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, what are you doing here?

 

From Chapter 2

Marty looks at us as we enter the living area. It’s obvious that he can see the dramatic positive change in Will’s face and attitude. He pulls an uncomprehending face, shrugs, then gives me a thumbs-up. “So, you two lovebirds ready to eat?” he asks sarcastically and grinning broadly.

Will and I look at each other, nod, then turn to Marty and say in unison, “Fuck off Marty!” then laugh at our new-found camaraderie.

 

 

Chapter 3 – Something Unexpected

After some light-hearted banter over a simple but delicious meal, and avoiding any discussion about Will’s sudden turnaround in attitude, we all agree that it’s time to hit the sack. Marty goes his way; Will and I go ours. He ducks into the bathroom for a pee and I continue to my room, our room - Will’s and mine. ‘Our room’ has a nice ring to it.

I strip off, country style or, rather, Marty-style, but leave my clothes much neater than how Marty did last night, and jump into bed, covered only by a sheet - more for modesty than to keep me warm on a hot night. Will comes in and closes the door. Eying my pile of clothes topped by my underpants he doesn’t appear to give modesty a second thought as he, too, strips, walking back and forth with unashamed nakedness. Wow! He has absolutely nothing to be ashamed of! ‘Little Willie’ is definitely a misnomer.

To me, everything about him is perfect. His innocent youthful face is showing late adolescent maturity - more angular than rounded with a strong nose and jaw, eyebrows that are thickening and reaching towards one another above his sky-blue eyes. The skin covering every square inch of his body appears flawless. And, the incredible muscle tone is evident in his arms, legs, chest, abdomen and butt. And then, there is his very manly... dare I say it… other bits.

Flopping onto the bed, he partially covers up although I suspect that he would have been just as comfortable not to. We talk for about an hour - initially about his two paintings and his love of horses. My praise, about these, and the others that I have seen at school, cements a proud smile onto his face. Our talk turns, almost inevitably to our uncanny likeness. The curly brown hair. The blue eyes, so unusual amongst all the other O’Briens’ dark ones. The muscled arms. The toned bodies. I keep it ‘above the waist’, despite my observation of similarities down below as well. He asks me what it’s like in the city, so I give him the quick and clean version of my life.

“Tom?” he asks a little hesitantly. I realise that Will has used my name instead of ‘Mr G’.

“Yes, Will?” I answer.

“Do you...? Can I...? Would it be OK if...? Can I get into bed with you?”

“What?” I reply.

I wasn’t expecting that, at least not from Will. Marty perhaps.

“You know,” he continues, “sort of like a big brother and little brother thing? We can just keep talking, but I’ve always dreamed of what it would be like to lie next to a brother at night.”

“Will, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. We’re not little boys any more... just in case you hadn’t noticed!”

That produces a fragile disappointed smile, but he’s persistent. “Please, Tom. House rule. It’ll be OK.”

I’m weakening. “But, I’m your teacher, Will,” I half-heartedly plead.

“Pleeeeease Tom. I’m not gonna tell! You look more like my brother than my teacher. I really wish you were my brother instead of my teacher. Can we pretend we are brothers, just for tonight?”

I consider his years of heartache - no father, no brother, drunken whore of a mother, the butt of everyone’s jokes or lack of consideration whenever they call him ‘Little Willie’.

Against my better judgment, I relent. “OK! Just for tonight. But no funny stuff, understand?”

I’m more concerned for my own potential lack of self-control than for anything that he could possibly consider doing.

He’s quick to react, allowing no time for me to change my mind. I move over to allow him room, and he pulls the sheet over us. We lie, side by side, sharing body heat through our touching thighs and shoulders. I consciously keep my hands away from his body, and we continue our previous getting-to-know-you discussion.

As the conversation starts to flag, Will turns his body towards me, throws his top arm over my chest and gives me a hug. “Good night, Tom,” he says, looking into my eyes.

I turn towards him and, with my own free arm, draw our chests closer, and give him a peck on his forehead and reply. “Good night, Will. Sleep well.” Then I turn to face the wall. He leaves his arm across my body and spoons up to me. I simply interlace my fingers into his and consciously ignore all of the other touching body parts. Nothing more is said.

I stir in my sleep when I feel Will heave a deep sigh. He has scarcely moved. Apart from his chest against my back, I can feel one of his knees resting on my leg with his thighs pressed tightly against me. I am aware that his penis, long and hard, is nestled along the cleft of my butt cheeks. His heavy breathing tells me that he’s sound asleep, so I leave him be. The warmth of another human body next to my nakedness is almost intoxicating. God, it’s been so long! Wiggling my hips slightly to accentuate the feeling of him, and with misty eyes at both the beauty and yet the impossibility of this whole situation continuing, I drift back to sleep.

