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 26

Then, as I watch him, it dawns on me. I get it! I glimpse his soul and personality which create the magnetism and love that I feel for him - the very things that he is able to capture of people in his portraits of them. His ability to see past the physical is what makes him the wonder that he is, and I am thankful for this brief `flash' of insight to the deeper him. I feel a tinge of jealousy that he can see people that way all of the time.

I step, naked, through the doorway and face him. He sees me and stops moving. He stands still. His eyes lock onto mine and he smiles. Not seductively. Just happily.

As traces of shampoo glisten down his body, his flaccid manhood seems to lengthen; then it begins to expand in girth and to move slowly away from his body, continuing until it is standing well above horizontal.

How could I resist him?

Chapter 27 - Land Owners

Will and I are teased downstairs, drawn by the aroma of fresh bacon. I see two plates of it, with scrambled egg and sausages. Mum adds a scoop of mushrooms in a hot creamy sauce to each. I love Mum's breakfasts. The toaster pops. I love hot toast plastered with butter too.

"Nice shower, boys?" Mum asks, smirking.

She knows!

"Really great, thanks, Aunty Susan." Will replies, although I can tell that his focus at the moment is more on the food.

Mum adds dryly, "You know, saving water by showering together doesn't quite add up if you're in there for more than twice as long."

"Hey. That's pretty funny, Mum," I reply. "but it's really hard to tear yourself away from a hot shower."

At my double-entendre, both Will and Mum turn to look at me and we all smirk and share the moment of understanding and acceptance.

I've never experienced the fun of sharing intimate conversation with either of my parents previously. It feels really strange. But great.

"What are you boys planning on doing today?" she asks.

"We haven't discussed it yet." I reply. "Perhaps we could drive up to the hinterland and take in the sights. Looking from up there, back to the coast, is spectacular. The air is so clear today that the view will be as good as it gets. Another thing that I have on my `to do list' is to take Will to a couple of the theme parks - perhaps Movie World and Sea World. Although, come to think of it, he may not appreciate swimming with dolphins. Perhaps Wet'N'Wild would be more fun for him."

"What's a `theme park'?" Will immediately asks.

I have to keep reminding myself that he has had a very sheltered, even deprived, upbringing without exposure to TV or computers or even magazines. Then I think of Marty's stack of mags. Hmm, maybe not entirely sheltered!

I know, having met Will and Marty and the twins, that, growing up, I have taken so much for granted.

Mum says, "Hard to explain, Will, but you'll need a full day to have fun at two of them. What about tomorrow or Friday?"

Will looks up. I think we're going shopping tomorrow, Aunty Susan."

"Yes," I add, "we're going to check out a couple of the other malls." Will turns his slightly worried gaze upon me. I add, "And, we're going to buy a games console, and some games of course."

Will relaxes.

I continue, "I think that most, if not all, of the kids at The Village would have never played computer-type games. I might even be able to find some educational ones - maths, science, reading."

I know that Will is anticipating seeing Jarrod again. "OK. The hinterland it is, then. If we go soon, we can be back for lunch about one o'clock."

"That will work," Mum adds. "Bill rang to say that he's coming about then, and wants to talk to you both."

"What about?" Will and I are both curious.

"He didn't say. You know his style," Mum smiles. "He never fully tells anyone what's going on."

"That's the truth!" I say to Will for his enlightenment, but in response to Mum as well.

 

The drive takes about an hour, through outer suburbs, past some manicured golf courses and the negotiation of a gradually-increasing gradient and curves.

Glimpses back to the coast as we zig-zag across the face of the escarpment are picture-postcard stuff. I wonder whether the views capture any of Will's artistic interest.

I park in the street of a little town that I know has some coffee shops situated to take full advantage of the views.

We walk. There are shops that exploit the needs of tourists to purchase memorabilia. I find it ironic, almost obscene, that souvenirs of a place like this are probably produced in some smoky little back-street, third-world sweat shop.

Of much more interest to me are the carvings from the multi-coloured and oddly-grained local timbers in specialist shops displaying everything from small letter openers to oversized dining tables and grandfather clocks.

