Schoolie

Life in The Village, through the eyes of Tom Grant, the only teacher at the remote school.

This is an original work of pure fiction (just an expression of a fantasy)
by Robert A. Armstrong (a pseudonym)
(re-written from my 2013 version)

The resemblance of the characters by action, name, location or description to any real person is purely coincidental.

If it is illegal, or offensive, for you to read stories involving interactions of a sexual nature between adults and youths, then what are you doing here?

 

 

From Chapter 15

After dinner and `lights-out', with Marty in in his room, Will and I lie together in his bed. I'm spooned up to him. Our legs are bent, just like he's sitting in my lap, only we're horizontal. We chat softly about Karl and Kurt and `getting lucky' before we doze off, with Will wrapped in my arms.

 

In the morning, I wake up in my own bed, wet and sticky. Realising what has happened, I recall my dream - playing `mirrors' with the three naked boys, and I remember that it included much more than just grabbing and jacking off!

I recall snippets of my vision - Will sucking Karl; Karl lying on Will's back making thrusting movements with his pelvis along Will's backside; Will and Karl swapping places and repeating everything; Kurt and I mirroring their every move.

OMG! These boys are going to cause me significant problems!

Chapter 16 – Burn the Witch

It's two weeks since my `encounter' with Lilly. Will and I are still exchanging our opinions of what should be Lilly's fate. If he says `the stake', I counter with `lightning' and vice versa.

Whenever any thought of Lilly intrudes on my mind, a painful demise for her seems to lighten my sombre mood. I've not seen her since that day and Will has avoided going home.

This afternoon, however, he has told me that he wants to collect the last of his belongings, the remaining bits and pieces, so that there will be no remnant of him, or anything of his, left in the house. He wants to affect a total separation from her.

`I'm over her. I've had enough.' he has said to me.

He tells me that he doesn't have much to pick up and that he should be back here at the school in about 10 minutes.

I wait. After more than a quarter of an hour I peer out of the western windows but there is still no sign of him. I'm starting to worry. I decide to drive over there and get him. Just as I pass the pub, he comes running out of the shack towards me.

He opens the door, throws his single bag into the back and slides into the passenger's seat. "Home, James," he says.

I smirk. He doesn't. Something is wrong.

"Come on. Let's go," he says, agitated. I do as he asks.

"Will, did something happen? What's up?"

He says in a quivering voice, "Tom, if I tell you, promise me that you won't get angry."

"OK. What did she do to you?" I put to him, my voice no longer calm and positive.

With a quiver in his voice, Will says, "I told her that I was getting the rest of my stuff and that I was never coming back. We had a big argument and then she suddenly realised that I was serious. I tried to ignore her yelling while I collected my things. Then she asked if she could `play' with my little willie one last time. When I screamed `NO' in her face and that I was going to tell my guardian angel and he would make sure that she burnt in hell, she backed off. I yelled at her that I would be better off with no mother at all than with her."

"Then she asked me if I thought my `cute' guardian angel would let her play with his willie instead. I told her that she was in a lot of trouble and to `fuck off'. Then she just looked at me with puppy dog eyes and pleaded, `can you please light the candles for your mummy?' She has candles for light at night because there is no electricity. And, she is often too drunk to focus and light them herself. I told her that I would light the candles one final time, but it would be the last thing that I ever did for her. I found the matches, lit them all then I left."

"As I was half out of the door, she screamed that she didn't care that I was going because she had a new boyfriend with a big Harley, and that he would look after her."

I pull off the road and turn off the ignition.

"What are you doing?" Will asks.

"I'm thinking, Will. And praying for a bolt of lightning!"

"It's OK, Tom. She's never going to bother us again, believe me." Then, changing the subject completely, "Can we please get back to Marty's. I'd like to do a bit of painting while the light is still right."

I start the car and drive. I'm mad at Lilly, but if painting will take Will's mind off his mother, I'm happy to let the subject of her drop - for now.

Back at Marty's, although it is late afternoon, the sunlight is still strong. I have seen the results of Will's artistic genius and even though I have allowed him time at school to paint and draw, I've never actually watched him do it - except for the drawing that he did of Kurt in which he captured the shock and fear on his face for mistakenly groping me while I was sitting below the weir.

I ask Will if I may watch him paint. While he seems a little hesitant initially, he offers no reason why I shouldn't, and smilingly agrees.

