Under the Embankment (several m/m)

[Xtc]

This story was made from a brief glimpse from the window of a train. Please find the original account here: http://www.tugstories.com/viewtopic.php?f=9&t=600

[Xtc]

UNDER THE EMBANKMENT

"Look: that's me, the one in the red t-shirt and the long black shorts. Oh, I know you wouldn't consider them to be long nowadays. Yes, the scrawny one - I know, I know, you wouldn't think it to look at me now. Yes, I do mean the one with his hands tied behind him. Some bloke was stopped in a train on the embankment and he took the photo. He found out which Scout Troop was camping down there and sent the negative to our Skip. We all had prints made.

OK, sit down and I'll tell you the story.

It wasn't my first Scout camp and I knew what to expect but back in those days people were a bit more robust about such things. I was fourteen and a gangly kid. In those days I had that mop of dirty blonde hair. I haven't always been a slap-head, you know, but remember: baldness runs in our family and you're my grandson!

OK, so it was like this:

My Troop was camped on a nice, flat field in a curve of the railway. It had lots of room for our two patrol tents, a mess tent and a supplies tent along with a couple of hike tents for the SPL's and another "Icelandic" for the Scouters. There was also a large area of woodland (There, see?) with lots of Rhoddies for cover. We were playing a wide game.

The playing area was the woodland and it was my patrol, the Otters, against the Owls. The game came in two parts. In the first innings, we had five minutes to hide in the woods before the Owls came looking for us. We all had to have our neckers tucked half into the backs of our trousers (or shorts in my case) and, when one of the hunters managed to pull it free, the hunted boy had to surrender to him to be dealt with as the Owls saw fit. What stopped things going too far was the knowledge that after an hour the teams would change over.

So, off I went into the woods and found a convenient place to hide but unfortunately my mate, Rob, who was in the Owls, knew me too well and found me quite quickly. I ran for it but he was always quicker than me. He reached out and pulled the neckerchief clear of my shorts. I froze.

Rob gloated about being the Great Hunter as he twirled my necker and told me to get my wrists behind me. You'd be surprised how well an expert can tie a cooperative prisoner's hands behind him with one of them. And we were experts!

I was then escorted to where we had prepared the "Prison" before the game. The Prison consisted of a very heavy rope that would later be used to make an aerial runway using our pioneering skills. Yes, we did; it was a long time ago and we did things like that then. It had been laid out straight and fastened securely to an arrangement of marquee stakes at either end. Rob reminded me that I had surrendered before removing my bindings. He then took a thin rope, doubled it and ordered me to cross my wrists. In less than a minute he had wrapped my wrists both vertically and horizontally and, by the time he had added a couple of frapping turns between my wrists, I was fairly securely bound.

Yes, he had to swap the necker for the rope. We'd found in the past that, if a man managed to free himself from his necker, he simply pushed it back into his trousers and joined in the game again. Without my "life" I couldn't take part any more.

Rob tied another rope around the pioneering rope with a prussic knot to stop me moving it too easily and brought the free ends up between my wrists, wrapped one end round each wrist and pulled my wrists towards the ground. It's a good job he was my mate, that bit could have been painful. His final act was to slip the free ends opposite ways under the large rope and to bring them back up again before tying them off between my wrists.

I couldn't quite stand straight but I wasn't too uncomfortable. Rob ran off to hunt down someone else taking my necker with him.

Oh yes, that other guy, the one being marched out of the woods, that's Carlos. He was a mixed race kid, you can see that by the Afro and the olive coloured skin. You can see why I didn't want to take my shirt off alongside him. That torso attracted all the birds on school sports days. I couldn't see what he had that I didn't.

Carlos had decided to play shirtless and in his camouflage combats. You know, he even chose the colours so that they would look good on him. Paul and Spike had caught him and they couldn't be bothered to tie him up as they marched him to Prison because they knew he couldn't resist and they could take an arm each. Very soon Carlos was tied in very much the same way as I was. Yes, we probably did wear those inane grins most of the way through the game.