One piece catches my eye. It's a key ring attached to a piece of polished wood - light wood, almost yellow. But its primary feature is a slightly off-centred knot in the wood. Almost red. Heart-shaped. Natural. One of a kind. Nothing tacky or artificial about this! Even Will admires its beauty. I buy it.

Outside the shop I give it to Will as a token of my love for him, of our mutual `magnetism'. I tell him that whatever fate has in store for each of us, or wherever we are, he can always carry my love with him, and hold it. Tears form in his eyes and he throws his arms around me.

"Thank you, Tom," is all that he is able to choke out.

As we continue to walk and check out some curiosity shops, we come across one with ornate cuckoo clocks of all sizes including one much taller than Will and me. The variety fascinates both of us.

I have an urge to take and hold his hand. However, I regret that there is still some propriety needing to be observed here. I settle for putting an arm across his shoulder, `buddy style'. That, at least, is quite socially acceptable. It may not be so back in The Village, except for a couple of pub patrons holding each other for stability against the combined forces of insobriety and gravity.

I am not sure how either of us is going to cope, needing to keep our hands off each other. I'm even uncertain how much freedom Marty's `House Rule' will afford us, and what his attitude will be to us as a `couple'. Maybe we could include him in some limited threesome activities. Would that satisfy him? After all, mucking around with me, the Schoolie, didn't seem to faze him. But how would he feel about `doing stuff' with one of my students, his young cousin?

"Hey!" Will says as he elbows me lightly in the ribs. "Where are you? Come back to me!"

"Sorry. I seem to be doing quite a bit of day-dreaming lately."

"Where were you?"

"I was back in The Village, at Marty's, wondering whether he will accept our relationship. And whether he'd be jealous, or feel left out, or want `in' on our fun together. What do you think? He's your cousin. You've known him all your life. How will he react?"

Will, in his inimitable style, doesn't even take time to ponder before he responds, "He'll be OK. After all, he wasn't at all shocked at springing Jake and me jacking each other off, or by you, me and him jacking off at the bath together."

Then my mouth precedes my brain, again! "And he was OK with him and me using the `men's room' together, too."

"What?" Will says, stopping in his tracks. "You and Marty did something together in the `men's room'? What? Through the holes? Together? At the same time?"

"Oops!" I say, covering my mouth - as if that will silence the words that have already escaped! "Too much information!" I feel myself blush. "It, umm, was the weekend that you stayed at Jake's. It, umm, just sort of happened."

"Hey!" Will laughs. "I actually thought that the pair of you would have done a bit more than that."

"Well, actually..." I begin, then realise how incriminating that even those two words are.

"Aha. I thought so!"

"Nothing really serious," I jump in. "I'll tell you about it tonight."

Then I think of something that Will is sure to enjoy. "In fact, why don't we re-enact the whole thing. I'll be me, and you can be Marty. I'll tell you what to do, although I think you'll catch on pretty quickly."

"Hell, Yeah!" he enthuses.

I cast my mind back to the oily naked wrestling and the fun that followed, and I also think, `Hell, Yeah!' both for the memory of what occurred with Marty but, moreso, the anticipation of what will happen with Will tonight.

We are fortunate to locate a café table with an unobstructed view. Will finds it breathtaking. He has never been so high up and looking down upon any landscape, except, maybe at Simon's where we were, maybe 40-50 metres above the ground. Here, the height is over 1,000 metres.

I point out to Will the landmarks, and trace for him the route that we took to get here. As we look easterly, the almost-noonday sun throws no glare. Being nearly overhead, it acts like a spotlight, showing the entire landscape in detail. The slight westerly breeze overnight has taken any particulate matter way out to sea, giving crystal clarity to everything.

Will is spellbound. "What a picture!" he says in almost breathless wonder. "It's a pity we don't have a camera because I won't remember all of this."

I want to remedy that situation for Will. I take out my smartphone and begin capturing the scenery, making sure to include Will in the foreground of some. I show him how to use it and he takes a couple of me.

"Would you like one together?" the waitress asks as she serves our mugs of coffee with Danish pastries. They didn't have custard tarts.