I don’t know what time it is when I’m woken by a lone mosquito. I hate mosquitoes - their buzz and their bite. I carefully ease and manoeuvre myself away from Will and clamber out at the bottom of the bed. Will rolls onto his stomach to fill the void which I’ve left. I cover him with the sheet to protect him from the solo vampire which, I reflectively decide, will be easier to find and exterminate in the morning. Only Will’s hair is showing. I take a pee, without flushing so there is no noise that would wake up Will or Marty. I come back into the room and decide that it’s a better option to get into Will’s bed, pulling up the sheet to protect myself. I fall asleep, facing the wall, with my back towards Will.

I hear the board creak and I open one eye.

It’s already morning. The door opens quietly and I sense Marty enter the room. I don’t move. I hear him say, “Hey, Little Willie, I need your help,” then I feel a cold hand move under the sheet, take hold of my butt and squeeze it.

I roll over and glare at him at the same time as Will throws back the sheet off his head and chest and murmurs drowsily from the other bed, “What’s up, Marty?”

I wish I had a camera. The stunned look on Marty’s face is priceless! He looks from me across to Will and stammers out to him, “Umm, I need some help up at Mum’s place to fix a door. Can you please come and help me?” He retreats hastily, without looking at back at me, and closes the door again.

Will clambers out of bed, eyes closed, yawns loudly as he stands up on the balls of his feet and stretches towards the ceiling, seemingly unaware that his morning wood is at full stretch. As he slowly relaxes, he opens his eyes, looks at me and notices my smirk. His face changes to one of inquiry. “What?” I look down at his boner. “Shit”, he says and tries, unsuccessfully, to cover everything up, even using both hands.

“Relax, bro,” I tell him. “If I get up right now, we’ll look even more like brothers. The way I see it, you’re only a centimetre longer than me down there, and I’m about the same amount taller than you on top, so I reckon that evens us up, OK?”

He smiles and says, “You are so cool... Tom.” And he relaxes his hands, quite deliberately giving me a good look at his elongated gear.

I decide to fully relieve any embarrassment that he might feel and, throwing all caution to the wind, I mimic, as exactly as I can, what he has just done. I climb out of bed, yawn and stretch, making it obvious that my eyes are closed, to let him check out my own stiffness, if he wants to. I fully open one eye, emulating a wink, and ask, “House rule?” He has the broadest grin on his face as he nods.

By now he has had time to confirm what I had said. “Yes! This is just between you and me, big brother,” he says with a confidence that I hadn’t previously seen. He takes his towel, carries it in front of him, perhaps in case Marty is lurking, opens the door and heads for the bathroom. He doesn’t have a bubble butt, although his muscular glutes are quite pronounced. They are very firm and tend to favour the middle of his body, creating a long, deep, very masculine ‘cleavage’. They are an ideal complement to his slim hips and they perfectly top off his well-defined legs. As he walks, I watch them tighten alternately. As he moves, I berate myself for wanting to touch him, to feel the smoothness of his skin and the firmness of his contracting muscles. I feel myself attracted to him physically, more than I should ever allow myself to be with any teenage guy, let alone one of my students.

Out of sight, out of mind! As my erection slackens, I grab my towel and wrap it around my waist, then I go looking for Marty while Will is in the bathroom. Marty is in the kitchen, with two hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. He avoids my eyes.

“Good morning, Marty,” I say, more politely than I probably need to. He looks up and nods his acknowledgment. I ask directly but as non-judgmentally as I can muster, “What’s with the butt grabbing?” trying to make it sound like a simple, normal question from an ignorant city slicker.

Apart from his guilty expression, his eyes tell me that he fears I’m about to unload much more. He’s obviously used to being harangued by his Mum.

I simply look at him, raise one inquiring eyebrow and wait for a response.

“Sorry, Tom. I thought you were Little Willie. Um, that Little Willie was you. Um, all I could see was your hair. You swapped beds. It was just meant to be a bit of fun - cold hand on his warm body to wake him up.”

I decide to go easy on him, for now. After all he’s the provider of my haven from the gossips and the rest of the world. And I’ve taken a liking to him, smirks and all.

“Yeah, Marty. Your hand was cold, and it did wake me up. All I ask is that in future, you make sure that you identify whose body you are playing with, so you know how far you should go. OK?”

