Lincoln Loud was kind of a sissy. Well, maybe "sissy" wasn't the right word; a lot of other boys his age liked playing sports, roughhousing, and being filthy, but he preferred nice, quiet indoor activities, like video games. He wasn't OCD, but he didn't like getting dirty, and if his clothes got covered in dirt, dust, or grime, he made a B-line for home. Going to summer camp, therefore, was the very last thing Lincoln ever thought he'd do, but here he was anyway, packed with thirty other kids into an old school bus painted white and topped by a roof rack overflowing with bags, suitcases, and boxes. The bus swayed and creaked, the engine coughed and sputtered, and even with every single window open, the heat was unbearable.

He was shoved against the window with his knees pressed tightly together and his hands resting in his lap, the kid next to him, a boy named Thad, so fat he took up all but a tiny sliver of the seat. Lincoln breathed through his mouth because the boy's armpits threw off a powerful, nostril pinching odor, and if he took too deep a breath, he could taste it on his tongue. Like onions.

Shiver.

The heat combined with being crammed like a sardine into a can conspired to give him a headache, but worse was the singing. A female counselor with curly black hair and a big, creepy smile stood at the front of the bus with an acoustic guitar slung around one shoulder and lead the campers in a butchered rendition of all your least favorite hits. She wore white shorts and a light blue shirt with CAMP ROLLING HILLS across the chest; her name was Angela, and she was one of those annoyingly perky people who bounce through life on an endless happy high. She was making her way through her fifth encore of 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall, and all the off-key shouting was beginning to turn Lincoln's headache into a full blown migraine.

Drawing a deep, stagnant breath that hardly filled his lungs, Lincoln gazed out the grimy window. The bus was presently lumbering down a zigzagging two lane highway fifteen miles from nowhere. Weak afternoon sunlight filtered through tall pine trees crowding the blacktop. They'd been en route for what felt like hours, and Lincoln's stomach was starting to churn with heat-and-headache induced nausea.

A very large part of him already regretted coming, but there was one upside to the next two weeks.

Nikki.

In May, Ronnie Anne, Bobby, and Nikki came to visit Royal Woods and Lincoln and Nikki kind of got together...in more ways than one. They planned to see each other as often as they could over the summer, but things never quite worked out; each time they set a date, something would happen to keep them apart. In June, Nikki fell off her skateboard and sprained her ankle the day before she was supposed to take the bus to Royal Woods, and in early July, two days before Lincoln was set to take a commuter train into the city, Pop-Pop died; he flipped his 'Vette going eighty miles down Route 10 to impress his eighteen-year-old girlfriend and wound up compressing her instead...because the engine crushed her to death.

Last week, Nikki called him with a suggestion. "Hey, snow boy, my mom enrolled me in some gay ass summer camp thing, and I thinking: Why don't you go too? That way we hang." She put a lurid little lift on the word hang that made Lincoln's dick stir in its sleep.

"Okay!"

It wasn't until later that he really meditated on all the crap that goes into summer camp - like bunking with a bunch of guys you don't know, sunburn, poison ivy, dumb arts and even dumber crafts, more sunburn, Jason Voorhees, and, uh...that's all he could think of. Literally the only knowledge he had on the topic came from horror movies he watched with Lucy, so his expectations involved lots of sex, drugs, and being brutally murdered by a guy in a hockey mask. Seeing Nikki would be worth it, though. Not only did he really like spending time with her, he really liked "spending time with her."

As in alone.

With no clothes on.

Ever since their first (and as yet only) time in the forest, Lincoln couldn't stop thinking about the way her body looked and felt; her shapely hips, firm little butt, budding breasts, the wet heat between her legs...it was enough to drive him crazy. They made a pact over the phone to not play with themselves before meeting up again, and two plus months later, he was so backed up one wrong move would set him off.

His only regret was not doing more with her when he had the chance. He spent the past sixty days wishing he sucked her tit, ate her pussy, kissed her entire body from the bottoms of her feet to the crown of her forehead. Just as soon as they were by themselves, he planned to glut himself on her until he was so stuffed he'd have to unbutton his jeans just for a little relief.

