head go limp against my pillow and, once I did, it slowly wrapped itself around my shaft again and returned to stroking me. I wanted to do more than my mind can process, even now as I remember it; I wanted to turn around and kiss whoever was touching me so tenderly, I wanted to know their name so I could call it out, I wanted to feel their body pressing against mine as they held me and pleasured me. In the end, all I could do was pant and moan, earning me another occasional shushing and, though I might have imagined it, a faint laugh through the whispered moans in my ear. My mind hazy with alcohol and ecstasy, all I could do was comply as best I could by burying my face in my pillow and moaning into it.

I'm still not entirely sure how, but they somehow knew when I was getting close. The stroking grew faster and more intense as I started moving my hips, thrusting into their hand as I moaned into my pillow. They seemed as if they wanted to oblige, matching the rhythm of my hips but setting the pace with their movements. It wasn't anywhere near as fast as I did it myself, but I'd quickly learned that they knew what I needed better than I did. The stroking of my shaft picked up speed agonizingly slowly until I pushed my hips forward one last time and felt semen begin flowing from me like a river. I'd never felt anything like it before, and only a precious few times since. It was like every orgasm I'd ever experienced on my own, but all at once. My body went rigid as I pumped semen into my sheets again and again, the flow seeming to take hours to slow. As I lay there shuddering from the intensity of it all, I felt one last kiss behind my ear before the hand left me and weight lifted from the bed. My mind barely functioning, I turned toward the darkness again only to see a sliver of light disappearing as the door to my room closed.

I spent hours lying there, covered in my own mess with my boxers around my thighs. At first, I just savored the feeling of everything that had just happened, desperately clinging to the slowly fading tingling from the most intense orgasm I'd ever experienced. When I was finally forced to admit that it had finally faded, I stood and began the process of cleaning up after myself as best I could without waking anyone. I had no idea how to explain what had happened if anyone saw me in such a state; I was still just that weird guy that somehow got invited to the camping trip, so it was hard to imagine that anyone would believe me if I'd told them what had really happened. At best, they probably would've just assumed that they'd caught me jerking off and I'd immediately go back to being the butt of their jokes one last time before we parted ways for good. My mind raced to recall every detail about whoever had been in my bed, but I'd been too drunk or too enthralled to notice much outside of the way they'd touched me and how it had made me feel. Remembering how I felt as I cleaned up and climbed back into bed is why I now know what it's like to miss what you've never had.

The sun came up and, aside from some memories fading along with my drunken stupor, it washed away everything that came before it as if it had never happened. Everyone else started slowly waking up and, when hangovers allowed, they got started on doing it all again. More hiking, canoe trips and cookouts filled the day along with reminiscing and occasionally acknowledging the future by mentioning post-graduation plans, but I couldn't give any of it my full attention. I tried to follow along with conversations and chime in where appropriate, but my thoughts never took long to wander. I started watching every girl there, trying to recall even the most minute detail from the night before and trying to match any of them to anyone I was seeing. It was mostly what it had been throughout high school--I was largely being ignored. None of them gave any indication of any interest in me, or even seemed as if they were deliberately avoiding my attention. I don't know if it was the mystery or the hope of creating a repeat performance, but I couldn't let it go.

As I stumbled into my room after another night of far more beer than my inexperienced constitution could reasonably handle, I found myself having a thought that, at the time, I found unusual. I'd been looking at every girl that had come on the trip but come up with nothing that even suggested the identity of my partner from the night before, a thought that caused me to come to the realization that I had no idea if it was actually a girl. My heart stopped when I realized that, for all I knew, I'd let another guy touch me and bring me to an orgasm. Even sober, I doubt that I'd have been able to process all of the implications that possibility held back then. Looking back, I guess it's somewhat telling that, even as I was in the midst of a building panic, I again stripped down to my shirt and boxers and made a conscious decision to sleep on my other side, facing the door with the hope that I would be visited again.

I don't know how long I was lying there in the dark and wondering how I should be feeling or what I should be thinking when I heard my doorknob turn. I didn't immediately realize that I was holding my breath as the door quietly creaked open and, in a sliver of light, my bleary vision saw a silhouette step through the half-opened door before closing it behind them. They quietly stepped across the creaky wooden floor before stopping next to my bed and standing there for what felt an eternity. I started to say something, asking who they were before I felt a hand on my mouth again. This time, it was only a finger that I felt on my lips before I heard them quietly shush me again, the feeling of air rushing past my ear making me aware that they were leaning close to me. I strained to see in the darkness, but I couldn't make out anything. I could only feel, a fingertip slowly dragging along my lips and down my chin before running down my chest again. My fears and anxieties seemed to evaporate in an instant as I instinctively lifted my hip from the bed just as I felt my waistband being pulled down again. I thought I heard another whispered laugh as I failed utterly to contain my enthusiasm.

With my waistband resting on my thighs again, I felt the familiar gentle pinch of my shaft as it began to pulse and come to life. It took a moment to realize what was different, only noticing after several cautious strokes of my still mostly flaccid cock that the motion was too smooth and straight for someone who was standing over me. I hadn't felt anyone climb into my bed with me this time, slowly leading to the realization that whoever was with me was kneeling next to the bed instead. My heart raced as my drunken mind raced to consider the possibilities and, before I fully realized what was happening, I felt something warm and soft envelop my cock in its entirety. I heard a muffled sigh as a breeze passed over my skin and I felt something soft but firm begin to massage the head. The vague details that I'd collected slowly worked their way into alignment and made me aware that, for the first time, my cock was in someone's mouth.

The pressure on the base of my shaft disappeared and, before I could wonder why, I felt a hand on my hip pull me closer. Desperate to feel more of whatever was to come, I pushed myself to the edge of the bed, earning me a muffled and nearly silent giggle. The hand suddenly held my hip in place, apparently keeping me from pushing forward any further. I quietly complied, resting there and feeling myself growing in my partner's mouth as their tongue danced over the head. I began hearing what sounded like a stifled moan as they teased me, again drawing out my full length. I reached out, wanting to caress their face but instead feeling my fingers tangling in their hair. It was short, but also frustratingly long; it was a medium length that could've belonged to half of the hairstyles I'd seen since I'd arrived. They froze in place for a moment, again giving me the feeling that I'd startled them. After a long, tense moment, I felt a hand on top of mine guiding it toward what felt like the back of their head.