Date: Sat, 13 Mar 1999 06:25:08 PST From: Martin M Subject: The Last Australian Hero Standard disclaimer: purely a work of fiction, the author does not condone any kind of sexual activity between adults and children. He does condone freedom of expression, at least through the written word, since it has not been based on a real event (like pictures do). THE LAST AUSTRALIAN HERO Chapter 1 Phil sighed as he leaned back, adjusting his seat and trying to get into a more comfortable position. The air conditioning was on full blast, and despite the stifling heat outside Phil was wearing a denim jacket to cover his goosebumps. He'd told the driver half a dozen times to turn the cooler off, but the grumpy old sod had just snorted at his request. He let his gaze wander out the large panoramic window, and wathced the trees, the endless trees, speed past, the thick growth only intermittedly interrupted by a single shack or a small paddock. The region seemed totally devoid of human life, the last people he'd spotted was over half an hour ago, an old black man and a little boy slowly walking along the roadside. He slowly started to regret spending his lifge savings coming here; then again, if the stuff he'd been promised was rtrue. he was in for some very good times. He closed his eyes and chucked quietly, when he thought of the absurdity of his situation. It was almost as if there was a fate after all, a fate that had dragged him half way across the earth. Phil, at 34, had experienced a little more than was probably good for him. If someone would've asked him 25 years ago what he'd be doing today, he would probably have replied "a construction worker, like my daddy". Fuck, he didn't even get close. His childhood in suburban Perth, Western Australia, had been happy enough, but he remembered that he'd always felt different. Up until his early teens he couldn't quite figure out what was different, only there was something going on that shouldn't. He had graduated from his high school with mediocre results, like most other kids from his school, but then again, he'd spent over half of his wake hours on a surfboard. Just like everybody else. His parents had made no big deal about it, they'd fuzzed more about the fact that he should get himself a nice girlfriend. He'd always found these conversations at the dinnertable awkward, especially the times his younger brother smirked maliciously as if to say: "I know. I *know* about you." The pressures from home had disappeared the day he moved into his own flat, a nice bedsit overlooking a suburban high street, with a Woolworths right across the road. He'd gotten himself a part time job at the local junior high school as a janitor, which was a real treat for him: short hours, good pay, and he got to spend time with the people he relly wanted to spend time with: kids. Not spend time as such, but he could always gaze discreetly at them whenever he was carrying out his janitorial duties. After three months on the job, he'd known the name of every boy worth knowing. Stevie, with his copper red hair and splash of freckles across his face, Jon who was part Aboriginal but mostly white and always wore tight cycling shorts to school, fitting snugly around his slim butt; Corey, an angelic creation with long, blonde hair that had close resemblance to Aaron Carter, that American little singer that pre-teen girls faint in front of. Since puberty, Phils life had been one long agonizing period of frustration. He envied and hated other people who could let loose their feelings without a care in the world. Their feelings were acceptable. How Phil had come to hate that word. Acceptable. Acceptable by whose standards? He had a few friends left from high school that he hung out with soemtimes, mostly to get drunk on Friday nights so he could muster up enough courage to ask a girl to dance with him. His mates, as far as he could tell, didn't suspect anything, they just joked about his shyness. Deep down, they weren't that much braver themselves. As the years passed by, they had all come to settle down with one girlfriend after another, and it was one late Saturday night at The Playpen Bar in Freemantle that Phil had suddenly realised that he was all alone; Mav, Derek, Pitts and Scott - they were sitting at the same table, each with a girl beside them - not exactly ignoring Phil but the situation was obvious. Phil, already drunk as a skunk, had made up some feeble excuse about having to work ealy next day, stood up so fast he knocked his chair over and swiftly left the nightclub. Once outside, he'd started running, not knowing wehere, just running away from his hatred and frustration. As he crossed the street, he