My Uncle Chris – Part 17 – Bonus Summer Camp

Hey everyone! I hope you’re all doing well. I just wanted to share a quick announcement: Grayson’s story will continue! We’ll be following him into his college years in the new spin-off titled Sticks, Tricks, and Dicks. Expect plenty more of Grayson’s college sexiness. The first part will drop next Tuesday, and after that, new chapters will be released on the same schedule as My Uncle Chris.

Everyone in this story is 18+

Day One

The summer camp smelled like pine needles, sunscreen, and the faint tang of melted ice from the outdoor rink. I’d signed up as a counselor to keep sharp before college, running hockey drills for a pack of rowdy younger teens under a blazing July sun. My duffel sat half-unpacked in the counselor’s cabin, my navy tee already sticking to my back as I hauled sticks and pucks to the rink.

I was stoked to be here—teaching kids, staying in the game—but there was a hollow ache gnawing at my chest. Chris. His crooked grin, those warm brown eyes, the way his hands felt on my skin. We’d been Snapchatting since London, but it wasn’t enough. I missed him, a deep, physical pull that made my gut twist.

I was setting up cones when a guy jogged over, tall and built, his camp polo stretched tight across broad shoulders, sandy blonde hair catching the sun like it was trying to show off. His blue eyes were sharp, confident, and his grin was easy, like he’d been smiling his whole life. “Yo, you the other hockey counselor?” he asked, tossing me a water bottle with a flick of his wrist.

I caught it, sizing him up. He was a beast—6’3” at least, all lean muscle, his shorts hugging thick thighs that screamed years of skating. “Yeah, that’s me. Grayson,” I said, wiping sweat from my forehead. “You?”

“Jake,” he said, extending a hand. His grip was firm, his skin warm, and I noticed the way his biceps flexed under the polo, the faint outline of his bulging pecs. “Ready to whip these kids into shape?”

I laughed, shaking off the flutter in my stomach. “If they don’t kill us first.”

We quickly fell into an easy rhythm, running drills, barking orders, our voices blending as we pushed the kids through slapshots and sprints. Jake was good—better than good. He moved on the ice like he was born there, all power and precision, his stick handling smooth as fuck. I caught myself watching him a little too long, the way his shorts shifted when he crouched, hinting at a round, firm ass. He was handsome—too fucking handsome—and it stirred something in me I wasn’t ready to deal with. Not when Chris’s last Snap, selfie captioned Miss you, was still burning in my brain.

“Nice hustle!” Jake called to a kid, then glanced at me, smirking. “You gonna keep up, Grayson, or am I carrying this show?”

I snorted, tossing a puck at him. “Keep dreaming, Midwest. I’ll skate circles around you.”

His laugh was bright, infectious, and for a moment, the ache in my chest eased. But only for a moment.

Halfway Through Camp

Two weeks in, and Jake and I were tight. We’d been rooming together in the counselor’s cabin, a cramped space with two narrow beds, a shared desk, and our gear piled in the corner. We’d found out we were headed to the same college, both on the hockey team, both freshmen, and it was like the universe had a plan. Late-night talks about NHL dreams, favorite plays, and the chaos of starting college had us bonding fast. Jake was easy to talk to, his blue eyes lighting up when he laughed, his sandy blonde hair always a little messy, like he’d just rolled out of bed. He was built like me—lean, sculpted, abs that popped when he stretched—but there was a softness to him, a Midwest charm that made me want to spill my guts.

The cabin was a pressure cooker for tension. Mornings, I’d wake to Jake doing push-ups shirtless, his back muscles rippling, sweat gleaming on his skin, his boxer briefs riding low to show the V of his hips. Nights, he’d strip to his underwear before bed, his cock’s outline thick and heavy in the tight fabric, his bubble butt flexing as he climbed under the sheets. I’d catch myself staring, my dick twitching in my briefs, and force my eyes away, thinking of Chris—his deep voice, his hands, the way he’d fucked me in London. But Jake’s presence was loud, his scent—sweat and cedar body wash—lingering in the air, making my skin buzz.

One night, we were sprawled on our beds, the window open to let in the cool lake breeze. I was in my briefs, my chest bare, one leg slung over the edge of the bed. Jake was across from me, shirtless, his boxer briefs clinging to his thighs, the bulge of his cock impossible to ignore. He was scrolling on his phone, laughing at some meme, when he looked up, catching me staring.

“What?” he said, grinning, his voice teasing. “You checking me out, Grayson?”

My face heated, but I played it cool, tossing a sock at him. “In your dreams, Midwest. Just wondering how you sleep with that ego.”

He laughed, tossing the sock back, but his eyes lingered, trailing over my chest, my abs, the bulge in my briefs. “Takes one to know one,” he said, his voice lower, a hint of something else in it. My dick stirred, half-hard, and I shifted, pulling the sheet over my lap, my heart pounding. Chris’s face flashed in my mind—his Snap from earlier, a Counting down to your games selfie—and I swallowed hard, the ache for him sharper than ever.

“You okay, man?” Jake asked, sitting up, his abs flexing, his blue eyes soft with concern. “You’ve been kinda… distant.”

I forced a grin, shrugging. “Just missing someone back home.”

He nodded, not pushing, but his gaze stayed on me, like he saw more than I meant to show. “Someone special, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice low. I hadn’t meant to be so honest. “He’s… special.”