I deliberately say it as ambiguously as possible to leave him totally confused about my intention. Then I add with the cruellest smirk that I can muster, to mess with his head, “Whether it’s him... or me... or Jake.” He stares blankly at me, and I can tell that he doesn’t know what to say, especially at my use of Jake’s name. I can tell that his brain is processing something when he doesn’t question what I’ve just said. I think the appropriate expression is ‘Now I’ve got him by the short and curlies’!

“Sure, Tom. You’ve got my word on it.” he concedes very sheepishly, albeit, appearing confused.

“So, what’s happening this morning at your Mum’s?” I ask brightly, to change the subject and let the fish off the hook.

He gulps and, still with a little quiver in his voice says, “Mum came over very early and said that she pushed her front fly screen door open and it just fell off its hinges. Knowing her quick temper, I think that there must have been a little more force than just pushing it open. I’ll go and rehang it for her. I’ve got quick-setting filler, hinges, and screws. I just need someone to hold things straight for me. Little Willie loves to be helpful. Besides Anna will love having him there. And Mum has invited us all for breakfast. So, he can’t refuse, although I’m sure he’d like to fake some contagious tropical disease in order to stay away from Anna. I don’t know if it’s just her he doesn’t want to be around, or all girls. Couldn’t blame him really, after living with his mother. Although, he and Jane get on well together, but only as cousins and school friends. Nothing funny going on there.”

 

Marty and Will are going to take the truck, with some tools in it. I tell Marty that I’ll change into my lightweight grey track pants and jog or walk over - I need the exercise. Marty calls, “Hey, Little Willie, can you bring the old truck around from out back for me?” and he throws Will the keys as he bounds into the room. Will, dressed, glows with excitement and dashes out of the door that is nearer to our room. Marty turns to me.

“Oh, Tom?”

“Yes, Marty?”

“Thanks, mate. I owe you one, for being so cool about... you know.”

“House rule.” I smirk at him. “But, be aware. I fully intend having you return the favour one day”. He smiles back, and I sense his relief. There seems to be a lot of that going around at the moment.

 

I walk along the track that I had driven yesterday, deciding to avoid the most direct route between the two houses after a warning from Marty about the possibility of deadly snakes in the vegetation - especially at this time of year when they are most active. I’m beginning to think that this country experience is going to be more about ‘educating the city school teacher’ than me educating the country school children.

I observe much while walking. The brown grass-like vegetation that probably grew and died after the last rain - however long ago that was. The river gums that lean over the gentle flow of narrow water as if to protect its remnant from the harsh sunlight. There are vestiges of things just left to rot - old car bits, old windmill and water tank parts, broken farm tools, rusted 44-gallon drums, the carcasses of animals where they either dropped from heat exhaustion or rabid dog bite, or snake venom. I have no intention of being added to the museum, thank you!

As I approach Marty’s mum’s house, her dogs sense my presence first, and Mum looks down the track to see the cause of their agitation. I can see that Will and Marty are already finishing up. I guess that it really wasn’t a big job. Just an awkward one that required a bit of patience, know-how and assistance.

Marty closes his tool box, heads in my direction and puts it in the back of his truck. He waits for me to reach him. “Come and meet Mum and I’ll show you some fireworks,” he says softly. Then a damn cute smirk. Then aloud, as we approach her: “Mum, this is Tom Grant, the new schoolie. Tom, this is Acacia O’Brien, my mum.”

That’s a really goofy grin I see on his face.

“Mr Grant, how nice to meet you. But, a word of warning, if I ever hear you call me ‘Acacia’, I’ll give you a good whooping, like Marty’s gonna get.” Then, turning towards him, she adds, Don’t think that you’ve heard the last of this, Martin Charles O’Brien!”

“She’ll do it, too!” Marty laughs, while ducking to avoid being hit with the dog’s bone that his mum picks up and throws at him. “Fortunately, her aim’s not as good as it used to be!” he taunts. And he dodges another one.

“It’s very nice to meet you Mrs O’Brien. I’ve heard a lot about you from Marty.” She gives him a filthy look. I add, lying, “Only nice things, I assure you, Mrs O’Brien”

“Yeah,” says Marty. “Only the nice things! It was a really short conversation.” This time he doesn’t turn and duck fast enough, and a bone finds its mark, skimming the back of his head. He obviously hadn’t seen her slip that extra one into her apron pocket.

“Just call me ‘Mum’, like the civilized people around here do,” she replies, glaring at Marty but intent on making a good impression on me. Too late! And I know that Marty will pay further whenever ‘Mum’ gets the opportunity. She says, sweetly, “Anna should have breakfast ready by now. Please come inside.”