The Owls decided that there was no need to guard us and they were right about that. We'd been left about four yards apart and it would have taken us longer to work our way to be close enough to one another to be able to untie each other than there was before the whistle went for the end of the innings.

Of course, once our captors had returned to the game, it was our duty to try to escape as our surrender only lasted until they'd finished tying us up. And any case, if we could free ourselves, we could avoid the "forfeit" stage. The two of us did our best to free ourselves whilst chatting away. I explained a few things to Carlos, who was new to the Troop, but he'd already guessed what to expect before the game had even started.

After less than ten minutes, the SPL's whistle sounded. Boys gradually appeared from the woods while Carlos and I continued our struggles. I reckon I got nearer to freeing myself than Carlos did but, unfortunately, near enough was not good enough as both erstwhile hunters and hunted gradually surrounded us.

It was time for negotiation and scores. There was no doubt, really; they scored two captives and neither of us had escaped: four points. Now we had to hope that our PL could negotiate our freedom. You can always tell who your friends are. Do you know what he said? 'Nah, you can have 'em; useless pair of tossers.' Like I said: you can always tell. Once the Owl's PL reminded everyone that Carlos was new to the Troop, our fate was sealed. There was bound to be a Camp Christening.

Go on, finish those biscuits, your mum'll be back soon. Camp Christening? Yes. Don't you have them now? We all had to go through one before we were properly accepted into the Troop. No one ever came to any harm and it felt sort of right, really. The grown-ups usually simply kept their noses out of it.

Alright then, here's what happened:

I told 'Moth', our PL, what I thought of him. That probably wasn't a good idea; I might have got away with being treated less harshly before that but . . .

A couple of Scouts were left to guard us while the others went to prepare. A Camp Christening was a sort of solemn ceremony really - if you can call all that yelling and laughing solemn. I just had to grit my teeth and bear it. Perhaps I shouldn't have been so concerned about being bare-chested beside Carlos. It would have probably have saved my t-shirt.

'Vinny', one of the SPL's called over that they were 'ready for guests' and we were both freed from the heavy rope but we still had our wrists bound and Rob noticed that I had nearly freed myself so, as a real friend would, he just pulled my right hand back through the bindings and massaged them until I was secure again.

Carlos and I were guided round the corner of the wood and we noticed that the Troop was ready to 'entertain' us. We could really have guessed.

I was made to stand with my back to a fair-sized pine tree and Carlos was positioned round the back. We were strongly, errm, 'recommended' to cooperate because there were more of them than there were of us. We were both sensible lads.

I was pulled away from the tree and Rob untied me but two more of my 'mates' held an arm each. Obviously they were doing the same to Carlos. The two PL's then bound our right wrists to the other guy's left. It wasn't painful but it certainly wasn't comfortable and we weren't left with much opportunity to flex our elbows. Just to make our lives more wretched before the 'forfeits' really started, a couple of the Scouts pulled our right feet towards each other's left ones and rope-cuffed them. Oooh, not back far enough to cause any real stress, just far enough to make us slightly unstable. Did I tell you we were experts?

Moth announced that we were at the mercy of the Owls but our fellow Otters didn't seem to understand and prepared to join in as well. Ah, the 'International Brotherhood of Scouts'! The bowls of far-from-clean water from the ditch at the bottom of the embankment still managed to be cold in spite of the warm sunshine as they found their targets. No one seemed to bother that they were splashing one another comprehensively as well as their intended targets and the assault must have lasted a good ten minutes because they kept going and re-filling their washing up bowls. I was beginning to think that we were going to get away with just that minor ducking until Moth called for order.

My shoulders sagged as I heard the instructions that we were to be polished. Even boys who didn't have proper black shoes seemed to have brought shoe-cleaning kit with them and our faces were soon painted like minstrels. 'OK, leave 'em to dry.' were the best words I'd heard that morning. It meant that our ordeal was nearly over.

