My Dream

Prologue


Warning: Male rape mentioned.


Letís set the scene first, shall we? Apparently Iím in this camp of sorts, and have been coming here for almost as long as it has been around, which is strange, cause Iím barely in my twenties and the camp has been around for at least five years. This is kind of a Ďhigh intelligence meets great out doorsí camp. They have the usual campy activities, but to get in, you have to have graduated at the top of class in high school and such. And enough money. So as long as you can pay and pass the entrance exam, you can come as often as you like. And get this, everyone who has attended this smarmy camp, even if it was just one day, Iíll get to this, would end up landing a high paying job, no questions asked, no back ground check, except to make sure you *did* go there. Thatís all they needed. So why have I been going there for five years? No idea. How the hell did I get in? Yet again, I have no idea. My parents certainly arenít rich enough and you can only get a scholarship once. Also Iím only 20, 21 in March, which means I would have been going there since I was 15. This does not add up.

Next, youíll need to know about Butch. His actual name is Frank Schreiber (donít ask). Heís one of the male counselors and the campís main guard. Heís a bull of a man and could pass as a pro wrestler. I hate him, and he hates me. Why? Iím getting to that. Butch is not a nice man, contrary to popular belief. I know what he does and he suspects that I know. Neither of us can do nor say anything about it, so weíre stuck. What does he do, you ask? Heís a rapist. I canít prove it, so I take it out on him by being nasty to him. Hey, he deserves worse! Itís hard not to hate someone who hates you so vehemently. That and he canít stand Ďkidsí who canít, or wonít, show respect to their elders, like me! Itís not everyone, just him! I have fun with the other counselors, itís him I donít like and him I donít respect one iota. He loathes me. He tries not to show it, especially around other people. Hee hee, Iím the bane of his existence and Iím darn proud of it! Weíre arch nemeses, to say the least.

How do I know heís a rapist? Simple. I caught him. The first time was just sounds through the wall of my room. I prayed to God it wasnít what it sounded like. The next day, I went next door to find out what happened. No one was there. The bed was stripped, showing a large red stain in the middle. I ran down stairs and asked the first counselor, letís call her Mary, I ran into, literally, ďWhat happened to Ben? Is he all right?í. Yes, I said *Ben*. Did I forget to mention that Butch preferred young men? Oops! Me bad! Mary told me he had been rushed to the hospital and that he wouldnít be back. Thatís all she knew, same with everyone else I asked. Except Butch. He claimed ignorance, as if the whole camp wasnít talking about it. I found this odd, but said nothing. I started walking away and Butch reached down to pick up a rather heavy box to put into the back of a truck. Then I heard it. The same sound I had heard the night before through my wall. I froze. ĎNo, it couldnít be!í I thought. But the grunting coming from Butch as he moved some more boxes matched the muffled ones I heard through my wall almost exactly! I saw Mary and ran to her. We went to her office and I told her what I heard and what I thought had happened to Ben, without mentioning Butch. She said that the grounds were checked and that there was no evidence of a break in. And Butch guards the dormitory at night and no one would be able to get through past him since visitors arenít allowed at night. And there werenít any visitors yesterday that could have stayed behind. I then told her that I thought it was Butch. She just laughed. She said I was imagining things and to stop worrying and to go lunch. I donít know if she told him, or anyone, about what I said. But she wasnít there the next year. The second time I heard those Ďcertainí sounds at night, I looked for the right door and sat down beside it and waited for Butch to come out. I had every intention of confronting him when he walked out that door. I was as mad as hell. I fell asleep. I had a very disturbing nightmare. I couldnít see anything, but the sounds, oh the sounds! I heard two people being raped by the same man. I was ready to scream when the sounds stopped, and I woke up. I heard muffled crying and foot steps. Suddenly, I was scared. I did *not* want to be the first thing Butch sees after he opens the door. I donít think he would be happy about that, either. The knob turned and I froze. The door opened and I thanked God that the doors swung outwards and that I was on the right side of the door! Butch walked out into the hall and headed in the opposite direction than I was, swinging the door shut. He sauntered down the hall, humming. Halfway to the door that lead to the stairs, he zipped his fly. The sound of a zipper being zipped never sounded so disgusting to me before and I will never think of it in the same why again. After he left, I returned to my room and cried myself to sleep.

The next morning, I rushed over to the room I had I had visited the night before. The door opened before I could knock. ďChris! Are you all right?Ē I then noticed his luggage. ďYouíre leaving, too?Ē He only nodded and brushed past me, heading for the stairs. ďWait! Why?Ē I ran after him. He stopped and turned to me. The look in his eyes belied a fear I could not fathom. It made my heart ache to see such fear and misery in such young eyes. ďSomething came up. I have to go home.Ē he said, just above a whisper. He turned away from me, but not before I noticed the tears in his eyes. I placed my hand on his shoulder. He flinched, as if my touch hurt him. ďPlease donít . . . I . . .Ē he muttered. ďIím sorry.Ē I removed my hand. He continued walking down the hall. ďItís not your fault. I should have done something. But fear got the best of me. Iím sorry.Ē Tears fell down my cheeks. He stopped and said ďDonít be. Thereís nothing you could have done. But . . . thanks for trying.Ē With that, he left. I would have followed, but guilt and sorrow crippled me. I never saw him again. At least he was able to walk away. A small comfort, I know. But too many had been injured badly, too many, too much blood. The bastard!! Heíll pay, I swear! Iíll make him pay, one way or another, Iíll make him pay! My own fear has kept me from doing anything besides talking to others and annoying the hell out of Butch, but this year . . . This year is different.

There is something I forgot to mention. The first year I attended this camp, the campers were about 80% female and 20% male, naturally. Over the years, the number of male campers have been dwindling. Now, in my fifth year here, itís about 5% male. Most of the guys are, well, geeks. Donít get me wrong. I like geeks! Theyíre cute in their own sort of way. The few bishounen type guys are the ones who donít stay long, like Ben and Chris, with good reason. Now, this time around, there is only one person that could, and most likely will, draw Butchís unwanted attention. Heís tall, dark, and handsome. You know the type, right? I go for the dark types, I donít know why. He has short black hair and a lean muscular body. Although I prefer my men with long hair, I find him very attractive. I donít know his name, yet, but Iíll fix that! Hmm, he looks kinda familiar . . . Wonder where I might have seen him before.