The bus jostled as it ran over a skunk, and his dick twitched. He pressed his legs even tighter together and covered his crotch with his hands. Like all the other campers, he wore a blue CAMP ROLLING HILLS T and thin white shorts that stopped halfway to the knee. To quote this song he heard on YouTube once, it's kind of hard to hide a raging hard-on when you're dressed like Minnie Pearl.

Something struck him in the back of the head and landed in his lap. A balled up piece of paper. He twisted in his seat, and at the very back, Chandler smirked challengingly. A tall boy with reddish brown hair, dark eyes, and high, arrogant cheekbones, Chandler was the biggest bully in Royal Woods; he made fun of people, stole their lunch money, and beat them up just for fun. He sat between his cronies Poppa Wheelie and Ricky E, the latter a tall, thin Hispanic kid with swarthy features and a sneering grimace that invited you to try and wipe it off. When Lincoln got on the bus and saw them, his shoulders slumped and his opinion of camp went from "stupid" to "gay" in 0.1 seconds flat.

He really hoped he didn't have to share a cabin with him.

At the front, Angela reached the end of her song, and strummed the guitar strings with a flourish that would make Luna proud. "Alright, campers," she cried in that upbeat voice of hers, "this next song is very close to my heart. As you miiiiight have noticed, I love camp." Here her voice welled with emotion and she blinked as if against tears. Lincoln rolled his eyes and shook his head; God, what a dork. "Camp is a special, magical place where good memories are made and lasting friendships forged. There's no place on earth like camp, and I envy each one of you experiencing it for the first time." She sniffled and rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm. "I'll sing it first, then we'll all sing it together, okay?"

A muted mumble went through the bus.

Plucking the strings, Angela began to sing, and Lincoln winced.

"Oh, I'm a Happy Camper,

I love the summer sun,

I love the trees and forest,

I'm always having fun.

Oh I'm a Happy Camper,

I love the clear blue sky,

And with the Grace of God,

I'll camp until I die."

She flashed a big cheesy smile and looked around expectantly, reminding Lincoln of Spongebob when he made a friendship sweater for Squidward out of his pubic hair. Do you looooooove it? "Now everyone!"

Again, she strummed the guitar, and everyone began to sing except for Lincoln. He knew there would be lame songs, but he assumed those were safely confined to nighttime gathers around the bonfire.

Angela looked around, and when her eyes settled on him, her smile fell. She stopped playing and held up her fist like a soldier calling for his platoon to be quiet. The singing tapered off, and she walked over. She was a short woman and weighed barely more than Lincoln himself, but there was a hard glint in her eyes that made him uncomfortable. "Why aren't you singing, little boy?" she asked.

Ugh, because this song sucks. "I just don't feel like it," Lincoln mumbled to his lap.

"Why ever not?"

"I just don't like -" he looked up and the words died on his lips. Shadows nestled in Angela's features and her eyes burned like two coals.

She leaned over, and Thad cringed. Lincoln's blood ran cold, and he learned just what a cornered animal really feels like. "Sing the damn song," Angela hissed, "or I'll send you home."

Lincoln gulped, and Angela stood up straight, her face beaming and sunny once more. "'Kay?" she chirped.

All Lincoln could do was nod.

Angela resumed her spot at the front of the bus, and this time Lincoln sang every single word with hearty gusto.

Ten minutes later, the bus turned off the highway and followed a rutted dirt road through a stand of forest. The frame violently jostled as the tires dipped into potholes, and a few girls squealed in alarm. After a mile, the road filtered out into a wide, dusty clearing on the shore muddy shore of a still and tranquil lake. Tumbledown cabins were arranged in a semi-circle around a patch of dirt, and another, longer building, presumably the cafeteria, stood off to one side by itself like a school yard outcast. A long pier jutted out into the water and a line of overturned canoes waited on the bank for someone to come along and use them.

A half dozen buses were parked off to the left, and a massive gathering of kids, some as young as ten and others as old as seventeen and all dressed in shorts and T-shirts, crowded the commons between cabins. Lincoln sat forward and scanned the mass for Nikki, but didn't see her.

The bus pulled to a stop and the folding doors fell open. "Alright, campers," Angela said and bounded off, "follow me to fun!"

