Chapter 8
© 2006

The entire house reeked of Brut. Dad's nose followed the trail to its source; my room. Then he noticed the condom on my bedside table. He took the small silver package in his fingers and handed it to me while giving me the hairy eyeball. "This isn't a license to drill every hole you see," he suggested sternly.

I felt my ears burn, and my cheeks blush like a beet. "It's just `in case', dad," I offered meekly. Then I put it in my pocket while he lectured me about his days as a teen, screwing around.

"You need to be careful, son," he continued once seated on the side of my bed, "because you might get the wrong girl pregnant. You're a good-looking kid with a body to match."

Oh? That was an unexpected compliment, especially from my dad who was still a bit of a looker himself at middle age. Anyway, he was pretty cool about my first date and later, in the kitchen, insisted on my giving him hug after I hugged my mom. She has this rule: before anyone leaves the house, even just to visit the local shop, we hug each other because it could be the last time we get the chance.

Brett answered his front door and immediately commented on the Brut. "You use the whole damn bottle?"

"That bad, huh?"

"No, but it must've been when you first sprayed it on." He checked my outfit, which met with his approval: a white tank top over black jeans, a Billabong jersey and black sneakers. "You're out to kill, huh?"

"Don't you talk!" I followed him to his room. Brett wore Skater cargo pants with side pockets and an unbuttoned shirt over a white tank. Pretty damn hunky, I thought.

On the walk to his girlfriend's house, I told him about my conversation with dad about the condom, and also about my mom's rule.

"Cool rule, man. The whole world should have that rule."

Susan and her best friend Melanie were waiting for us. Susan's folks were out for the evening. Both girls wore tight, butt-clinging jeans and short tops that exposed their sexy navels. Woohoo! They led us to the living room where we chilled over a few beers. The Gold Coast clubs didn't really come alive until after 11pm anyway.

Me? Nervous? Awkward? You bet. And I constantly worried about the wafting scent of Brut dominating the room. How the hell did you dilute that stuff? Melanie, meanwhile, seemed the shy type, so Brett did a sterling job of keeping the conversation flowing.

Green Room was the first club we hit, then Purple Alien. Brett couldn't handle the claustrophobic atmosphere so he split with Susan for a while and left Melanie and me to get to know each other on the crowded and humid dancefloor. It was 3am before we reassembled and decided to hitch a ride home. The night air froze our noses and fingers, and the traffic was sparse. For an hour or more, thumbing a ride seemed an impossible task. What a great way to impress my date!

After leaving the girls at Susan's house, Brett and I walked to his place. I'd seen him giving his girl a serious game of tonsil hockey, and he wanted to know if I kissed Melanie.

"Sure! She's totally neat. We got to know each other pretty well despite all the damn noise. She's into surfing and riding horses and all kinds of cool stuff. We ended up talking and laughing like best friends, which was pretty neat. And just now she told me she had a really good night."

"Still got your condom?"


"Hey, Kyle, you wanna sleep over in my room? It'll be cool."

I was so surprised by his offer that I over-reacted: way too enthusiastically, but he didn't seem to mind. A little further on, we arrived at an intersection with traffic lights. "Hey, Brett, let's catch a piss under the lights."

"You're crazy! We'll be busted!"

"Okay, if you're too chicken."

That got him. Hehehe. We stood side by side under the lights and proceeded to splash the asphalt for all the world to see, not that anyone else was around to witness the rivulets and rising steam. Still giggling when we reached his front door, Brett tried valiantly with zero dexterity to insert a key in a lock that refused to stay in focus. "Shhhh, Kyle. Be quiet."


Once in his room, he stripped to his briefs, then crashed backwards, spread-eagled on his bed. "I can't sleep in these briefs," he mumbled, and tossed them onto the floor. I stood there in my boxers wondering where I should sleep. "Hey, you can keep your boxers on," he laughed, "I won't touch you. We can sleep head to toe."

Next thing I knew, Brett was dressed and peering down at me. "You okay, mate?" Harsh daylight streaming through the window stabbed and pained my eyes for a second till I shut them again. Oh, God!

"Feels like my head is a bass drum with a hyperactive footpedal."

"I gotta go shopping for mom."

It wasn't until school resumed after winter break that I discovered where Brett and Susan disappeared to at the club. He told me they had clean rooms there at 10 bucks a half hour. "Why not your place or hers? Why the club?"

"Because I don't need an audience."

"But, jeez, you guys don't have time for ... foreplay or anything."

"We try."

I seized the chance to ask about fellatio, a subject that often intrigued me despite my total lack of experience.

"You gotta be kidding, Kyle. Have you ever seen one up close?"

At the time, we were in the gym showers after an exceptionally enjoyable workout and the subject drifted to Melanie. "Yeah, she's neat," I said. "Turned a few heads yesterday at the beach. My grommet buddy pulled his shorts down a bit further when he met her. He's lucky his cock didn't jump out."

"Just don't get too hung up on her, okay? She's not the type to stick with just one guy."

