The expedition was going exactly as we planned. A hundred miles into the
woods -- (okay, a quarter of a mile from my house...use your imagination)
-- we set up base camp. It was still a good hour before dark, so Jory
started rummaging through his supply pack for the tools.
It wasn't our first dig. We were professionals. But this time, we were
going for the big bones.
He took out a long leather case from his pack, unrolled it and spread it
on the ground outside of the tent.
Neither one of us cared that the leather case was really one of my mom's
dish towels -- the gross green one with the dancing cats -- and the
digging tools were a few various spoons from her silverware drawer. When
you've got the museum back in London crawling up your ass for a major
archeological discovery, you don't have time to let the kitchen sneak in.
My name's Kane. I'm 12. Jory is Jory. He's 12, too. We live in Rhode
Island, so if you're trying to find us on your map, lean in close and keep
your glasses on.
We live in the same town, go to the same school, do the same things, like
the same people. It's a pretty easy life. No complaints.
My name is really spelled "Kayne," but I took the "Y" out two years ago
because it looked dumb. My mom still shits her pants about it and yells
at me to put it back in. No way. It's gone. With the "Y" in there,
people kept calling me "Kay-nee." Even teachers. How they mess that one
up, I'll never know. Dyslexia, I guess.
Jory's real name is "Jordan." He doesn't like it. "Much too basketball,"
he told me. We both agree that sports basically suck. You sweat too
much, your legs hurt, and you have to wear a jock. Not exactly a picnic.
So, even though he's a Jordan, he leaves the "D" out. If a kid's name is
Jordan, you'd pretty-much expect people to call him "Jordy." But he hates
that. I guess he got the hots over my missing "Y," so he took out his "D"
to keep up. Competition is fierce with nickname letters.
The reason we started hanging out together is...we both have stupid names.
I mean, face it. When you're walking around with a Kayne and you bump
into a Jordan, you're pretty-much destined to be a match. It's like, one
step up from being a Floyd and a Walter. You run for cover and hope nobody
"Any sign of limestone deposits?" Jory asked. He squinted into the
setting sun and scanned the terrain with a fake telescope.
"Down a little farther," I pointed. "They should be right over there, if
the map is right."
I unfolded the map from my pack and laid it out in front of me, just to
make sure. Yep. It looked promising. (Okay, so it was really a Warwick
city map I ripped out of the downstairs phone book, but let's not get
"Better get going," he said, wrapping up the tools. "Sun's going down."
Spoons clinked. Dancing cats disappeared face down, thank God.
We hiked up the path away from our base camp. We'd been at this dig site
before, with no major results. A few pterodactyl skulls. A frozen
Neanderthal. The usual.
"The problem with dinosaur bones," Jory began in his English
archeologist's accent (which truly sucked), "is the depth in which they
"Here, here, Old Chap," I replied quickly. (That was my best line.)
"If we're lucky to find a wall of limestone, Dear Boy, we should be able
to dig from the bottom up...and we'll stand a much better chance of going
I giggled. Wealthy. I swear, he kills me.
"How much is the museum offering, Professor?" I asked as we hiked.
"Millions, Dear Boy. Pounds and pounds and pounds."
I wasn't quite sure what a pound was, but what the hell, it sounded
We found our limestone -- (really just a hill of dirt) -- and unrolled the
spoons and started to work. I reached into the backpack and pulled out my
mom's mascara thingy to brush away the dust. It wasn't the first one
she'd lost for the glory of England.
"Nothing," he announced after 45 minutes of various digging, and moving,
and digging again. Flipping out the map, I joined him in frustration. The
sun was setting more quickly now. The remains of daylight were just
starting to crawl under the horizon.
"Tomorrow, Old Chap," I told him cheerfully. "We'll find those bones in
the morning. We're close. I can feel it."
He sighed and rolled up the tools. I shared his disappointment. When all
of London is counting on your next discovery, you sort of hate to fuck up
and go to bed. Archeology can be stressful like that.
"Tomorrow," he echoed. Then looking up at the dimming sky, he added,
"We'd better head back for camp."
We hiked back down the path and back to our tent. In the movies, they're
usually brown and made out of canvas. Ours was red and made out of
We sat outside for a while, watching the last of the sun disappear. Then
the woods were dark and quiet. We didn't light a campfire -- our moms
would shit if they saw smoke coming up from the woods -- they'd probably
come running up in their nightgowns with fire extinguishers screaming
their heads off.
No. We just sat together and enjoyed the darkness.
Jory reached over and held my hand. I squeezed back and he smiled.
This part wasn't new either.
I leaned over closer and laid my head on his shoulder. He stroked my hair
as we sat there outside of our tent, peaceful and happy, listening to the
crickets chirp and enjoying the warmth of our body heat. It was a nice
night -- not too cold -- just the slightest breeze in the air, making it
feel even more comfortable to be sitting so close to him like that.
We were very private about our closeness, so we didn't talk. We weren't
ashamed of it or anything. It just didn't need words, that's all.
I felt him kiss the top of my head, so I closed my eyes and smiled. With
one hand, I reached up and stroked his face. Cool, smooth skin danced
across my fingertips. I could hear him breathing. It was a peaceful,
relaxing sound. It filled me with happiness.
"Let's go in," he smiled. "I'm ready for bed."