After a good ten minutes, during which we were given water and even a share of our mates' sweets, it was time to be released and we were once more surrounded by the rest of the Troop. Our wrists were released and I heard the protest from Carlos. It was soon obvious why.

His hands had been raised and were being bound with a lot of rope between them round the tree leaving his armpits cruelly exposed. Carlos guessed what was about to befall him. He knew there was no point in protesting but he wasn't going to go quietly. Once my feet had been released I could see him more clearly. He could stand more easily now and his stretched teenage musculature still looked quite impressive.

Carlos tried to get himself as comfortable as he could and, once he thought he had done so, his ankles were pulled back again and secured with a rope round the tree just far enough apart to be really inconvenient and to pull his heels off the ground.

We left him to settle in for a couple of minutes before Vinny announced that he had a choice between wet and dry. Carlos thought that, having already received a soaking, there was nothing to lose by choosing 'wet' especially as it was obvious what 'dry' would involve. Have you ever heard of 'Hobson's Choice'?

Vinny said that the Owls should go and prepare for a 'wet' Camp Christening and, so as not to waste time, why didn't the Otters welcome their new patrol member with the 'dry' torment? See what I mean? Needless to say, the five of us set to with a will. Carlos's armpits, belly, chin, neck and sides all got a thorough tickling while the others disappeared to the ditch with their bowls. You know, I didn't think he'd be capable of that much movement or that anyone could be so ticklish. Skip even got up out of his chair saying that he wanted to make sure that no one was actually slaughtering a pig.

The Owls returned, the Otters retired to a safe distance and Carlos wondered why his ducking hadn't started. The Owls approached nearer and it was then that Carlos got to see what was in the bowls. Do you know: in that week, I learnt quite a lot of Spanish swear words?

The Owls got close enough to touch their target and a deeply felt, resigned sigh exhaled its way out from his athletic chest. In no time flat, nasty, smelly mud festooned the entire front of the initiate while we went for our share of the mud. Upon our return, there wasn't much of Carlos showing so Rob pulled his belt and the front of his briefs away from his belly while I slid the contents of my bowl into the newly created space. Carlos stopped yelling and simply groaned.

We all put our bowls down and gave Carlos a round of applause. Vinny asked him if it was safe to untie him and Carlos said, on his honour, that it was. We released him whilst trying not to get too near the mud that was still dripping from him as he tried to shake it over us and, once we'd got him untied, we retired to a safe distance. Scout's Honour is Scout's Honour but, in this case, all it meant was that he'd let us live if he caught us. We all understood that.

A chaotic game of chase started with Carlos doing his best to embrace anybody whom he could catch and the rest of us taunting him to do so. Very soon, twelve more-or-less muddy boys in various states of dishabille ended up in the canal. It was safe in those days. Well, except for a touch of Weil's Disease and no one seemed to take any notice of that because we'd never heard of anyone who'd caught it.

Oh, here's your mum. Get your stuff. Have fun on camp next week."

[cj2125]

Stories liked this makes me wish I would have joined the scouts when I was a kid. Like the small details that made it clear that it’s been told through the narrator’s filter

[Xtc]

Thanks for that. I like writing in a conversational style at times. It makes a change from reading tracts of supposedly reported speech written in such a way that nobody would ever say it. (A bugbear of mine )

[MaxRoper]

Absolutely wonderful! Having it told to the writer's grandson is an inspired touch. Well done, sir!

[Veracity]

I love love love this story.

[Xtc]

I love love love this story.

I was lucky to have this tale mor or less write itself following the unexpected discovery that I've related in "A Memory".

Absolutely wonderful! Having it told to the writer's grandson is an inspired touch. Well done, sir!

Thanks but, at my current age, it made more sense that way. It felt more natural.