Lincoln waited for everyone to get up and file past before slipping out of the seat and following; his back was sore, his butt itched, and his knees hurt from sitting so long, but he was amped to see Nikki. Outside, the hot, humid air wrapped itself around him like a sodden towel, and the pounding rays of the inferno sun bathed his exposed skin like acid. Angela, giddily grinning like a small girl, herded them into the commons, and Lincoln looked around for Nikki again. He saw boys and girls, short, fat, skinny, tall, pretty, and ugly, but no Nikki.

At the head of the pack, four camp counselors - two men and two women - scanned clipboards and conferred like witches at a black mass. Someone bumped into Lincoln, shoving him forward, and he looked back to find Chandler flanked by his buddies, his hands on his hips and his forearms far more muscular and toned than they ought to be for a boy his age. Lincoln's heart skipped a beat and he swallowed thickly. He hated giving the devil his due, but he, Lincoln, was weak, and Chandler was strong; there was nothing he could do but keep his head down and pray to God the older boy moved onto the next victim quickly. "Hey, Loud," Chandler said in that slow, sleepy way of his, "ready for camp?"

Please, go away. "Uh, yeah," Lincoln said, "I'm...I'm really looking forward to it."

Chandler tilted forward, and Lincoln instinctively shrank back. Grinning evilly, eyes blazing much as Angela's had, the older boy said, "So am I."

Ominously.

Lincoln gulped, and Chandler issued a sharp, hissing laugh. His toadies leered like a couple of junkyard dogs held back only by their master's whim, and Lincoln got the distinct impression that if Chandler told them to, they'd rip him to pieces with pleasure.

"Now if you'll excuse me," Chandler said, "there's cute little redhead over there who needs her butt pinched."

He and his crew took their leave, and Lincoln let out a pent up breath. From the wicked light in Chandler's eyes, Lincoln knew one thing, and he knew it well: Chandler was going to make his time at Camp Rolling Hills a nightmare.

Great. Just another reason he shouldn't have come.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and he whipped around, heart in throat. Nikki, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, drew back. Her hair, like a golden spill of sunshine, covered half of her face, and her one visible eye, crystal blue, sparkled merrily. Her pink lips turned up at the corners in a delighted grin that was somehow both mischievous and innocent at the same time. "Damn, you're jumpy."

Lincoln relaxed. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," she replied. She bent over and they hugged, the feeling of her in his arms right and good after so long apart. Feeling brave, he grabbed her butt and squeezed, making her jump. "Didja miss me, Snow White?" she laughed.

"Yes," Lincoln said honestly.

Feeling even braver, he brushed his lips over the side of her neck, and she giggled. "I missed you too." She stood up straight and brushed her fingers nervously through her hair. The cottony fabric of her slightly too small T-shirt clung to the swell of her tiny breasts and the hem rode up her taut stomach, bearing her navel, her hips, and the faint abdominal V pointing down to her sex like a flashing neon arrow. Come and get it, Linc-o~

Her breasts looked a little bigger than last time, and Lincoln's hand ached to cup and knead them. He went back to how soft and warm them were, how they quivered against his palms with the crazy beat of her heart, and his dick threatened to stiffen.

"So, uh, this is camp," she said and looked around. She nodded resignedly to herself. "Looks pretty dope." She brightened. "Yo, I saw Bigfoot on the way up."

Lincoln fondly rolled his eyes. Nikki loved messing around. She was kind of like Luan, if Luan wasn't a sociopath who enjoyed sicking raccoons on people. When he first met her, he found it tedious, but she eventually won him over, and now he loved it.

No, really, he loved her playful nature just as much as he loved her body. Nikki was genuinely fun to be around, even if her constant kidding got him banned from Gus's and almost resulted in them being whacked by a mobster.

"I doubt that," he said, "it was probably just a really hairy hitchhiker."

"Nah, man, he was Bigfoot. He told me."

Lincoln lifted an inquisitive brow. "How'd he tell you?"

She shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. "He just told me. Said Yo, I'm Bigfoot, what's good?"

Nikki was so, so much more than her, ahem, assets, but Lincoln couldn't help staring at the hypnotic slope of her hips, defined just enough to hint at her biological purpose and begging to be held. His face flushed and he looked down at his feet in an attempt to keep from getting hard.

God, he couldn't wait to get her alone.

Should he grab her hips? He wanted to, badly.