"Yes, please," Will replies. I was expecting a `Hell, Yeah,' but am pleased at his more appropriate response. We have one taken sitting together over coffee and another standing, with our arms around each other's shoulders.

"Thank you very much," I offer, and determine to give her a good tip as we pay for the bill, even though tipping is not the usual custom in Australia.

Our time is spent chatting, generally, with Will comparing a lifetime in The Village with a single week in the Gold Coast. And we wonder on the quirk of fate that brought us together and the extreme odds against us being related, let alone being sired by the same man, almost five years and many hundreds of kilometres apart. Kismet, surely.

We talk about our `holiday flings' with the guys at the beach and the seemingly-open acceptance of gay liaisons here. I express that we have been charmed not to have been exposed or inadvertently detected, so far. I don't want to push our luck too far and suggest, if we are going to do more with these guys, that, when we are in the showers, somebody should act as a lookout, a `cockatoo' in Australian idiomatic language.

He agrees. As the oldest two, he and I have the most to lose for such indulgences as we have enjoyed, especially with young Andy and Joey.

Will is looking forward to meeting up with Jarrod at the Games Shop and also to seeing Sam again at the motel on the way home. Me too, and I recall Will's words, `he's hung like a horse and spurts like a fountain', even though I'm not hankering for a `piece of the action'.

We have only a handful of days remaining here.

Heavy on my heart are Mum's cancer and her opted treatment. I'm not convinced that she is making the best choice in avoiding chemotherapy. I know that it's expensive and potentially debilitating, but it brings some hope, doesn't it? Alternatives have their supporters, and I wonder why they are not embraced by the medical profession if they are effective. Or are professional egos getting in the way of progress? I contemplate life without her and my eyes mist over.

"Hey!" Will says, bringing me back to him. "What's up?"

I look at Will and blink, forcing a tear to drop from each of my eyes. "There's something that you're not telling me, isn't there?" he asks tenderly.

I take a paper serviette from the dispenser and blot my eyes dry. There is no point in denying anything, especially to Will, with his ability to `read' people better than anyone I've ever met. Mum's ability is close to his! I could never conceal stuff from her. I used to think that she was some sort of psychic, or that she had hidden cameras everywhere.

I ponder my promise to Mum not to tell anyone else.

Actually, didn't I only undertake not to say anything to Amelia? So, sharing with Will is not breaking a confidence.

"Yes, Will. There is something that I haven't told you yet."

"Is it so bad that you can't tell me now?" he asks very maturely, considering his still-tender age.

"Will, I want you to promise me that you won't let this slip to anyone else - especially Amelia!"

"My God, Tom! What is it?" he asks seriously.

"Promise me, Will. No slip-ups! You have to be very careful when you are with Sis, or just when she is around."

"Of course, Tom!"

"Promise me!"

"I promise, but you know that I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, or is it her?"

I pause, open my mouth to speak, but all that happens is that my eyes fill up again. I take another serviette, remove the tears, and struggle to say the words. "My Mum is dying of cancer."

Then the waterworks really start, despite my best resolve. Will moves closer and alternates between rubbing my back and resting his arm around my shoulders.

"Sorry, Will. I just can't talk about it at the moment," I whisper.

Getting to his feet, Will says, "I'll be back in a minute." I assume that he has to visit the toilet.

A few minutes after he resumes his seat, drawing it up alongside my own, the waitress brings us two more coffees, and more Danish pastries. "Thank you," Will says. I look at him and he smirks. "Hey, you looked like you needed a refill." I reach out, squeeze his hand, but not only in gratitude for his thoughtfulness.

 

The return trip is a little quieter. Will rests his hand on my leg in an obvious expression of support, occasionally simply rubbing, or patting, the inside of my thigh during our conversation; it's welcomed, without any sexual suggestion.

Steering right away from the topic of Mum, I discuss with him the relative benefits of smart phones, iPhones, satellite phones, iPads and tablets, with the ability to take, store and display photographs. And, that the limited reception at The Village is a definite consideration for him and me.

It is my intention to buy us both the best available devices that meet our needs - the capability to make phone calls out in The Village as well as whatever it takes to meet Will's need and desire to take photos. As well, I suggest that he should digitise images of all of his artwork, and categorise them just as Uncle Bill has done with his collections.