I think that his art work is a `private place' for Will. It always seems to be a solace for him after an `encounter' with his mother. I feel humbled that he would allow me to share this time with him.

I watch him set up a short distance from the house on the western side, facing it. The building is almost glowing in the rich remnant of afternoon sunshine.

I fetch a stool and sit behind him, but not too close, so as not to be intrusive.

I will be able to see, unobstructed, over his left shoulder, what he's painting with his right hand.

With a partially-done artwork propped on the easel, he begins to mix some colours. I marvel at his deft brush strokes either adding highlights or refining details as he goes. His glances alternate continually between house and canvas as he works.

I think of offering words of encouragement but leave him, undisturbed, to his thoughts and concentration.

Occasionally he looks to his left side in the direction of The Village. Is he regretting what he said to his mother? Or is he hoping for a lightning bolt?

I become aware of a flickering light on my head and turn around towards its source, in the direction of the river.

The blades of the old metal windmill, silhouetted against the setting sun, are now at the point directly between the ball of flame and me, allowing rays of golden afternoon light to alternately penetrate and be obscured as it turns slowly in the whisper of a westerly breeze.

This is an iconic picture in itself. Although I see the windmill every day with its companion, the elevated water tank, I had never contemplated its existence or purpose until just now. To me it had previously been just a nondescript part of the old `stuff' that lies scattered around the property.

Rising slowly so as not to disturb Will, I amble towards the turning blades and the shadowed sides of the darkening river gums.

The windmill is a tall one. I look more carefully and observe one pipe stretching from its base down the river bank into the water. A steel ladder forms an integral part of the structure, to allow access to the pump rods and the blades.

High above, there is another pipe delivering short gushes of water, with resonant regularity, into the water tank. This tank is much higher than the one beside the back of the house, towards which yet another pipe leads.

I stand transfixed and almost mesmerised by the rhythm of the turning windmill and pump, drawing water up from the river and depositing it into the tank. The pump rod moves. Down. Up. `Gush'. Down. Up. `Gush'.

Understanding some basic science, I can see how the base of this tank, being higher than the top of the house tank, delivers water to the house with a reliable pressure. So long as there is water in this tank, the house tank will be full.

I wonder how overflows might be prevented. Then I see the tap to stop the water flowing, and the lever to isolate the blades of the windmill and prevent it from turning and hence stop pumping.

Smart! Old technology, but still very effective.

I look towards Will and note the diminishing daylight on the house. He's facing me, packing up his gear. He gives me a `thumbs-up'.

I walk back and he shows me his work, explaining what he has added during the past 30 minutes. While parts of the picture seem complete, others have only the outline of sections still to have detail added. I can see that he has even included the two dogs. I also note what appear to be two vague shapes inside the last window - our bedroom. I think of questioning him about them but decide to wait and see what detail he adds at a later time.

Will smiles at me as I help him put his gear into the store room, making sure that nothing is touching the wet paint. He throws his arms around me, pulling me close, and whispers, "I really love you, Tom. I'd do anything for you, you know." He gives me a quick peck on the cheek then heads out to Marty in the kitchen before I have the chance to properly respond.

My heart jumps at the simplicity and sincerity of what just happened. I pull the door shut and follow him.

I sense that Will is in a strange mood - how can I describe it? Excitedly apprehensive? It's as though he is anticipating something, perhaps he expects to `get lucky' tonight. My cock twitches, filling out a little more than I want Marty to see, so I head straight to the bathroom to collect my thoughts and my `composure'.

After an early dinner, I go out to my car to retrieve some books and I notice a strange glow in the sky, from the direction of The Village. I rush back inside and call out, "Marty, can you come and have a look at something outside? There's a strange light coming from the direction of The Village and I can't quite make out what it is."

I dash back outside, with Marty and Will close behind me. I can now discern something that looks like smoke, illuminated from below and grey against the deepening purple sky.

"Fire!" Marty shouts. "Come on. They might need some help."

He rushes through the house and then I hear his SUV rev up. He pulls up next to us. I jump in next to Marty and Will slides into the back seat, without making any comment.

"What do you think it is?" I ask.

`Stupid question!' I chastise myself as the words leave my mouth. As if Marty could tell from here!

"Not sure yet." He responds, "but there's not too many buildings in The Village. Perhaps it's a grass fire. Regardless, I've just put my two fire extinguishers in the back in case they can be of some use."

We negotiate the bumps on the track and reach the main road. As we speed straight towards The Village, it becomes obvious that it is to the left side of The Village, so that eliminates the pub, the school and the church.

