This is a rather intriguing incident from my middle teens. Certain aspects I’ve never really figured out.
Trevor had been my best mate for several years. He was very beautiful with an exceedingly well defined body, but I was too young to understand my attraction. When we were both 15, Trevor approached me at school one Monday morning and asked if I might want to go camping with him on the Skykomish River that weekend. We both fancied ourselves photographers and he assured me there would be plenty of opportunities for photo-ops.
So late one Friday afternoon in April of 2004, Trevor and his dad picked me up for the 70 minute drive to Skykomish from Seattle. Trevor’s dad would fetch us Sunday afternoon.
Almost as soon as we were deposited at the campsite, things started to go wrong. It was cold, rainy and windy, we had trouble with the tent (neither of us were Boy Scouts), we couldn’t get a decent fire going to cook (ended up eating Nalley’s chili right from the can), and to top it off, it didn’t appear we had dressed warmly enough. We were basically two spoiled mummy’s boys.
Saturday morning was dark and overcast, but after a make-shift breakfast we bravely grabbed our cameras and headed down to the river. There had been heavy snow pack that winter, and the river was rushing as if in some kind of uncontrollable tantrum, with very angry looking rapids. It was all sort of thrilling.
The scenery was really gorgeous, as that part of Washington State always is, and we were taking pictures like crazy. After lunch -cold, stale sandwiches- Trevor announced he had to wee. So he walks down to the bank, whips his willie out and lets it fly. I made a pretence of looking the other way.
He rejoined me and we got more pictures, but it was becoming very obvious that the weather was deteriorating at an alarming rate. Trevor insisted on some more pictures, but as I was fumbling with my camera, the lens fell off and landed right in back of Trevor. As I bent down to pick it up, I smelled that unmistakable odourâ€¦ it was obvious that Trevor at some point had shit in his pants. I was totally shocked, and yes, I could see a bit of a bulge in his jeans.
Before I could really process this bizarre unexpected turn of events, the skies opened up and it started pouring- we ran back to the tent, but not before we got totally soaked. Thank god our cameras survived. Inside the tent, Trevor pulled out some cigarettes he had stolen from his dad. The cigarette smoke somewhat covered up the smell, though Trevor acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. (Note: neither of us eventually took up the habit.)
For several hours we listened to music (we were unusual in that we both liked classical music, Beethoven especially), told dirty jokes (rather ironic?) and talked about school and girls, but I never got up the nerve to ask him what happened, nor why he hadn’t so far cleaned himself up. He seemed not to be the slightest bit bothered by the load in his underwear.
Later that evening, the rain stopped, and after dinner (most unsatisfactory- we missed our respective mum’s cooking), Trevor disappeared for about 20 minutes. He obviously went off to clean himself up and ditch his underwear in the woods.
The next day, Trevor’s dad duly arrived to pick us up, but we were both tired and slept most of the way back to Seattle. I wonder if his mum ever questioned what happened to the pair of jeans she probably washed that evening.
Trevor and I remained friends through the duration of High School, but I never did get up the nerve to inquire what happened. The following year he abruptly left school midway through morning classes, and I knew what had happened: he messed his pants.