"Does she screw around?"

"No, not that. She avoids being too attached. I dated her before I met Susan and she drove me crazy jealous before we decided to call it quits."

"She says she surfs."

"She's a pretty hot surfer as well, and I think that's her problem. Surfing comes before any steady guys."

"How come I've never seen her around before?"

"She's from over west; arrived with her folks a few months ago."

"You have sex with her?"



"And what?" he asked as I watched soapy suds slither down his shiny body. "Find out for yourself, mate. Enough already! Now I've got a bloody hardon."

"So, where did you guys go yesterday?" I asked diplomatically, pretending to ignore his embarrassment.

"Susan and I hiked Wollumbin--the Lyrebird Track and through the palm forest."

"Kinda hard to imagine you doing that--specially after spending time with you in the ring when you're hell bent on murdering somebody."

"What's wussy about enjoying nature? Anyway, after belting the crap outta you I need to do something different," he grinned, then added: "Who's that lighty who surfs with you guys?"

"Graham the grommet."

"Melanie mentioned him to Susan yesterday. I think he's gonna be your biggest problem. Melanie thinks he's cute for a little bloke, and from what she could see, he's pretty respectable in the furniture department."

"That's exactly what the cheeky little shit wanted her to notice. That's why he pulled his boardies down so low. He's an okay little dude though--tough for his age. He's only 12."

"Oops! I think Melanie thinks he's like 14 or something."

Later that week, 50 guys from other schools arrived for the Winter Swim Championships. Kim stood out like an Adonis; tall, blond, broad-shouldered. He had an air of arrogant superiority about him, as usual, to which Brett took an instant dislike. However, Brett was more concerned about the guy billeted with him. His previous experience at hosting a blow-in was a disaster--"he was a slob and left his crap all over the floor"--and I figured this new guy was in for four days of Brett-style hell.

The visiting team proved to be a lot stiffer competition than anyone in our team anticipated. Kim creamed the opposition in every race he entered. According to one theory, our team had been over-training. The really annoying thing about Kim was the way he strutted around toweling himself after winning, and checking to see who was ogling him. Next day, however, he was beaten in the freestyle by one of our guys; a win made all the sweeter because our guy was swimming outside his age group. Woohoo!

Things went pretty well for me. I progressed through all my rounds, then the second rounds of breast and backstroke, so I looked forward to the semis. The main highlight of the day was winning the butterfly. Brett managed a respectable third. Graham was there in the bleachers especially to see the race and went totally ballistic as I raised my dripping fist in triumph. Brett was more subdued but also congratulated me. Then Melanie arrived in her school uniform looking stunning nonetheless. She hugged me and left conspicuous evidence of her effect in the pouch of my Speedos.

A lot of the guys decided to hit the clubs that night, so I felt obliged to invite Kim. Big mistake. He asked Susan for a dance, which didn't upset Brett too much, but when Kim tried to put his hand up Susan's blouse, all hell broke loose and Brett made it abundantly clear to the Adonis that Susan was off limits. He succeeded but bought, instead, a tirade of abuse from his girl who accused him of bullying and having a short fuse. Sheesh.

Saturday afternoon, during the last heats before the finals that night, Brett noticed some scratches on my back. "From Melanie?" he grinned. "Jeez, you guys must've had a helluva session."

I explained that Kim and I fought last night, but didn't elaborate further. Kim and I were in my room when he mocked me about last year's rape by Robert. I lost it completely and tried to inflict as much pain on him as I'd suffered. In fact, and I'm not proud of this, I shoved my fist up Kim's butt and grabbed his prostate. "This is what it felt like," I snarled and ignored his cries of agony. Brett was unaware of the farm situation and I certainly wasn't about to enlighten him--or anyone else apart from G.

"I guess you know I can't stand that tall piece of shit," Brett said. "I'm gonna do something."

"No fights!" I demanded. "You'll be disqualified from the competition!"

"Don't worry," he smiled before leaving to speak to Frank. I was out of earshot so I had to wait until his return for an explanation.

"What was that all about?"

"I asked the coach for permission to swim in the 200m backstroke."

"What for? You're not one of the original entries. And you're not eligible for a medal."

"Kim's in that race."

He had to be kidding. Kim won every race he entered except when Frank beat him in the freestyle. With my heart in my mouth, I watched the guys on the starting blocks. Unable to hide his nervousness, Brett shook his arms and limbered up. The starter's gun fired, followed by a clean break as six super-fit bodies sliced the water simultaneously. By the final lap it was down to a two-man race. The remainder of the field lagged far behind. Brett powered home, creating a spectacular bow wave across his forehead. Where the hell did he get the extra energy? I couldn't believe my eyes. The crowd rose as one, cheered and craned their necks. Inch by painful slow-motion inch, Brett drew away from his opponent and won by half a second. The whole place erupted! Brett didn't win a medal, but Kim forfeited the gold. I beamed from ear to ear when Brett's eyes found mine in the crowd. Victory! Sweet, glorious victory!