looked behind him; Hatred was right there. that deep shadow that followed him wherever he went, wherever he set his foot. He'd spurted on and reached the other side of the avenue, and could hear the monstruous thunder of waves rolling in from the mighty Indian Ocean. He'd slowed down and sat down on the low stone wall that separated the promenade from the sandy beach. The backwash of the latest wave dragged a million pebbles along with it, making a potent hissing sound as it carried yet another few grams of the Australian continent into the depths of the ocean. Phil remembered crying himself to sleep that night, curled into fetal position on the sand right next to the low wall. In spite of his emotional turmoil, his life had carried on as before. Gloating at the boys at work and drinking on weekends. He barely saw his parents or his little brother (who was now going steady with a real stunner of a girl, the little lucky bastard), but they dutifully showed up on his birthdays, and insisted he spend Christmas with them. Then, last year, his life had changed around as if a hellfire had ravaged through his soul, body and mind. It happened only a week after Scott had dropped the news that him and Susan (his girlfriend) were now proud parents of three week old Kevin, and were moving into a three bedroom house. Phil had managed to look happy while on the phone with Scott, but the moment he hung up, he just sank to the floor with his back to the wall. How in the hell? How COULD HE? Phil, not normally a violent man, had ripped the phone from its socket and flung it across the room in rage. So this was it + Today Scott, tomorrow Derek and Mav. It was only a matter of time before Phil was going to go crazy with lust, desire and desperation. All he ever wanted was a family with two kids (boys) and a nice house. Why was that a pleasure that was to be denied for him? He got up, sat himself on his couch and stared into the wall behind the TV set. He'd always thought that he couldn't sink lower than this. Thinking of little boys succulent lips as he wanked himself to sleep every night. Keeping pictures of nude kids downloaded from the Net and printed in black and white on the school printer. One of the good things about being a janitor was, you had all the keys you wanted. "Wrong", he thought to himself, "I can sink lower." ************ He was waiting in the scrubland about 2 kms away from his flat, on the outskirts of this endless suburbia that 80% of Australians called home, at a secluded spot he knew kids frequented after school. Amogst other things was a really neat tree-house nestled high in a pine tree. He'd been there for almost an hour when he heard a light voice singing and getting closer. Through the low branches of the tree behind which he was hiding he could make out a boy, maybe 10 or so, on a BMX bike. The kid got closer,slowed down and stopped, and paused for a moment before he dismounted his bike and threw it on the ground. He was wearing cut-off jeans and a tank top, since it was summer and hot. Here goes nothing, Phil thought, and got out from his hiding place and strolled over to the kid. The boy turned around when he heard his footsteps, and said "hi" as casual as only a kid can be. Phil got closer and stopped right in front of the boy, who by now must have sensed there was something wrong. Phil had lost no time. He grabbed the boy's long brown hair and yanked his head backward. The boy drew in a deep breath and got ready to scream, but Phil slapped him hard across the face and growled: "If you as much as breathe I swear I'm going to kill you". The boy slowly sank to his knees, as Phil pulled down his own shorts with his free hand, to reveal his huge ranging hard-on. Feeling the boy twist under his firm grasp had aroused the man even more, and next thing he knew his cock was dancing on the kids lips. "Open your mouth" Phil hissed, and the kid obeyed. The man had stuck the head of his throbbing organ between those red lips and masturbated himself until he came, long thick strands of semen gushing out onto the kid's face and into his hair, as the boy started to cry. "I've done it" he thoght to himself later that day, "I've really done it. I've ruined someone elses life. Fuck, that feels good." Truth was, he wasn't feeling good at all about it, but a strange kind of relief had overwhelmed him. His own mind wasn't going to confine him to his imagination anymore. He had done IT, and knew he could do IT again, if he wanted. The days following the incident he had called in sick at work. Who knew, maybe the kid knew someone who knew someone who knew someone at his school. ************* Phil shook himself back to