He nods and hums in agreement but, I can tell, without the full comprehension of my technical jargon.

When we arrive home, Uncle Bill is already there. He and Mum are sitting at the table out by the pool. Their body language reveals that there is still a closeness and bond between them. I don' think that he would try anything sexual with her - at least I hope not - but I still sense that they have a very strong friendship.

And I wonder where Sis is? Out with friends, or simply making herself scarce?

I decline Mum's offer of more caffeine, but grab Will and me a lemonade and we join them by the pool. Uncle Bill shakes our hands and gives us both a bit of a hug.

Will and I both kiss Mum on the cheek and she looks at us, inquiringly. I'll tell her later about Will's knowledge of her condition and the agreement to keep it from Amelia. I don't know how much Uncle Bill knows, if anything.

I try, for once, to get the better of Uncle Bill first and, in a jocular voice ask, "Long night, Uncle Bill?" thinking of him and Monika together.

"Probably as long as yours," he fires back. I feel myself blush, although it's my own fault for raising the subject. Will looks away.

"Touché," I say as deadpanly as I can.

Then to Mum I comment, "He hasn't changed, has he?"

"No," she replies smiling. "And is never likely to."

We exchange some meaningless pleasantries before Will comments on the views from the top of the mountain.

Uncle Bill broaches some more serious stuff.

"You know, son," he says to Will, with obvious pride, "it takes a lot to impress Monika, and she was thrilled last night."

Will and I look at each other and stifle titters.

"I mean by Will's artwork, you pair of incorrigible miscreants!"

Will looks puzzled at Uncle Bill's characterisation.

"He means that we both have dirty minds," I say to Will, who noticeably relaxes and smirks in tacit agreement.

"I think you will be seeing a lot more of her in the future. She has some great ideas about showing your work. And, believe me, she is one well-connected lady." Will looks at me and I wink. "But more of that another time." Uncle Bill concludes that thread of conversation. "Right now, though, there is something else that I want to tell you."

I don't comment on what I was thinking of him and Monika, because, being an `incorrigible miscreant', I know that Uncle Bill would make me regret it.

"After you first told me what had happened to your house," he continues, "I took the liberty of checking with the Land Titles Office as to who is the owner of the land where the house is, or was. It seems, according to their cadastral system, that it had always been common land, for general use, unowned by anyone. Then about 50 years ago it was re-gazetted for building and able to be purchased. But nobody bought it. Obviously, no-one out there ever reads the Government Gazette."

I think that his denigration of The Village folk is one of Uncle Bill's less successful attempts at humour!

"So, I made an offer on it," he adds, "which was accepted. Government offices don't normally work that fast but when you know the Director, anything is possible. After she and I returned to the office from brunch, all the paperwork was ready."

"Wow!" Will exclaims. My response is to immediately wonder exactly how many big willie admirers are in his harem.

Uncle Bill continues, "That's not the half of it. That actual piece of land is quite large, according to the maps. It is bounded by the river, the road that runs all the way west from the pub to re-join the river, and east, right up to the school."

I visualise the almost-triangular area to which he's referring. It's the field of weeds opposite the pub and everything north and west to the river. It not only includes Will's place but also that of Mr Andersen and the twins.

Will says, "So you now own all of that land?"

"No." he says, drawing strange looks from all of us. Then he adds, "You do. The title deeds now list you and Tom as joint owners."

"What?" I blurt out. "Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. I just thought that you two might like a house together with perhaps an art studio attached, in a place that you both obviously love. If you think that you don't like it or you decide to travel, or want to move somewhere else, you can always sell it and split the money. Think about it - opposite the school, next to the river. Trees. Birds. Sunsets. But, it's such an idyllic location, you might appreciate having it as a place to either call home or just treat it as a `country retreat' later on. Will's painting of the weir reminded me of what a magical place it is out there."

I look from Will to Mum and then Uncle Bill. I can tell from his restlessness that there is more.

"After all the papers were signed, my friend gave me the number of one of her best young architects, whom I had actually met previously, and I recalled he had done some minor work for me with one of his colleagues. I rang him, we met and we chatted for quite a while. He will have some preliminary plans for a building by next Monday. You guys can look at them and change or add whatever you like, then there's nothing to prevent the builders from starting on it."

