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Thinking back now to that special summer years ago, it scarcely seems possible that one person, one moment can change your life. But I am witness to the truth of that assertion.

My name is Edward Hopkins, but back then I was just Eddie, sixteen years old and stuck in a farm boy's life in Brandon, Vermont. I've lived in San Francisco, New York City and London in the intervening years, but rural Brandon has left an indelible mark on me.

At sixteen, I was as horny as any other adolescent, and beat off as often as I could find some solitude. But even then my fantasies were not those of my neighbor friends, who spoke incessantly of boobs and snatch and the other crass descriptions of girls they imagined "porking". My private reveries focused on well-hung, muscular young men, and so were kept private indeed.  I pictured me and the idealized vision of delight off in the woods somewhere, hidden from the outside world, tenderly embracing, gently cuddling on a warm, summer's night. It was us, alone in perfect sexual harmony, loving each other for the moment and a thousand moments into the future. These daydreams could and did occur with growing frequency, sometimes producing a hardon at very awkward times and in very awkward places--then accompanied by a hurried exit to relieve the tension!

At sixteen, I'd already grown to 5' 9" and carried about l60 lbs of farm-hardened muscle. Daily hours of chores had built an admirable physique, and I'd grown to admire it -- especially the 7" hanging between my legs whenever I could steal some privacy in the overused, single bathroom in our house.  It was my imagination of finding this dreamboy that occupied most waking hours, for I was still a virgin and longed to be one no longer.

It was thus one summer that our local 4-H club organized a one-week camping trip to Lake Champlain, about 50 miles away. We'd gone there before a few years back when I was just beginning to grow body hair and still had trouble getting it up. What possibilities awaited me now that I was ready for and wanting my first real sexual adventure.  But prospects among any from our group seemed bleak.  Might I meet a stranger by the lake? Would I know how to go about "breaking the ice" if I did encounter the hunk of my dreams? Would I go mad asking these questions again and again?  It was only a day to departure, and a few days more before the answers would explode in front of me.

While I prepared for my camp trip to Lake Champlain, and unknown to me then, Pierre Rochelle was finishing up his afternoon work on his family's farm in Granby, Quebec. Granby was only about 90km from Montreal, but far enough away to let Pierre know how very different city life was from the rural environment in which he felt trapped. He loved his family, but the world of Granby felt so very small. The few families Pierre ever saw made him yearn for a more cosmpolitan world, the kind he'd read about in school.  

For Pierre, big cities not only offered places with a university he could go to, but maybe a gay community as well. The last few times his family had all gone to Montreal, Pierre had seen what appeared to be obvious queer neighborhoods. His dad had made deprecating remarks about the "fags", and Pierre had quietly cringed in the back seat. For he was a "fag", though not a soul knew it, and he yearned to meet many other "fags" as soon as he could escape his rural prison.

At sixteen also, he stood six foot tall, and his l65 lbs was rock hard with a well-developed chest and long, defined arms. It was the 8" that hung down out of sight that gave him the most trouble, for he wanted it OUT and exercising, not dormant and hidden!  He discovered that it got as hard as his torso muscles whenever he wrestled a neighbor boy, Jacques.  But Jacques only weighed about l25 lbs and always quit their struggle as soon as he got pinned down. One of these days Pierre hoped and prayed he'd find someone who would give him the kind of match he really wanted -- HARD, LONG and SEXY! God yes, sexy! A match where they'd wrestle until their clothes got torn off and they'd keep grabbing and groping each others naked bodies until....until....!  By this point in Pierre's imagination he'd usually shoot his wad.

Well, the local parish had collected enough money to send about a dozen teenagers across the border to a camping and swimming vacation on the shores of Lake Champlain, and Pierre was one of them.  Maybe there would be some American lad, he thought as he finished his day's chores and packed his bag for the next morning's departure.

My 4-H group and Pierre's parish youth group met the next day on the eastern shore of Lake Champlain, at two campgrounds adjacent to one another a few miles south of Burlington, Vermont. It was serendipity, nothing else possible, that led me and Pierre to the beach at the same time on our second day.

I swam out into the lake about fifty yards with a steady pace in my strokes, to get away from the group and to stimulate my arms. Then I floated on my back, staring at the cloud patterns above, when I felt a collision with someone else in the water.

"Sorry about that," said Pierre as he began to tread water after bumping into me. "I guess I really should pay more attention where I'm paddling."

"No harm done. My head's pretty hard," I answered. "It looks like we're the only ones this far out. By the way, my name's Eddie."

"Pierre here. I like a vigorous swim, and I'd probably have kept going out if we hadn't hit. Most of the rest of my group just like to paddle around in the shallow water, but I like the strain on my muscles from a determined stroke."

"How determined do you stroke?" I asked, a smile forming across my lips.

"Ha. I guess I'll have to be more careful how I choose my words."

Pierre and I began to chuckle and we were both glad for this chance meeting. Pierre asked whether I felt like swimming together some more, and a half hour later we had swum hundreds of yards down shore, side by side, keeping a fairly even pace. As we veered toward shore we both began to pick up the pace and tore into the water for the last twenty-five yards.

Stepping out of the water, we got to a grassy spot and collapsed on our backs, panting from the exertion of our sprint. As our breathing began to return to normal, we rolled over to face one another. It was then it happened. Our eyes met for an instant, then the shared contact was broken as we both began to scan the person opposite us. The water had hidden most of our bodies, so it was only now on shore that Pierre and I could really see what the other looked like.

