Hiking Up Red-Ant Trail

One summer when we were living in California instead of Mexico, I went to a camp up in the mountains. It was not a scout camp but we learned a lot of similar skills.

One of our activities was for an experienced guide not more than a year or two older than us to lead a group of newbies through rough country and teach us how to follow a secretly marked trail. This was repeated several times along different trails. Each trail had a name: Twisted Trunk Trail, Red-Ant Trail, Barbed Wire Trail, etc. In order to earn awards and cred, we had to learn how to follow a nearly invisible path, watching for broken sticks, piled rocks and other signs. The guides moved the markers around before each hike so we never took the same route twice.

Partway along our first trail I told the boys near me that I had to pause to take a leak and would catch up with them in a minute. Some of the guys had been on that trail before and they urged me not to piss yet. "Wait 'till we get to the end of the trail up at the ant bed," they said sort of mysteriously.

The boys seemed to know what they were talking about, so I waited. A few minutes later we reached an enormous red-ant nest on the side of a rocky hill covered with juniper brush. "Take five!" the leader shouted. Some of the experienced campers took over while the leader went a little further and sat down on a boulder by himself. Organizing all of us into a circle around the ant bed, one of the boys shouted, "Okay! Whip 'em out!"

It took a few seconds for some of us to understand. But soon every boy was standing with his peter sticking out of his shorts. "Commence fire!" the same boy instructed, and we focused twelve streams of pee on the busy ant bed. The outraged insects swarmed out while we hurried away, laughing insanely and fastening our dicks back into our pants as we ran.

Our official leader had distanced himself from the action, staring off into the mountains while the seasoned boys organized the pee attack without him.

I made several more trips up various routes on Red-Ant Trail, grooving on the display of penises every time we flooded the ant nest. I'd experienced PE locker rooms but never seen a dozen guys pissing at once. Some of the streams were wide and splashy. Some of the boys pee'd with a great deal of force. A few just dribbled. Some piss was dark yellow and some was almost clear. And what's more, I enjoyed the the "education" of seeing that twelve dicks could all be so different. Plus a sort of sudden realization that while I was looking at their dicks, they were also looking at mine.

 At the end of the first week we were given tests. Our awards and individual cred depended on aceing the exams. Among many other things, each of us had to accept the role of temporary guide and lead one of the real guides up a trail without getting lost. I  picked Red-Ant Trail.

It was a cinch. Within thirty minutes my examiner and I stood at the edge of the ant bed. But it was an awkward moment. I'd been told that it was tradition for every camper to piss on the ants whenever he passed their nest. I'd also heard that even the leaders pee'd on the ants, but only when they were alone, never when a group could see them.

But should I pee on the ant hill in front of my examiner? If I did, would he pee with me? Or would he mark me down if I urinated in his presence? And what if he did join me? Should I avert my eyes so I wouldn't seem to be looking at his dick? He was just a boy himself. I was thirteen. I judged him to be no more than fifteen. He was nice, but he had rank. Maybe he would expect me to follow tradition. Or not. What to do?

The examiner took the initiative. "Good job," he told me when we reached the ant hill. Then he unzipped his pants: "We'd best mark our territory, don't you think?"

The two of us stood side-by-side to piss on the ants. We were shaking the last drops off our peters when the other guy said, "You start on back. I've got a little business to take care of."

I was thinking "Hmm," and kept standing there.

The guide seemed slightly embarrassed. "Go ahead," he told me. "You can make it back to camp by yourself."

I don't think he was aware of lifting and feeling of his dick while he waited for me to leave. By then he was sporting a partial erection that jutted out of his fly. His hands were doing a half-assed job of trying to hide it.

He started into a sort of gabby explanation.

"When I'm up here by myself I always give them something to really remember me by. You start on back." He squeezed his lengthening dick.

I didn't move, wondering if he was talking about what I thought he was.

"I'm just going to give them my love," he said, still babbling. "Just a little private thing between me and these red bastards."

I stared at his boner and he stared back at mine.

"Unless you want to give them your love too?" he said sort of hesitantly.

He was now very slowly sliding his hand back and forth on his hard-on. "If you need to do it too..." He left the sentence unfinished.

My dick had quickly stiffened at the direction the conversation was taking. I didn't say anything, but seeing him feeling his boner had got me erect too.

"You gonna do it too? Up to you, 'cos it's a private thing. Hey, that's a nice one." He paused and looked at me.

"You gonna hang around? Fair warning, man. Here I go!"

Now he was slowly jacking, moving his hand back and forth at a moderate pace. I was fully boned up myself, not yet jerking but wiggling my stiffie in preparation for this completely unexpected opportunity.

"Let me know if you need any help," my examiner instructed. "Sometimes another guy's hand gives you a real charge. Hey, you want to try mine for me?"

We were still standing side-by-side, both of us masturbating just a couple of feet away from the ant bed.

"Are you about to cum?" he asked. "When you're ready to shoot, aim it into the ants. Give 'em all you've got, your whole load. Ooh, ooh, here I come!"

He darted right up onto the ant hill, telling me "I'm gonna get 'em!" He continued to stroke his hard-on. "Gonna shoot! Now!" His ejaculate spewed out and shot expertly into the ants' large entrance cone which was still wet from our piss. Now squirt after squirt of my examiner's cum hit the target. The ants raged around in confused fury.

"Now you! Give it to 'em! Cum all over 'em!" He backed away from the ant hill, shaking off the last of his cum and stomping ants off his shoes.

The guy stared at my dick while I pumped it. "I'm..." I started to say.

He was instantly attentive before I could finish the sentence. "You cumming? Getting ready? Atta boy!"

He put a hand on the small of my back, urging me toward the ants.

"Cumming!" I told him. The deep-down tingly feeling of an excellent climax shook me, accompanied by a major stream of ejaculate that I shot onto the ant mound while my examiner watched with wide eyes.

"Oh! Yeah! Beautiful. Expert shot! Did it feel good? That'll fix 'em."

There was silence while we put our empty weapons back into our shorts. The guide reverted to an embarrassed quietness. "Nice of you to join me," he said in a self-conscious sort of way.

He maintained dead silence as we walked down to camp.

The next morning I happened to see my examiner dude after breakfast. "Hey! You got full marks on your trail exam!" he yelled at me. Then, trotting up closer, he leaned around and spoke in a softer voice. "Wanna go up and check on the ants this afternoon?"

We blasted those ants every day of the second week.

Arnold Stockford