`Oh, shit' I think. `I hope it is only a grass fire and not either of the two houses; Karl and Kurt's home, or Will's.'

We draw closer to the intersection and my heart sinks. It's bigger than a grass fire and it is coming from the western end of the street - Will's place. As we turn the corner, I gasp and turn to look at Will to gauge his reaction.

Just stunned silence.

My eyes immediately well up with tears. I wish that I was in the back with him so that I could comfort him.

There is a small crowd including, possibly, pub patrons, on the track, looking at the house as Marty pulls the SUV to a sudden halt. I can feel the intensity of the heat through the windscreen even without opening my door.

Marty jumps out and it's obvious that his fire extinguishers will be of little use, actually of no use!

He holds up his arm to protect his face from the direct heat. Some of the people who are held back by the extreme temperature are holding extinguishers but either they can't get close enough to use them, or they have already tried unsuccessfully to douse the flames.

There is very little of the structure remaining; not much now except a mass of white-hot wood and roofing iron. No walls. The shack has collapsed inwards on itself and looks like a well-stacked bonfire. The flames are red and bright yellow with tinges of blue and green, dancing, high up at their tips.

Although I instantly wonder whether Lilly was able to get out or not, my immediate concern is for Will's emotional state. I jump out and pull open his door. He is just sitting, staring through the windscreen at what used to be his home, with silent tears streaming down his face.

I turn and scan the faces that are illuminated by the fire, hoping desperately to spot Will's mum, but `the witch' is not among them. I look at Will and what goes through my mind is, `No father, no mother, no home.' I ponder that Will has effectively gone from an abused child to a homeless orphan and I am unable to control the overflow of my own silent tears.

I slide into the back seat next to Will, fully expecting him to throw his arms around me and begin to wail and sob. But he doesn't. He appears transfixed by the flames and, apart from the tears flooding down his cheeks and dripping from his chin, there is no movement from him at all.

It's almost as though he does not even acknowledge my presence.

Karl and Kurt come over to the car to offer sympathetic words to Will, but even their presence does not stir him. They look at me questioningly. All I can say is, "Thanks, guys, but I think this is not a good time. Maybe tomorrow."

Each of the twins now appears to become genuinely upset - more at Will's condition than, perhaps, at the fire and the loss of his mother.

They go back and stand with a tall, solid man whom I take to be their father. They each cling to him and lean their heads against his chest. He extends an arm around each of their shoulders and pulls them close to him. I can see where they get their handsome features from, and I am amazed that he looks so much younger than I had expected. Judging by the age of the twins, he must be at least in his early thirties, and yet, in this light, he appears not much older than Marty.

I can't help but wonder how young and horny he was when the twins were conceived.

Perhaps good looks aren't all that Kurt has inherited.

I put my arms around Will, one around his shoulders and the other across his chest, but he remains almost rigid. His condition is scaring me.

Marty comes to the door. "Tom, one of the hotel patrons said he got through to Chad at the police station on his satellite phone. Chad's on his way out now, and will probably bring Sean with him. Why don't you take Will home? There's nothing that either of you can do here. I think staying may only upset him even more. And, oh, Reg is over there. He has suggested cancelling school for tomorrow, seeing that it's Friday. He said that he would let all the other families know. What do you think?"

Although I hadn't even thought of tomorrow yet, it's a sensible suggestion and I ask Marty to tell Reg `thank you' and `yes, please let the others know that there will be no school until Monday'."

Marty tells me that he'll stay and wait for Chad and Sean and will get them to drop him home.

I suggest that it would be a good idea for Sean to check Will over as well. He may have something that he can give to Will. I'm no doctor, but the boy is obviously in shock, and some medication might help.

Marty heads back to talk to Reg. I see him now. I ask Will if he wants to sit up front with me. No reaction. OK! I close the door and walk around to the driver's side.

It doesn't take long to get home. Will hasn't moved. I open his door, put my arms around him and say quietly, "Come on, mate. Let's get you inside."

For a moment there is no response, but then he slowly turns his eyes towards me, followed by one of his hands, extending it like a trusting toddler, and he lets me lead him indoors.

I take him straight to our room. He just stands there, with his hands limp by his side. I move close to him, pressing my chest against his, wrap my arms around him and rub his back.

He suddenly throws his head backwards and lets out an ear-piercing wail then grabs me so tightly that I can hardly breathe.

