Scoutmaster Kamp

Scoutmaster Kamp finished pinning Maxx’s lapel, smoothing it out and making sure it sat flat. As he did, his strong fingers grazed the boy’s firm, athletic chest, feeling its form for the first time. Kamp’s hands lingered a little bit longer than Maxx thought was necessary, but he was locked in an immovable stance. His eyes darted down, looking to see what Kamp was doing, thinking that maybe it was something official. But when Kamp’s hands moved down to the boy’s crotch, it became clear that this was not part of the manual he’d studied. »Scoutmaster? » Maxx responded. His voice was confused and alarmed. He didn’t know what exactly was happening.
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