I grinned at him and unzipped the tent flap. We crawled inside and rolled
out our sleeping bags. We opened them up all the way -- put one on the
ground for a mattress and the other on top for a blanket. We'd gone way
past the separate sleeping bag stage ten months ago, last summer. That's
when we first started doing stuff. Now we just slept together...laid down
next to each other and turned our sleeping bags into a bed for two.
I felt myself melt into his arms like I always did. We kissed quietly,
stroking each others' hair...running our hands across each others' faces.
I liked this part a lot. It was nice. I felt safe there.
He traced his finger across my lip and smiled at me as I kissed it gently.
I took it into my mouth and sucked lightly. I bit it and he laughed.
We helped each other take our clothes off -- there was no hurry -- no
shyness. Just a nice, relaxed stretching as our shoes and socks came
off...then our jeans...then our shirts...then our underwear. He was
wearing white briefs like he always did. In the moonlight through the
tent, they almost glowed.
Our eyes were adjusted to the dark, so we watched each other attentively,
enjoying the slow stripping. His smooth chest glowed in dark purple...blue
moonlight shining through the red fabric of the tent. I leaned forward
and kissed his neck. He was so warm and soft and beautiful.
He laid back down and let me kiss him. I liked to do all the work first,
while he laid there and sighed. I like the noises he made when I kissed
his body. They were soft. Excited. Urgent and free.
His hands stroked my back as I kissed my way down his chest. They felt so
warm and strong. He was so nice to me during the times we did this. So
soft. Never hurried or gross or embarrassed.
He let me take my time, kissing his soft stomach, giving it little licks
and tastes as I moved my way downward toward his dick.
We were both very hard already -- that part never took us long at all --
so, stopping briefly to lick the base of his dick, just below his stomach
-- I moved down quickly and took him fully into my mouth.
I felt his body tense as he laid back and sighed, enjoying the sensation,
eager for more.
I sucked him slowly -- making up and down motions, circling his head with
my tongue, enjoying the flavor...swallowing my own salty, sweaty spit as I
went down on him, deeper and deeper. He was close. I could tell.
Pulling my head up, not wanting it to end too soon, he sat up from the
sleeping bag and leaned over my lap.
He wrapped his lips around my dick and cupped by balls in his hand. I
moaned gently as he moved his mouth up and down on my shaft...caressing my
balls, rubbing them gently in his warm, cupped palm.
Without a word, I pulled him from me and laid down on my stomach.
That was the way I liked it best. On my stomach, feeling his weight on
me. Listening to the soft, hard, grunting sounds he made as he pushed
himself in and out of me, building toward his finish.
He spread my butt cheeks and put some of his spit on my hole. I tingled
when he touched me there. I liked his warmth and his wetness. I liked
knowing what was coming next.
He coated his dick with more spit and slowly laid down on me.
I felt the pressure of his penis as he lined it up with my hole and the
sharp, stabbing entry as he pushed himself in. It scared me the first few
times...but now I was used to it. I knew the painful part didn't last
"Is it okay?" he whispered, his voice shaky and soft.
"Fine," I smiled. "Go slow."
He started moving, barely pressing at all, then I felt him push it all the
way in. He stayed really still for a minute, letting me adjust to the
pressure. He was always very gentle and he never went too fast. He
always made sure I was feeling okay before he started going again.
Hearing my breathing relax, he started pumping in and out, doing it to me.
God, it felt so good.
I loved the feeling so much. I lay there on my stomach, my head turned
sideways and breathed in rhythm to his slow, steady pushes. I tried to
match his breathing. It made me feel like I was part of him.
And as his hard dick slid in and out of me, I felt filled with so much
wonderful pressure -- not at all bad -- just good, full, constant
movement. I moaned, and pushed my butt back to meet his slow pumping. He
liked that a lot, when I pushed back against him, trying to get more.
"It's not going to take me long," he whispered, almost apologizing.
"That's okay," I smiled, enjoying the feeling. "You can go hard now. It
He picked up his pace almost immediately. He laid down across my back,
putting his full weight on me, which I loved more than anything. I felt
so completely secure and surrounded when I was under him like that. I
wished I could lay like that all night.
He kissed the back of my neck, giving me shivers.
His hips continued to pump in and out of me -- faster -- harder -- jabbing
urgently, filling me with so many good feelings....a burning, a
wildness...things I can't describe.
I could see colors in my head as he rammed himself in and out of me.
Blues and greens and sparkly yellows. It was so nice and strong. So
natural. So full and amazing and good.
"Now," I urged him. "Do it now."
He thrust in forcefully -- there was no pain at all -- and I gasped in
full, complete surrender as he buried himself as far as he could and
tensed his whole body -- his few drops of sweet cum jerking into my ass,
filling me with warmth and pleasure.
"Wow..." he gasped, slowing down, adding a few more hesitant, sensitive
strokes. "That was so nice. You're so warm in there. It's like this
incredible heat, all around me."
"Mmmmm," I smiled, closing my eyes, letting him lay there on my back,
In a few moments, he pulled himself out of me. I felt the familiar
emptiness and ache as he laid down by my side. The worst part was when it
But then I leaned over and put my head on his chest, draping one arm over
him and listening to his heart, still beating rapidly under my ear.
"I love you, Kane," he whispered gently.
"I love you too, Jory," I answered, already sleeping.
The purple night turned into sweet, slumbering silence. Nothing but our
breathing filled the air for miles around. We laid there sweetly, holding
Two explorers. A remarkable find.
And a new morning ahead of us...made out of love and adventure and