Will is still uncomprehendingly stunned. "So, Tom and I own the land and you are planning on building us a house on it?"

"That's about the size of it, my boy," he replies. "Do you like it, or don't like it? What do you think?"

"I think I'm dreaming," Will responds. "So that means we will have our own house, and we can invite our friends over?" Will is mulling over things in his mind as much as seeking confirmation.

His face slowly changes from disbelief and shock to a very broad grin.

I'm not sure what he's thinking, but I'll bet it includes the names Jake, Karl and Kurt!

I stand and give Uncle Bill a huge hug and `thank you', then again throw in, "Why?"

"Hey, what are fathers for, if they can't indulge their sons a little? Besides, the cost won't even cause a ripple in my bank account."

While Will is hugging his Dad, I think, `But what about Marty?' I enjoy his company. He's been good to me, and he relies on my rent money because there's not much work around - except at his mother's house and she only rewards him by throwing dog bones at him for his smart-arse comments.

To my un-asked question, Uncle Bill adds, "Do you know any locals who could assist the builders? It would be good money for a couple of months. And I'm sure that the pub will appreciate the increased patronage, both in food and drink, as well as the accommodation. You two might even make friends with a couple of cute apprentices."

Mum swats him across the shoulder. "Bill!" she admonishes.

"Only joking!" he replies with his got-you-again grin.

I can see the wheels turning in Will's head. Uncle Bill might have been only joking but, Will on the other hand...

Again, I think of Marty. Who knows? If he does take the opportunity to work with the builders, as I'm sure he will, he might even meet somebody special himself. Hmmm.

Mum excuses herself to prepare lunch, leaving Will and me with our dad, `Uncle Bill'. He fills me in on suggestions for power, water, phone, aircon, TV and more. "I even thought that while they're at it, I'll get the technical guys to hook up another satellite dish and TV for the pub. I'm sure that the patrons will appreciate it as much as the licencee."

I think of Marty. I'd like to do something similar for him too, in terms of `mod cons'.

"Anyway," Uncle Bill adds, "we have plenty of time to plan it all out. If we aren't finished thinking it through by the time you have to go back, I can always come and pay you a visit."

We lunch.

Uncle Bill dashes off.

Mum excuses herself to rest.

I message Simon to see what he's doing.

Will and I spend a torrid afternoon with him and Luke. While Will and Luke are showering together (to save water, of course), I ask Simon, "Do you know anything about the boyfriend of Andy's mother?"

"Yeah, I've seen him a couple of times. About your age, which seems pretty weird."

"Eh?" I ask, curious at the last bit. Should I be insulted?

"I mean, weird for someone her age to have a boyfriend his age," he says. "He's like a pro footballer, or something, and really well hung from the bulges that I've observed, which is probably what she sees in him. I don't think that he's too bright though, and Andy tells me that he has a bad temper and a short fuse. Why?"

"Oh, just something that Andy mentioned to me." I'm not sure exactly what Andy has told Simon, so I say nothing further.

At home, conversation over dinner centres on Uncle Bill's revelation of the land purchase and potential house design. It's a stimulating discussion, with Dad and Amelia throwing in their ideas as well.

Sis insists that 2 or 3 storeys would be `cool'.

Dad suggests a long ranch style, with broad verandahs and a separate art studio with connecting `breezeway' and under-shelter car parking - one for me, one for Will and one or two for visitors.

Will loves the `one for him' car space idea.

Mum and Dad decide to `hit the sack' first. She is looking very tired. I must talk with Karen about her and the potential cancer treatment. Maybe tomorrow, if she's free. I'm aware that time is critical, and I haven't seen nor heard of anything concrete happening yet.

Amelia asks Will if he can give her another drawing lesson. I detect Will's hesitancy because of his intention to `come out' to her, but sense that he's not ready to do it tonight. He counters with, "How about tomorrow, after breakfast? I'm feeling pretty tired right now. It's been a full day."