I release my arms, but Will doesn't. He cries out, "No! No! No, Tom! Don't let me go! Don't go! Don't leave me now!"

I manage, "Will, I've told you that I'm here for you, for as long as you want me to be."

Will is shaking, almost shivering, more I suspect from fear and anxiety than from the night air. I wrap my arms around him again and squeeze him really hard. I hear some of his vertebrae give a loud cracking sound - nothing serious, just like cracking your knuckles.

I whisper breathily, "Nice, Will. You're squeezing the life out of me and I'm breaking your back. We're gonna kill each other." I regret using the `killing' word as soon as I speak it. However, my comment breaks the tenseness of the situation.

Will relaxes enough to say, "All you're gonna break is my heart, you know. My dad's gone - I never knew him. My mum's gone, and I hate her for what she did, and now I've finally gotten rid of her. But the only person I have ever loved is still here. Don't you ever leave me Tom. You are really all I have and all I want. I told you that I would do anything for you."

That's strange. It's the second time that Will has used those words.

"Do you really love me, Will?" I ask quietly, with sincerity.

"Yes! I love you. I mean it Tom. I feel it... in here." He releases one of his hands and places it over his heart. "And in here," pointing to his head. Then moving his hand between our bodies and sliding it between his crotch and mine so that he can touch us both at the same time, he adds softly, "and definitely here."

I make no move to pull away and just feel Will's body relax a little more. Besides, I really like the feeling of the slight movement of his hand brushing back and forth across my flaccid meat, as though he's discovering it for the very first time. Relishing the feeling, it doesn't stay limp for long. It gradually broadens and lengthens and hardens.

"I think that Junior loves me too!" he adds.

I want to lighten his mood. "You mean that you love me like you love pancakes, right?"

He smiles. "Hmmm. Yes. And more."

"You love me like you love painting, then?"

"Yes, but much more."

"You love me like your own brother?"

"Especially like a brother, but even more than that. I love you like..." He stops short then he just starts to cry. Not just sniffling, but actual crying. Breath-catching, and blubbering, and floods of tears. His heart-wrenching emotions trigger mine.

I know that Will has opened his heart to me. Having previously told me that he is gay, he has a right to be loved, and to love. I am the object of his love and he acknowledges me as the potential source of the love to meet his need; to fill the void in his heart.

OMG. What do I say? "Will, listen to me. This has been coming for a long time, hasn't it? It's not just because your father and your mother and your home have all gone, is it? We connect, you and I, don't we?"

"Yes, Tom."

"Then let me share something with you, Mr William O'Brien. But... house rule! Nobody else must ever hear this - not Marty, not Jake, not Karl or Kurt, no one!"

"I promise," he whispers back as he starts to rock his body against mine - ever so slightly but noticeably and nervously. I continue...

"Will, I came to this little town, in the middle of nowhere, looking forward to the opportunity to establish myself as the best professional teacher that I could possibly be. I could not even have imagined that on my very first day, I would meet somebody who would turn my life upside down. You, William O'Brien. You've changed my life. It can never, ever, be the same again. I was hoping that I might meet a farmer's daughter, fall in love and forever dispel my attraction to other guys. I desperately wanted to be `normal', to have kids and to get all my friends off my back about me being a sports star who could never get laid! Do you know what my nickname was? `Virgin...ia'. Think about it. It was as much of a pain for me as the name `Little Willie' was for you, I'm sure."

Will smirks a knowing, agreeing smirk.

"So, you're still a virgin, too, eh?" he smirks.

I respond, "Yeah, I've played in bed with a few people, male and female, but I never felt for them what I feel for you and I didn't do with any of them what I want to share with you. But that, in itself, poses a huge conflict for me. What I feel for you and what I want to do with you is totally unprofessional for a teacher. I have already crossed so many lines that I've jeopardised my teaching career and risked landing in jail. And yet, my attraction to you is so strong that I would give teaching away if I was able to support us both."

"The bottom line," I continue, "is that I can't love you right now the way you want me to, and the way that I want to, while, at the same time continuing to be your teacher. Something's got to give! It's driving me insane with worry. My head says, `walk away'. My heart won't let me! But, right now, Will, I just want you to know that I'm so sorry about your mother and your house and that I'm here for you. I'll look after you. And I'll love you the best way that I can, and I give you this assurance. I will endeavour to persuade my parents to adopt you officially and the day that you become my brother I solemnly promise that we will make passionate love in every way that you could ever imagine or want. Full on."