Throwing caution to the wind, he took her hips in his hands and pulled her body flush to his. Because she was so tall, his eyes came level with her breasts, and he was perfectly fine with that. She laid her arms on his shoulders and crossed her wrists in an X, caging him. Her skin was warmer than her remembered, silkier, and her smell, clean and light like summer rain, tantalized his senses. They stared into each other's eyes, and then leaned into each other.

Before their lips could touch, however, an arm thrust between them, and they pulled apart, each with a cry of alarm. "That is not appropriate for camp," Angela scolded. Her lips were a tight, white slash and her forehead crinkled severely. "This is a wholesome place, and I'd like to keep it that way."

She jabbed an admonishing finger at Lincoln, then Nikki. "Uh, yeah, sure," Nikki said and sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck. "Sorry."

Angelea made a V with her fingers, touched her eyes, then pointed at Lincoln and Nikki. "I'm watching you," she said, "and if I see anything dirty, I will send the both of you home."

"We won't do anything dirty," Nikki said, "I promise, we're just friends."

The woman lingered for a moment, then went off to bug someone else, and Nikki looked after her. "Wow," she said, "doing it's not gonna be easy with her around."

Doing it?

Booooooooing.

"Yeah," he coughed, "I guess not."

"Whatever," Nikki said and lidded her eyes, "that just adds to the excitement."

Lincoln didn't need anymore excitement; his nuts were so heavy with it they knocked together like two bowling balls when walked.

Momentarily, one of the councilors, a muscular man with blonde hair who reminded Lincoln of Joey from Full House, called for everyone's attention. The chatter died and the assemblage went gradually silent. "Alright, campers, I'm Kevin, the head counselor here at Camp Rolling Hills." He paused as if expecting a thunderous round of applause. Angela, standing next to him, clapped her hands and bounced excitedly up and down. Kevin ducked his head and held up as his as if to silence the non-existent adoration. "The next two weeks are going to be, I think, our best ever. We have lots of fun stuff planned including a special…" he trailed. "I shouldn't say." He clapped his hands together and rustled them crisply, "Anyway, first thing's first, cabins."

There were four cabins at Camp Rolling Hills, not including the consculor's cabin and the mess hall, two for boys and two for girls. As luck would have it, Lincoln was assigned to Cabin 3A while Chandler and his butt buddies were packed off to 3B. Inside, the floor planks were coated in dust, the wooden walls scuffed and scarred by years and the elements, and the furniture was falling apart. Two rows of simple wooden bunk beds, five apiece, faced each other across the room, each attended by a rickety dresser. A big green throw rug sat in the middle, and in a little alcove, a card table and an old, threadbare couch comprised the dayroom. There was a bigger, supposedly better equipped one off the dining hall, but Lincoln had yet to see it.

There were eight other boys in the cabin besides Lincoln, including Thad, the fat kid from the bus. Lincoln was hoping for a bed to himself, but of course, that didn't happen. He claimed one as far away from the door as possible, sat on the bottom mattress, and started unpacking his bag. A boy with messy black hair and glasses came over, and after a moment's contemplation, climbed the ladder and sat on the top bunk. Dude, there are other bunks open, do you really have to come over here? Wanna use the urinal next to mine as well?

Every cabin was assigned a counselor; 3A's was Kevin himself. After everyone had unpacked, he lead them to the dining hall, which was just as Spartan and rustic as everything else: Timber walls, wood floors, and rafters where cobwebs danced in unfeelable breezes. A dozen long tables dominated the dining room, and by the time Lincoln got his tray, the building had begun to fill as other cabins came in. He took a seat by the door with some of the guys from his cabin and critically examined his food. Beef patty slathered in gravy, watery mashed potatoes, sickly green beans, and a hard, possibly stale dinner roll.

Scrum-diddily-umptious.

"I hope this is Kosher," his bunkmate whined from across the table, Thin and pale, his name was Sherman and he put Lincoln in mind of every movie geek he'd ever seen. His black glasses, taped in the middle, slid down his hooked nose, and he pushed them back up with his finger.

Thad, sitting next to him, looked at his tray. "If it's not, can I have it?"

Sherman dug in his pocket, pulled out an inhaler, and took a hit.

"It's probably possum," another kid, this one named Rachaud said from down the table. He was thin and mixed with bushy black hair. He reminded Lincoln of someone, but he couldn't place it, and it danced mockingly on the tip of his tongue. "I hear they cook raccoons and stuff to keep food costs down."