Jake didn’t flinch at the “he,” just leaned back, his thighs spreading slightly, the fabric of his briefs pulling tight. “I hope it works out..”

I smiled, thankful for the understanding, though the way he reacted made something flutter—my heart… or maybe my dick.

Last Day of Camp

The final day was a blur of chaos—kids running wild, parents swarming the rink, gear scattered like a bomb went off. Jake and I were drenched in sweat, pushing through the last drills, our polos clinging to our chests, my dark hair plastered to my forehead, Jake’s sandy blonde locks dark and damp.

We’d gotten close over the weeks—too close, maybe. Our banter was sharper, our touches lingering—a hand on my shoulder, his hip bumping mine, his laugh too warm when I teased him. I liked him, more than I wanted to admit, but every time my body reacted to him, Chris’s face crashed into my thoughts, grounding me.

Practice ended, and the counselor’s locker room was quiet, just us left. The kids had their own showers, so we had the small, tiled space to ourselves—two shower stalls side by side, steam curling from the hot water, the air thick with soap and musk. We’d always showered separately, taking turns to keep things chill, but I was lingering, wiping down my stick, when Jake peeled off his polo, revealing his sculpted chest, smooth and tanned, abs cut deep, a faint trail of blonde hair leading to his shorts. He kicked them off, leaving tight black briefs that hugged his bulge, the outline of his cock thick and heavy, his bubble butt round and firm, flexing as he moved.

He glanced at me, catching my stare, and grinned, a little shy. “Yo, I’m fucking disgusting. There’s two showers, mind if I take the other one?”

My throat went dry, my cock stirring in my briefs. “Yeah, go for it,” I said, trying to sound casual, turning my back to him as I stripped, my briefs hitting the floor. My cock hung heavy, thick and veiny, the head flushed, my balls shaved smooth, swaying as I stepped into the stall. I faced the tiles, letting the hot water pound my shoulders, trying to focus on the spray, not the sound of Jake stepping into the stall beside me.

“Whoa, you’re hung,” Jake said, matter-of-fact, his voice light but surprised, and I glanced over my shoulder to see him standing in his boxers, water soaking the fabric, his blue eyes wide as he looked at my cock.

I laughed, nervous, my cheeks heating. “Thanks, I guess.”

He grinned, shrugging. “Guess I can remove these, we’re both guys,” he said, peeling off his boxers, revealing what I’d already suspected from the bulge I’d eyed many times. His cock was thick, seven inches, smooth with a slight curve, the head plump and pink, his balls full and dusted with light hair, hanging low. His ass was a perfect curve, the cheeks tight and smooth, his hole a faint pink glimpse when he turned to wash his legs. “Not bad yourself,” I said, keeping my voice neutral, but my cock was chubbing up, half-hard now, a heavy weight between my legs.

We soaped up, the water scalding, steam wrapping us in a haze. The air felt heavy, charged, our shoulders inches apart in the side-by-side stalls. “Hey, can you get my back?” Jake asked, his voice casual but with a nervous edge, handing me his washcloth.

“Sure,” I said, stepping closer, my heart pounding. I ran the cloth over his back, feeling the hard muscle under his smooth skin, the ridges of his spine, the heat of him. My cock hardened fully, bobbing against my thigh, and I tried to angle away, hoping he wouldn’t notice. He returned the favor, his hands firm, the cloth gliding over my shoulders, down my back, gentle and sensual. His fingers brushed lower, grazing the top of my ass, and I felt his fully hard cock brush my thigh—hard now, thick and warm, sending a jolt through me.

“Fuck, Jake,” I muttered, my voice thick, turning to face him. His blue eyes locked on mine, dark with something unspoken, and his hand slid to my hip, fingers digging in lightly, his cock grazing mine, the contact fucking electric. I reached out, my hand brushing his abs, feeling the cut muscle, my dick throbbing at the closeness. The steam was thick, the scent of soap and sweat wrapping us, and for a second, I wanted it—his body, his ass, his dick, the heat of him.

But Chris’s face slammed into my mind—his laugh, his touch. I stepped back, shaking my head, water streaming down my face. “Fuck, Jake, I can’t. I’ve got someone.”

He froze, eyes wide, then laughed, a nervous, defensive bark, his cheeks flushing red. “Yeah, no, I didn’t mean it like that. Like, I’m not even… shit, sorry.” He grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist, his movements quick, jerky. He dried off in seconds, yanking on his clothes—a tee, shorts, sneakers—and bolted out of the locker room, the door slamming before I could say a word.

I leaned against the tiles, water pounding my chest, my cock still heavy, my heart a fucking mess. Jake was hot—fuck, he was a goddamn fantasy—but he wasn’t Chris. I missed him, a deep, aching pull that clawed at my chest. We weren’t together, not officially, but this felt like almost cheating, like I’d betrayed something sacred.

I dried off, pulling on my clothes, my skin still buzzing from the almost-moment with Jake. I wanted to find him, to talk, to clear the air before we left camp, but when I got back to our cabin, his stuff was gone. Another counselor, hauling a bag, shrugged when I asked. “Jake? His ride picked him up already. Dude was in a hurry.”

I sank onto my bed, staring at my phone, Chris’s Snap glowing on the screen. I wanted to tell him, I decided, but in person, when I could see his eyes, feel his hands, know we were still us. And I’d track down Jake at college, make sure we were cool.