I can tell from the warm wetness on my shoulder, and from his heaving chest, that Will is crying again - silently but surely. Is he happy, or have I really upset him which would be the opposite of what I wanted?

He lets go of me and almost throws himself on his bed and curls into a foetal position with his back towards me, with his hands covering his face.

So, this is the defining moment. Should I leave him to lament the cruel hand that fate has dealt him, or should I commit to loving him, whatever the consequences? Is my promise so empty that he thinks it's impossible that he and I will ever go all the way, as he obviously wants?

I take a step backwards and look at the pathetic scene before me - at the young man who could be my younger brother. My head hurts and my heart is pounding. I step back again and observe the erratic rise and fall of his back as he attempts to breathe while crying what may be the deepest sorrow of his seventeen years - unfulfilled love.

Ultimately there is only one choice that I can make - love above the law! I move to his bed and lay myself behind him, nudging him over a little. I spoon up to him, cradling his firm backside into my lap. I drape my free arm over his body and pull us both closer together.

"I love you William O'Brien," is all that I can muster as I allow my own tears run sideways across my face and into his hair.

With his next breath, Will's sorrow becomes very vocal - unashamed crying. He turns within my grasp, wraps his arms around me, raises his head and places his tearful cheek upon mine. "Thank you. I love you too, Thomas Grant."

He has never used my full name previously. This is something special for him... and for me. At this moment, we are not teacher and student; we are equals in love. He begins to kiss me passionately, and I reciprocate, willingly and unrestrainedly. While I feel the meat of his groin pressing against mine, neither of us is hard, but semi-hard is quite erotic. However, this is not a sexual time - it's a moment of love. We share the blissful embrace and relax into each other's arms, drifting off to sleep.

Sometime later I am roused by the dogs barking.

I realise that Marty, Chad and Sean are coming.

I ease myself off Will's bed. He is now in a deep sleep. I cover him and go to the bathroom to wash my face. Walking quietly into the kitchen I turn on the electric jug, ever ready, filled with water for a quick tea or coffee, just as the three brothers come through the door.

Chad, Sean and I greet each other and I offer to make the coffees. Their faces are serious, but not grim.

Sean speaks first, "How's the boy?"

"Sleeping at the moment," I reply. "I'm not sure what's going through his mind, but he is certainly distressed. He took quite a bit of comforting, and it took a while for him to snap out of his stupor then he cried a lot before drifting off.

"Sleep is a good thing for the body," Sean tells me. "I'll leave you something for him to take over the next few days that should help. But, at the moment, Chad would like to speak with him, if he can manage it."

Chad says, "Yes, Tom, there's a couple of things that I really need to talk to William about."

As if on cue in a TV soapie or melodrama, Will's peeping face appears at the corner of the wall. I can see him but the others have their back towards that part of the room.

Chad continues, "Tom, I'm sure that this will be difficult for him, but I was able to determine that the fire was deliberately lit. It was no accident."

I look towards Will's face and see horror. But instead of looking to me for support, he avoids my eyes, looks down and bursts into tears, then runs back into our room and slams the door hard enough for the reverberations to be felt throughout the house.

Startled by his presence, Chad says, "I'm sorry. I didn't know he was listening, or I would have broken it to him more gently." He gets up to follow Will.

"Chad, let me. Please." I ask. He nods and, taking another swig of his coffee, sits down.

I open our door and then close it again behind me.

Will is pacing up and down, almost frantically. When he sees me, he flings his arms around me and cries, "Oh, Tom. I'm so sorry. I've ruined everything now."

I try to comfort him. "Will. What do you mean? You've done nothing wrong."

"Yes, I did. Now I'm going to lose you too." Then he wails and just clings to me.

Suddenly... my less-than-sharp-when-necessary brain recalls a number of his words, and strings them together:

* I'd do anything for you, Tom

* I lit some candles for her

* I told her it would be the last thing that I would ever do for her

* I've finally gotten rid of her

* Burnt at the stake

* Burn in hell

As I ponder Will's words, now in the context of events, I feel my eyes dilate and my bottom lip starts to quiver. I hope, against all the odds, that I've joined the dots wrongly. I feel great compassion for him, but I have to ask the obvious question.

I raise my arms around him and hug him tightly to me with one while rubbing his back with the other. "Will, tell me where you put the candles that you lit for your mother."

