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The Grand Contest

by Romanirob

Chapter 4: The Camp in the Woods.

Every term, we went camping as a school group for a week. The army cadets had a long camp during the spring break, but not many kids joined the cadets, so the cadet camps were smaller. Haines was in charge of our section of the camp which was being held on the banks of the Clifford River. Our campsite was on the other side of town, well away from Clifford River Station.

Officially, the camp was supposed to promote outdoor activities. We were to do a scientific survey of the local wildlife. The Physical education side was to be accomplished via rock-climbing, hiking, and orienteering.

“You won’t need those,” Haines said, pointing to our neatly coiled ropes which we had ready to put into our backpacks.

“You know, we are going to have to ‘deal’ with that boy,” Steven said after Haines left to supervise the younger boys.

“And just how are we going to do that, Tank?” asked Chopper.

“We’re going to have to brainstorm that one,” I said. “What’s he got against Tugs, anyway?”

For some reason, our house Prefect had a definite set against Tugs. In a way, that was dangerous. He was in a position to influence the staff against it, and we certainly didn’t want that happening.

“Has he ever been tied up?” Michael asked. “He could have been in a bad scene some time.”

We decided to think about it for a while. We’d prefer to have tugs on the camp, but if we couldn’t, we couldn’t. Just in case there was a change of mind, we coiled the ropes around our bodies and hid them beneath our clothes in our packs.

The camp was well organised. We woke at six-thirty and rushed to the showers, which were fed from a water tank, and freezing cold. Then we queued up for breakfast – cereal followed by toast-made-on-the-barbie, eggs fried on the Barbie, sausages, tomatoes, and you guessed it, chips done on the Barbie, too.
After breakfast, we had to tidy our tents for inspection, then report for parade by nine o’clock. Then we were told what activities we were going to do.

Our first task was to set up an environmental survey. We learnt how to make a map by taking two Polaroid photographs and using them to cross reference it. Actually, it was a lot of fun – especially when we got things wrong. We recorded the most common plants, and insects such as ant nests were easy.

Lunch was sandwiches and plastic cups of cordial, and either an orange or a banana. I chose the latter.
After lunch, we had rock climbing and abseiling. Then we had a supervised swim. Swimming is about the most dangerous activity in any school camp, but is safe if it’s properly organised. Haines knew I was a strong swimmer, with a bronze medallion, so we sat on chairs on the bank watching everyone else have fun. It was a good chance to have a yarn with him.

He started it. “I noticed that you lot brought your ropes out, even though I told you not to,” he said.
“We wouldn’t disobey you, Haines,” I said. “You said we wouldn’t need them. You didn’t actually say not to bring them.”

He looked out over the water to count the kids swimming. “You know damned well that was what I meant,” he said.

“Have you ever been tied up?” I asked.

“The ugly step-father’s idea of discipline,” he said. “I hate it.”

“If he does it to you against your will, it’s child abuse. You should tell someone.”

“Oh, yes. He goes to jail, Mum hates me, and I end up on the streets. No house captain, no first cricket team, no graduation, no university and no degree. Get real.”

I noticed Tyler and Cody were swimming out of bounds. They’d gone out too far. I blew my whistle and signaled them to come closer to the bank.

“You should join us,” I told him. “We can teach you how to escape from anything, and give you an excuse to spend your holidays with us.”

“You just want to tie me up,” he said with a half bitter smile.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “It’s different,” I said. “Tugs is consensual – if you say ‘stop’ we stop. It isn’t a punishment. I love playing tugs. When you do it with your friends, it feels really great.”

He didn’t pull away from me. “We could do something easy. What if you try ‘The Mummy’ first. We could do it tonight. It doesn’t hurt.”

So that night, Joe Haines spent a couple of hours in his sleeping bag, wrapped up with gaffer tape. It was firm, but not tight. We laid him on a softly inflated single mattress, and covered his eyes and ears so he couldn’t see or hear anything. It was simple sensory deprivation. After a while, his brain entered the crush reflex state. It’s a bit like being off your face, but without chemicals. It’s better than ganja. being restrained was very pleasant.

The next afternoon, when swimming was finished, the tugs group drifted off to a quiet corner of the camping ground and played hogties, spreadeagles, suspensions, and escapology. Haines joined us. He didn’t have a uniform, but wore his black polar-fleece tracksuit. It was soft and warm.

For his first ties, Joe was paired off with Steven. I sheer lashed his hands in front of him and got him to put them over Steven’s head so they were behind his back. Steven’s hands were tied behind Joe’s back. Their ankles were tied together, and they were cinched together, around their chests. We placed them side by side on the grass.

Tony tied me to Michael, back to back. He did a thorough job of it, and neither of us could move. Chopper hogtied Froggy and Gusto, then got spread-eagled between two trees by Tony. His job was to be the ‘safety person’ so he sat back under a tree to watch us for any problems. Chopper was the first to escape, and he began to tidy our ropes as we released ourselves. We rubbed the rope marks on our wrists and ankles and stretched ourselves to get rid of feeling cramped.
Then we walked back to camp as a group. We were due for tea.

“How was it?’ I asked Haines later as we sat side by side on a log, spooning the rich stew that Peter and the cooks had made.
“I thought I’d be scared,” he said, “but it was easy. Actually, it did feel good. I’m surprised. I thought I’d hate it. I got the chance to really know Steven, close up and personally,” he laughed.

“We’re not lovers,” Steven joked. “Just good friends.”

I looked over at him, and his eyes met mine. It was a fleeting moment. It was an all-boys boarding school, and some of us were more than good friends. After tea, we had a ‘quiet time’ which meant we were left to our own devices. Steven and I found a comfortable log and sat on it, side by side, with our arms over each other’s shoulders. Our physical relationship never went further than that, even though we loved each other deeply.
Activities at camp were tough, and we didn’t want to face the next day half tired, so we didn’t do any overnight tugs. We slept – and soundly.

That night, it rained. The modern plastic coated tents didn’t leak, but anyone who has ever camped in the rain knows – wet weather makes for a wet camp.

We were camping in the ‘tents’ area of the national park. There was a collection of huts normally used by people who were camping indoors. We moved there for breakfast, and assembled later in the camp hall. A low pressure area had moved in from the Pacific Ocean, and the school staff had to re-organise the camp program. They opened the ‘Wet Weather Alternative File’ and set to work organising us.

© 2009 by Romanirob

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