life. Had he dozed off ? He was sure the interior of the bus was a little warmer now, not much but just a hint. He looked out the window again. Trees. And trees. An electricity line followed the road, strung between wooden poles. A ditch with foul water bordered the shoulder of the tarmac, and dry grass covered the opposing side of the trench. Then there was Indonesia. He'd fled there when he'd read about his little incident day after day in the local paper, the articles raising communal concern for the safety of the children. He could almost see the vigilante groups, angry mobs of everyday hardworking citizens, pounding on his door, demanding his death. Indonesia had been an emotional turning point. He hadn't spent two nights in Kuta Beach before he ran into two seven year old local boys who sucked him dry for 500 rupees. He'd spent a year in Indonesia and found other white men with the same lusts as himself. He'd accompanied four others to a secluded, private island for a week with 6 little dark-haired docile boys, who would do anything that was demanded off them. He'd participated in a range of steamy orgies, and by the end of the year he was capable of sodomizing a five year old without feeling any guilt at all. It was during one of these parties that he'd met Dexter, a 50-year old Yank who he liked from the start. They'd become good friends, shared the same boy on a number of occasions, and it came as a total surprise to Phil when he learned that Dexter had three boys of his own back in the States. "You should come over and visit sometime, Phil, I know you'd like my boys." Phil wasn't really sure what he meant, but he hoped. "Hell, there's even work for you at our place. Why don't you come and live with us ?" Phil had accepted his address, but frankly told him that he had no money, and that he was living off his savings. "Come whenever you want, Phil" Dexter had replied. The next morning he was gone. Phil had figured he was already playing with death by just sleeping around with so many kids, that he immediately accepted an offer made to him by an acquaintance to carry 3 kgs of cocaine through customs and deliver it in Amsterdam, Holland. "I should be dead by now anyway" he'd reasoned with himself, as he picked up the briefcase containing the expensive merchandise at a private house at the outskirts of Denpasar. A week later he'd been sitting in a bar in Amsterdam sipping a beer, having dumped the drugs with the proper recipient, and collected 40,000 US dollars for his troubles. He was a rich man now, with the world just waiting for him. The next day he'd phoned Dexter from a phonebox outside his hotel, and the man had answered on the second ring. Dexter had been mighty impressed when Phil had told him about the drug run, as far as Phil could tell. The old guy had insisted he come down, and had been overjoyed when he said he could fly over there the same day. 48 hours later he was collecting his luggage - an old ex-service laundry bag - from carousel 9 at Houston International Airport. So this is Texas, he thought to himself as he sat on the airport bus to the city. Looked a bit like Perth, he thought, except everyone here talked funny. "Oh my Gaaawwwwd" croaked an obese lady who had just boarded the bus. "Oh maeen, these daern shoes are killin' me", she'd declared as she sat down heavily. Phil had smiled to himself. Christ, was he going to have to get used to this? He'd come a long way in a short time, he decided as the Greyhound bus was slowing down as it entered some town limit. Suddenly his eyes caught a glimpse of a green sign proudly presenting "Greenville, pop 615". Finally, his destination. About time too, he'd spent four and a half hours shrimped up in this freezer of a coach. He put his shoes back on, and got his bag down from the rack just as the bus stopped in front of a two storey building with a derelict sign announcing it was "Jackson & Sons General Trading Post". "All for Greenville, please step off the bus" said the grumpy old driver as he jammed the gears into neutral. Phil felt the rush of hot air as the front doors of the vehicle opened onto the world outside. He stepped onto the dusty street outside, closely followed by a young lady with a baby who'd gotten on just a few stops back. The heat was intense. Philk started sweating profusely as he dragged his bag to the bench in the shade under the big General Store sign. He swiftly removed his jacket, only to be reminded he'd forgotten to put on a deodorant that morning. To make it worse, hed been leaking precum into his briefs as he'd been thinking about those docile and eager-to-please Indonesian lads taking his load in their tiny