Lincoln prodded the meat with his fork and sneered. "I believe it." He was really hungry, though.

He was cutting it in half when Nikki dropped into the seat next to him. "Man, this food looks good," she said. She stabbed her patty with her fork, brought it to her mouth, and tore off a huge bite; gravy dribbled down her chin and dropped onto the front of her shirt like drops of blood. Sherman watched in horror, and slyly licking his lips, Thad stole his bread.

"How does it taste?" Lincoln asked cautiously.

Nikki thought for a minute. "I dunno, like food?" She took a bite of her mashed potatoes. "How's your cabin? Is it cool? Mine sucks. It's haunted and everything."

"Yeah?" Lincoln asked, playing along, "by what?"

She opened her mouth, but a familiar high pitched voice cut her off. "Nicole, why are you sitting with the boys?" Angela asked. She crossed her arms and stared down at the back of Nikki's head like that guy from the old show (Lucy...you have some 'splaining to do!). Nikk froze, then hurriedly chewed and swallowed.

"It's not against the rules, is it?"

Before coming over here, Kevin read a list of rules, then posted them to a corkboard in the cabin dayroom. Boys and girls weren't allowed to go in the other's cabins or be alone together, but he didn't say anything about them not being able to sit next to each other in the dining room.

"Given what I caught you two doing earlier," Angela said tightly, "it is."

Nikki threw her head back and let out a deep sigh.

"Don't give me that, young lady," Angela said and pointed, "go sit with the girls. I have super awesome camp stories to tell you guys. Trust me, you're gonna love it." She laughed and waved her hand.

Hanging her head, Nikki got up and grabbed her tray. She darted her eyes to Lincoln and winked.

He winked back.

When she was gone, Lincoln sighed. This Angela woman was going to do everything she could to keep him and Nikki apart; that would make things a little harder, but by no means impossible. Where there's a will, there's a way.

Dipping his fork into his mashed potatoes, he realized that the other guys were gaping at him, and a hot blush spread across the back of his neck.

"You have a girlfriend?" Sherman asked in a tone of breathless wonder.

"Dude, what's it like?" Thad asked.

"You guys kiss yet?" Rachaud put in.

Lincoln chafed. "Uh, yeah, we kissed."

And a lot more, he thought but didn't add.

"Whoa," Rachaud marveled, "that's awesome."

"Did you use tongue?" Thad asked.

"Yeah, we used tongue."

The three boys stared at him, then erupted in congratulations, and for the first time in his life, Lincoln Loud felt cool.

Across the room, Chandler plucked Poppa Wheelie's roll off his tray without asking and took a crunchy bite; Poppa did not challenge him, but accepted it as his lot in life, the way a grunt accepts his general's orders. Chandler was used to getting what he wanted in life - his parents had money and spoiled him, his friends recognized his innate superiority, and none of the girls he groped and kissed had ever said no. In every human relationship, his father once told him, there is a dominant party and a submissive party, and Chandler made sure that he was always the former and never the latter. To be submissive was to be weak, and he was anything but weak. Others asked, Chandler took, and right now, Chandler wanted one thing.

Lincoln Loud's girlfriend.

He was not attracted to the tall blonde...in fact, he found her height and scrawny frame thoroughly unappealing. He wanted her simply because Loud had her, and something about Loud pissed him off to no end. Maybe it was the white hair or the chipped teeth, but just looking at the little faggot made him mad. Stealing his girlfriend and breaking his heart would be so much more satisfying than bullying him. Amateurs leave bruises and broken bones, but it takes a true master to inflict emotional and psychological wounds, and Chandler considered himself a true master.

Plus, getting a girl away from her boyfriend is more of a challenge than getting a single girl. Not much of one when you're Chandler McCann, but enough that it would make a nice two or three day game.

"I'm gonna take Loud's girlfriend away," he said, and smiled to himself.

"The really tall chick?" Ricky asked.

Chandler nodded. "Umhm." He tossed the roll over his shoulder and crossed his arms. "I might even fuck her...and make Loud watch."

He laughed, and Ricky and Poppa Wheelie both chuckled nervously.

Kevin was right, the next two weeks were going to be the best ever.