He sobs, pauses, takes a deep breath and manages, "One on the little table near her chair. One in the kitchen area. And one... underneath... her bed."

"Oh, Will," is all that I can manage.

While continuing to rub his back, dozens of scenarios and their consequences flash through my head.

I determine that the best defence will be to go on the offensive - disclose Lilly's abuse of him, and claim extreme provocation. Chad will think of something!

I encourage Will to come out with me and to `face the music'. I cannot abandon him, whatever happens, and I remind him of my love for him with a kiss.

A knock at the door. "Guys, it's Sean. May I come in?" I give Will a tight squeeze, tell him that it will all work out, then step back.

"Yes, Sean, come in," I say.

He's carrying a glass of water.

"Here, young fella. Take this. It'll help." He gives a capsule and the water to Will who downs it without question. Sean continues, "I think that you'd both better come and hear what Chad has to say."

He smiles at Will and says, "it's OK little cousin. We'll look after you. That's what family is for. Plus, you've got Mr Grant who seems to have taken a liking to you as well." Then he leaves the door open as he returns to the lounge area.

I'm not sure what Sean means by that. Hopefully the only thing that Marty has observed and told his brothers is how helpful I've been to Will and how responsive he has been. Did I let my guard down at any time?

I put my arm around Will's shoulder and urge him towards the doorway with me. He is a picture of absolute misery. I give him a squeeze and leave my arm in place as we go to confront the law.

Marty and Chad are seated at the table, drinking their coffee. Chad motions for Will to sit down and passes him a mug, then speaks. "William, I know that this is going to be hard for you." Will's eyes are full of tears and he is starting to tremble.

I move to stand behind Will to support him, and lightly massage his shoulders. Man, is he tense!

Chad continues, "After the fire died down, all the people with fire extinguishers combined to put it out. Then I had to do one of the most unpleasant tasks for a cop - check for a body, and any possible causes of the fire. After only minimal checking, it was obvious to me that the fire had been deliberately lit."

Suddenly, and questioning why my ever-slow brain hadn't thought of it sooner, it comes to me, `how could a candle be found after an inferno? Surely it would all have melted, with the other two and combined with the ashes of everything else in the house. There should have been little, if any, trace of it, as evidence.

Then Chad's revelation. "I was able to tell that petrol had been used to start the fire. A lot of petrol, so that it would catch quickly. The smell was still there even after the flames had all been extinguished."

Will turns and looks at me, his mouth open, as if wanting to say something. The look of horror on his face is no longer one of fear, but of both confusion and, yes, relief. He bursts into tears. This time, Marty gets up to comfort Will, taking my place behind him and putting his arms around his cousin's chest.

Chad continues further. "And the good news is... that there was no body. I mean, I expected to find your mother's body, but there was none.

I am stunned. "What does that mean? Lilly wasn't in the house when it burnt down?"

Marty takes up the commentary, "Lilly had been flirting earlier with some out-of-town dude, according to some of the patrons at the pub, and went riding with him on the back of his bike. Apparently, she did not come back. So, her whereabouts is still a mystery and so is the cause of the fire. But we do know for sure that she wasn't in the house."

Chad says that he needs to get back into Big Town to `do some paperwork', but he will be back later tomorrow to investigate more fully, including the necessity to interview everyone who may have seen anything earlier in the day.

I think for a moment. Lilly isn't, or may not be, dead, but she is still not here for her son. Perhaps she has eloped or gone off on a spree. Hopefully, she hasn't met with foul play at the hands of one or a number of undesirables. I'm not sure how Will is going to take this news once he thinks it through. He may be happy that she wasn't killed, or it could make him worse, knowing that she has literally left him to his own devices, intentionally abandoning him.

And how will that affect my plan for my parents to adopt Will if his mother is still alive? And what of my promise to `go all the way' with him the day he becomes my brother? Would its now-seemingly unlikelihood make Will even more miserable? And me, too?

I need to find another legitimising reason for making love to Will! Or is mutual passion simply enough?

Then the only questions would be, `When?' and `Where?'

We have two weeks remaining until the end of term.

 

(to be continued)

 

There is a parallel version to this story, told through the eyes of Kurt.
Find it at https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/kurt-series/

-----

If you like this story, and haven't said 'hello' yet, please take a couple of minutes to email me.

rob.zz@hotmail.com

I try to reply to everyone. Please be patient.

-----

Please support the efforts at Nifty. Every little bit helps to ensure that

our stories continue to be posted. Do it here: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html