mouths, and he felt generally grotty. Not far too the shower now, he hoped. It would turn out that he was dead wrong. The hydraulics of the bus he'd just stepped off sighed, and he heard the old diesel engine rev up in preparation for takeoff. The bus slowly rolled away, sadly swaying on its old suspension beams. It picked up speed and disappeared into hazy heat, into the unknown that lay ahead. So where was Dexter ? He'd said he was going to pick him up in town, since his house was "a few miles out of that shithole" he'd explained to Phil over the phone. All he could see was an old man with white hair sitting on a bench identical to his own a few paces down the sidewalk, and Phil decided that Dexter couldn't have aged that much in a few months, not even in this heat. The dusty street was deserted, but he heard voices from inside the store, but it impossible to make out what was being said. A few pickup trucks in various stages of decay were parked at right angles to the sidewalk, their front bumpers almost scraping the high kerbside. Phil guessed that when it rained in these parts, it really rained, or they wouldn't have needed such large runoff channels. The whole ambience was impregnated with a sense of being put back 30 years in time. Phil could almost see James Dean coming out of the General Store, chewing a Marlboro. Even here in town the trees were ubiquitous. They provided some shade which whas taken up by cars whose owners were trying to prevent the vinyl of the seats from melting. A bit further down the street lay a small wooden shack with flaking white paint and a petrol pump in front of it. The side of it was littered with old scraps of metal, a selection of second hand tyres and four or five car wrecks. Nothing stirred in the heat, only the hot air rising off the sizzling road surface creating a mirageous haze. A low thunder could be heard in the distance. What the fu Phil thought, when he realised it wasn't an approaching thunderstorm after all. He'd heard that sound many times back home as a kid. It was the unmistakeable roar of a Road Train, or Semi Trailer as he'd learned they were called over here. The truck appeared as a trembling shadow in the distance, its outline hazed by the hot air. It drew closer and Phil noticed it wasn't slowing down at all as it passed the town limit sign. He was sure hed seen a "50 mph" sign back there somewhere. The sleek monster of a vehicle roared past at 80 or so, in a cloud of dust and scraps of old paper that fluttered about in the air as the turbulence followed in the passage of the Semi. Phil caught a glimpse of the driver, a rough-looking guy with Top Gun-style sunglasses. The roar of the powerful engine died in the distance and Phil watched the small town ghost once again settle over the road in fron of him. "Oh well, what now ?" he sighed, and had hardly finished his thought when another sound could be heard: the unmistakeable smattering of a smaller motorbike. An 80 cc perhaps, maybe a 125. Not heavier than that, anyhow. It came from the direction where the truck had just disappeared, and Phil was glad it wasn't him who'd have to face monsters like that on a motorbike. The bike was fast, and reached the town limit within 20 seconds, and to Phils surprise it seemed to slow down. "So some people around here obey speed limits" he muttered to himself. The bike slowed down even more as it approached the store, and it became evident that it was an old beat-up crossbike, with all-terrain tyres and high suspension. To Phils delight he saw that the driver was just a kid, maybe 10 or 11 years old. The kid stopped the bike, barely reaching the ground with the tip of his leather cowboy boot as he kept the bike in balance. He shut off the engine, and just sat there straddling the saddle, looking around. Phil noticed he wasn't wearing a helmet, and that the boy was very good looking indeed. Long, dark brown hair that was even longer in the back, a round face and cheeky eyes, a hint of freckles across his nose and under his eyes, nearly gone under the summer suntan. He was slim as a board, an old black T-shirt with the sleeves cut off covering his well built torso. Phil continued his visual exploration of this wonder-boy. He felt himself growing an erection as he rested his eyes on the boys slim butt, cradled by the crossbike's saddle, which also pushed up the kid's balls into a shapely bulge at the front of his jeans. His jeans Phil had always had this thing for jeans, and the ones this boy was wearing were erogenic just by themselves. The once blue denim was worn so thin and light that it was only a matter of days they fell apart totally. One of the back pockets had been