When our eyes met again, we began to smile with a candor which to this day I cannot explain. I started to speak, but could not find the words. Pierre could think of nothing to say either. In that moment we were both looking at our adolescent fantasy come true. As we looked into one anothers eyes, my cock surged into an erection that my nylon bathing suit could not hide. I should have been embarrassed, but I glanced down to Pierre's crotch and saw a boner of equal magnitude. Though neither of us had moved for more than a minute, our breathing began to change, as did the character of the smiles on our faces. Mutual lust was sweeping across our minds, and our smiles became lecherous grins.

In a flurry of words that exploded between us, we told each other of our individual, particular fantasy. And it was then that Pierre said, 'Eddie, I think we can each have our dream come true. Mine first, then yours. Your dream and mine will create our wish fulfillment.' Before I could respond, Pierre stood up, quickly glanced about, grabbed my hand, and led us away from the shore along a path through thick woods to a small clearing, no more than about twenty feet across. We stopped, and Pierre put his finger to his lips to indicate silence. We listened for a minute, but could hear nothing.

"This shall be our grassy mat, in nature's own arena," Pierre said. "Are you ready?"

My mind began to race furiously. Pierre had told me his long cherished wrestling fantasy when we were back at the lake shore. I wondered what Pierre was thinking as he stared at me.

"Are you ready?" Pierre said to me again.

While I readied myself for the first move, he lunged at me and secured a bearhug. As his arms tightened around my body, I tingled from both the pain his grip was inflicting on my chest and from the contact of our two enlarged pricks that were meeting down below. Our swimsuits were so thin that I could feel the contours of his cock pressing against mine! And as he squeezed harder, a ferocity erupted from deep within me. I began to reach my hands around his throat to choke him into letting go. I wasn't sure how long I could breathe in enough oxygen to pump up my own muscles, and I wasn't sure if Pierre would think my choking was against the rules. I had my answer as I looked at the grin on his reddening face. He was hurting and loving it at the same time!  His bearhug, my choke, and our dicks savagely fighting to escape their nylon confinement.

Pierre released his bearhug and I my choke and we both stood back a foot apart facing each other. Instantly Pierre grabbed my head, pulled me down to his side, and began to twist and twist with an animal urgency that told me I had seconds before loosing consciousness. I quickly reached down and through his legs and up-ended him. As we crashed on the ground, I swung by body across his and managed to turn my head just enough to secure a headlock on him.

Focused as I was on his neck, I failed to notice that while still on his back, Pierre had wrapped his magnificent legs around mine, locking them so tightly that the combination of the two holds were mashing our crotches closer than when we were standing. I could feel Pierre begin to thrust his groin into mine, and again, and again. My cock was throbbing, virtually screaming to be free of the fabric which enclosed it. I released Pierre's head and he released mine, and by some unspoken understanding, we both stood and yanked down our trunks as fast as we could.

With our stiffened cocks parallel to the ground, we rushed each other and interlaced our arms into a bearhug of equal dimension. We both squeezed harder and harder on each other's chest, and our pricks were now free to tangle with each other in the battle they had awaited. From both the vise-like pressure of our tightening torsos and the friction of our cocks fighting for victory, our juices began to surge up and out. We exploded our cum together!! And as the warm, moist juices began to lubricate our excited groins, we eased our bearhugs but held onto one another in tender embrace.

Our faces pulled inches apart, and when I looked into Pierre's eyes I saw the completion he longed for all these years. For myself, I marveled that this wonderful new activity could so turn me on. And as we lay down on the grass, continuing to grasp one another so fondly, he leaned into me to kiss. Our lips met, our mouths opened, and our tongues embraced. For a minute, then two, our passion was shared.

When finally we stopped for air, Pierre looked at me and said, "And now for your fantasy, Eddie. And then another episode of mine."

I answered without words and pulled him back to me and began to kiss his neck, his chest his ......

Once mutually aroused again, Pierre asked if I was ready for a second round. I gave him my answer by leaping onto his prone body and sitting on him. My butt was now comfortably resting on his enlarged organ. I began to rock back and forth, but Pierre wasn't in the mood to enjoy the dessert until he'd tried the entree.

He roughly threw me over, scissored my body between his legs, and began to apply the pressure. Tight. Tighter. Okay, I thought, I'm prepared to play this game as well. I reached down and grabbed his balls, deliberately and firmly. I saw his face grimace in pain. But his legs wouldn't let go, but rather tightened into an increasingly painful embrace. The harder he squeezed, the harder I did. These mutual tests of endurance, we both were learning, were what gave us both the most erotic pleasure.

In time we released these holds, to secure other competitive punishments. Scissors begat arm-bars, arm-bars led to nelsons. Ball-grabbing would produce hair-pulling, hair-pulling would yield body blows. Over the next thirty minutes we applied and traded every hold, every punishment we could imagine. And all these years later I can fondly recall that it was a full nelson I held on him, pressing his head tighter and tighter to his chest while rubbing my cock more strenuously on top of his ass that led to his submission. I'd won! The novice had beaten the teacher! And after Pierre had cried, "I give!", I released him, rolled him gently on his back and whispered in his ear, "Thank you, dear friend. You've opened a world I never knew existed. I'll never forget you or today for as long as I live. I promise you that."

And, dear reader, I've kept my promise these many years.

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