I smile and think, `Full day? More of an emptying day'! He was first emptied at the beach this morning, then in the shower with me when we came back, and also at least once with Luke this afternoon at Simon's place.

And I haven't finished with him yet! We still have an oily wrestling match ahead of us. I hope that I have the stamina to last the distance myself! At least I do know that neither of us will erupt prematurely. LOL.

 

I immerse the bottle of baby oil in the basin of hot water to be warmed - much nicer on the skin than just cold!

We both `brush our teeth'. It's great to be clean and smell fresh without fear of embarrassment or of offending the other person.

Having first laid a number of towels on the floor, I slowly and methodically apply the warm oil thinly to Will's body - neck to ankles, front and back. It doesn't take much to get him hard, but I resist the obvious temptation!

He repeats, on me, my oiling of him.

I suggest that it would be better if he waits a while before lingering `down there', because the sexual tension created by delaying any touching of cock and balls will actually heighten the anticipation and pleasure.

I recall Marty oiling up my back and wishing at the time that it was Will. I luxuriate now in the realisation of his touch.

I suggest to Will that we initially kneel in front of each other and try to unbalance the other person, much like the horse and rider game with Karl and Kurt in the weir - except without the horses.

I spread my knees wider than Will has his, giving me a more stable base. After a bit of touchy-feely stuff, it doesn't take much to pull him sideways and forwards. "You'll have to do better than that!" I mock. "Try again."

Will copies my setup and tries the same move on me. Without success! What develops is essentially a contest of upper body strength, with the added difficulty of the slippery oil.

"Wait a bit," I call, and move in closer so that our knees and lower bodies are in direct contact.

"This is more like it!" Will growls. There is much rubbing, pushing and pulling on chest, back, shoulders, stomach and even butt grasping and hole poking. "I can't wait any longer!" Will eventually blurts out and makes a grab for my erection.

I'm not going to capitulate so easily! Although, I'd love to! But I want to prolong the fun.

The contest really begins, with me twisting and squirming to prevent him from gaining easy access to the object of his desire. He gets close to it. Many light touches, however no attempt at grasping is successful. Haha.

It is only when I really want him, that I push him down flat on his stomach, lay myself on his back, pinning his shoulders with my arms and body weight, his legs with my knees and his pelvis with my own. My cock, almost on autopilot, finds its way between his cheeks.

"Do it!" he almost squeals, widening his knees and thighs. Sliding on his well-oiled body is thrilling. So is having my slippery steel rod penetrate his now-lubricated hole.

I use my knees to draw his legs together, pull out of him and slide farther down his body. Using the valley between his thighs as a runway, I navigate my missile upwards, between his cheeks and into the aircraft hangar. He elevates his hips slightly and keeps his body perfectly positioned so that I never miss, and he groans each time that I park it in him, as deep as possible. I love the feel of his cheeks massaging my abs as I push upwards, and again as I uncouple from him. I do all that I can to heighten the skin-on-skin sensation and before long, my aircraft is emptying its payload of fuel.

He deliberately contracts his cheeks and internal muscles, again and again, syphoning every last drop out of me. Shit! This feels so good! Did I teach him this? Or is he just a natural?

There is no role-playing for him. I roll onto my back and, raising my legs to his shoulders, he takes me fast and hard. When he finally collapses onto me, I simply delight in tracing the curves of his slick muscles, ever so lightly. He shudders repeatedly as my fingertips explore him. I discover his most ticklish spots.

Time to save some more water, to remove both the baby oil and the man oil. LOL.

As I think of what lies ahead tomorrow - seeing the guys at the beach, Will telling Amelia that he is gay and us re-visiting Jarrod at the Games shop, I feel tired, yet sleep doesn't come as easily for me as it does for Will. His regular, slow breathing indicates that he has already `dropped off'.

Many things run through my head - land, house, Karl & Kurt, Uncle Bill, Monika, Will's art, Will coming out to Amelia, guys at the beach, authorities arresting me, Chad the cop `fixing things for a price', Andy being abused, the mother's boyfriend, Mum's funeral, Jarrod, Sam, Marty, Kurt, cherubs.

Sweet dreams mixed with nightmares.

Am I awake or asleep?

 

(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