ripped totally off, revelaing a polygonal dark blue patch in its place. The kids left knee was poking out through a gaping hole with frayed ends, and there was one starting on the other knee. As if to top it off there was a small rip near the seam of the right thigh, as if he'd gotten caught on a nail or something. A dark yellow stain was visible just below the waistband over his left back pocket. The kid turned and looked directly at Phil, who just stood there mesmerised. Now he could see that his left ear was sporting 2 large silver earrings, and a thin chain hung around his neck. "Yo mister, ya seen anyone gettn' oaff the bus" he asked, his heavy southern accent adding to the overall effect of being placed 30 years back in time. "I got off the bus about 10 miutes ago" Phil replied. "Me and a lady with a baby." "Then you must be Phil, huh ?" he drawled, frowning. Probably just trying to look cool, Phil thought. "Dead right, matey" "Whatcha say ?" "Yeah, I'm Phil. Who are you ?" "Billy" he replied simply. And after a long pause "you're stayin' with us". "What, you know Dexter ?" I asked, immediately realising how stupid it must have sounded. No, he didn't know Dexter, my name was common knowledge in this neck of the woods. "Do aaihe knooo him ? Do I know him ?" The kid threw his head back and laughed with his shrill boyish voice. "Fuck man Gawd, you're a peseta and a half." Phil didn't know what that was supposed to mean. It was either a compliment for being funny or he'd just been called a dork, southern style. "Dexter's my pa" the boy continued. "He couldn't come himself, but he said you'd probably appreciate it if I picked you up." "Cool" Phil said, visibly relieved. He was actually going to share house with this horny kid, which was better than he'd hoped for. He moved closer clutching his army bag in his left hand. "You just gonna stand there, man, or are we goin' places ?" Phil tossed the bag on the minute rack behind the saddle, leaving a tiny space for him to squeeze in behind the boy. Shit, if I get a hard on now, I'll push the kid off the bike, the man thought to himself. He got one leg over the frame of the bike, and carefully nestled his butt down on the saddle. "You'd better hold on" instructed Billy, and kick-started the dirty old crossbike with his boot-clad left foot. You could tell he did this every day. Another detail that was obvious was that he'd removed at least part of the silencer, the sound of the engine smattering loudly and bouncing off the wall of the large General Store. Phil felt the bulge in his tight jeans grow slightly as it lodged underneath the boy's firm buttocks, and he slipped his arm around the slender torso and placed one hand on the boys chest and the other on his left hip, delighted at the rough texture of the worn jeans that caressed the palm of his hand. He noticed the boy smelled of a mixture of engine oil and boy crotch, and that special smell boy hair acquires if left unwashed for a couple of days. The hair was thick but smooth as silk, well beyind shoulder legtht in the neck. Phil was dreaming of caressing it as the kid retrieved his foot, placed it on the footrest and made the bike describe a wide U-turn before heading off along the highway in the direction he'd appeared from. The bike sped up, and the wind blowing in Phil's face was a relief from the stifling heat in town. The road was bordered by thick, swampy woodland with the ever-present phone- and poweline following the stretch of the road. The purring of the engine reverberated in Phils's crothch, and he felt his erection growing by the minute, being this close to maybe the sexiest, huskiest boy on earth. He decided he might as well go for it. After all, it was Dexter's kid, and knowing Dexter, Billy was in on the game. Phil buried his face in the mane of Billy's thick hair, drawing in the rich boyish smell of it, while at the same time slowly moving his left hand in under the kid's cut off sleeve, and caressed his smooth pectorals. He had no means of seeing how the boy was reacting to all this from where he was sitting, but since he didn't seem to mind, he brought his right hand down and caressed Billy's crotch through the thin material of his jeans. What was in there was certainly expanding, Phil noticed gleefully. The man caressed the growing bulge some more, while the tip of his tounge found Billy's left earlobe, which he gently licked. Billy suddenly reduced speed, the blast of the wind lessening in their faces, and Phil saw that the kid intended to take a right turn into a single dirt track that disappeared into the dark woods. The bike kicked up a lot of dust as it came off the main road, but Billy kept it steady as he skilfully manouvred it into one of the overgrown ruts, and kept going at a staeady pace. Phil was ready to come there and then into his jeans, with his raging hardon grinding relentlessly against the boy's tight butt. The forest suddenly cleared and gave way to what looked like an old abandoned railway platform, long lost and hidden in the woods. Billy drove the bike onto the near end of the raised ramp and brought the bike to a standstill at the top. He kicked the footrest into place, and turned off the engine. Phil didn't wait for any invitations; while the boy just sat there, facing away from him in the saddle, the man slowly began to unbutton the fly in Billy's jeans, using both hands. As he'd suspected, the boy wasn't wearing any underwear, and he reached inside with his left hand to take out what had to be the hardest cock in history. It wasn't huge, pretty apt for the boys size and age, and cut. As far as Phil could see, no pubic hair whatsoever. He began to slowly masturbate the kid's cock pointing out through the open fly, while his left hand caressed the soft denim covering the inside of Billy's left thigh. He resumed his licking of the left ear, and steadily wanked the boy, gently kneading the stiff boycock in his hand and tickling the balls with his other hand. He could feel Billy tensing up and decided that he needed release himself pretty soon. He felt the boy breathe in short gasps and heard him moan as he saw the first wad of semen shoot into the air from his organ, landing on the fly of his jeans. He shot three powerful spurts of cum all of which landed on his lap, before the orgasm was reduced to a trickle that ran slolwly through Phils hand. "Oh man" Phil heard the kid whisper, and then "now you." The boy dismounted the bike and stuffed his slimy but now semi-limp cock back in his cum soaked jeans and buttoned up his fly. Phil dismounted too, watching the outline of his own cock straining against the fabric of his jeans. Billy knelt in front of him, his mouth level with Phils crotch. He unbuttoned the fly with a poweful yank, and faced the man's raging hard organ, which flopped out and almost slapped him on the nose. The boy delicately weighed Phil's member by cradling the underside with his tounge, before slipping the whole head between his cherry red and totally smooth lips. Phil looked down and saw the boy's lips stretched thin to accommodate his throbbing erection, and a bulge in the cheek as he felt the tip scrape the inside of Billy's cheek. "I'm gonna cum any minute now" Phil said with a trembling voice, and dug his hands into the lads soft brown hair on the top of his head as he felt a soft tounge gently swirling around his sensitive crown. The boy bobbed his head back and forth a bit, as he began giving head. "Pull off, cocksucker, I wanna cum in your face" Phil said and the kid obediently released the cock from the confines of his mouth, but instead slowly wanking the shaft as he softly licked the underside of the head. Phil was sweating profusely. The sun was beating on them mercilessly, and the man was breathing heavily. He could feel a hint of moistness on Billy's face too, as he caressed one of the cheeks with one hand. He was able to hold back no longer. He curled the toes in his trainers as he felt his buttocks contract, and stifled a cry as an electrifying jolt sent a thick explosion of steamy man seed into Billy's nostrils, and continuied to discharge in long, sticky strands onto the boys lips, cheeks and nose. Billy kept wanking him and aimed the head a bit higher, and Phil saw his silky hair being matted with with his juices. Phil felt his whole member pulsate as he fired a few last creamy spurts onto his forehead, and watched it die into a trickle. Billy nuzzled the man's cock under his nose and cuddled with it as it it was a pet. He let it slide around in the carpet of cum that covered his face, smelling the rich scent of semen mixed with the more ominous smell of man sweat. He took the glistening cock back in his mouth and let it lie there while it slowly shrank, its sides all slippery and sticky. "Fuck, that was good, Billy" Phil managed to say as he came back down to earth. The boy smiled with Phils cock still in his mouth, looking up at the man towering in front of him. He slipped the cock out, placed it inside Phils trousers and buttoned up. Suddenly aware that his entire face was still covered in smeary cum, he brought up his cut off T-shirt and wiped most of it off there. The strands sticking in his hair formed moist-looking streaks that kept the hair out of his eyes. He looked at Phil, gave him a crooked smile, and said: "Welcome to Texas, dude."