The interior of the house is fairly Spartan, which I was expecting, having seen Marty’s place and that of Reg and Di. No city ‘luxuries’ way out here. The only floor coverings are two tanned cow hides and a few sheep and kangaroo skins. A couple of hand-crocheted cushion covers lie on a settee and on the eclectic collection of four lounge chairs. I think, ‘I know a particular chair at school for which one of those cushions would be wonderful!

I see a beautiful likeness of the house hanging above the fireplace. I note the artist’s initials - LW.

The table is covered with a clean cloth with creases indicating that it has been folded and stored for a long time. Plates, glasses, cups and cutlery are in place. A glass pitcher of milk. No juice. Some food is already on the table. I see and smell the bacon, eggs, hash browns, mushrooms and grilled tomatoes.

Anna is an attractive young woman, hair tied back - same colour as Marty’s, in the same mould as her brother, but rounded where a man wants a woman to be firm and rounded, but with a little too much make up for the occasion in contrast to her mother’s none!

She directs Marty and I to sit alongside each other. Mum takes up her position at the head of the table. Where else would she sit? I notice that a chair which might have been at the other end has been removed. She invites Will to use one of the two remaining vacant chairs. He looks somewhat nervous, and sits opposite me, leaving the chair next to his aunt for Anna.

As Anna heads back to the kitchen, she runs her hand across the full width of Will’s broad shoulders. He cringes slightly. As she returns with the last of the breakfast, a huge pile of pancakes, she does it again with her other hand, only more slowly and dropping it a bit lower. Will is clearly not comfortable. Anna proudly declares that she has prepared the whole breakfast for us. I’m impressed, even if Will is not.

Anna sits next to Will and nudges her chair a bit closer to him. I see him look downwards and I’m not sure if she is touching his thigh with her leg or with her hand.

Even intermingled with questions and answers, it is a hastily-consumed meal.

I thank Anna for her delicious efforts and, while cheekily looking at Will, comment that she will make someone a wonderful wife, even though I know that cousins can’t marry. It is just a playful insinuation. Nevertheless, if his look could kill, I am definitely dead! I offer to help clean up, but Mum says, “No.”

I sense, from the looks between Mum and Anna and their glances at me, that something else is ‘cooking’. While Mum looks on strangely, Anna walks over to me, shakes my hand, looks at me very demurely and says, “Mr Grant, it’s always a pleasure to prepare a meal for someone who appreciates it.”

I immediately wish that I’d kept my mischievous mouth closed as my words, and their potential consequences, echo in my head, ‘...she will make someone a wonderful wife...’ and Marty’s words of Friday add a haunting complication: ‘...she’ll be all over you if you give her half a chance...’ Shit! What monster have I now unleashed? Let me out - quick!

Thankfully, Marty intervenes by saying, “Come on guys. Let’s hit the track!”

“Jump in, Tom, I’ll give you a ride back.” In contrast to his modern SUV, Marty’s vintage “paddock basher” truck has a small bench seat up front. I’m not sure whether the three of us will fit. I slide in via the passenger’s side with Will right behind me, bumping me farther across. Realising that my legs and Will’s don’t have enough room for me to avoid impeding the changing of gears with the stick that’s protruding from the middle of the floor, I squash over against Marty, putting one leg either side of the long rod that is topped with something that looks like a black pool ball, sitting just a bit higher than the seat.

Momentarily covering my balls, I playfully tell Marty, “Hey, take it easy changing back into second gear,” and I spread my legs a little wider to allow room for the gear stick to move!

We both turn and smirk at each other, and I hear one of Will’s giggles.

I fold my arms across my chest as Marty starts off slowly with the truck in first gear then he eases back into second, with his hand sitting seriously close to my crotch. He says, “Smooth enough for you? I’d better leave it in second though - can’t go too fast on this track, you know!” I’m not sure whether he does this intentionally, but I have my suspicions.

Now anybody else, myself included, would surely have then put his gear-changing hand back onto the steering wheel for more secure control. Not Marty. He leaves it on top of the gear stick. He says he knows all the holes and bumps on this track. And I reckon he’s deliberately driving through every single one of them, which has the three of us bouncing around.

It is inevitable that my body, like theirs, unrestrained by any seat belt, is rising and falling, sliding backwards and forwards.

And Marty does not reposition so much as a finger. I know he is enjoying it each time my lower body slips forward towards the gear stick and the back of Marty’s hand. He acts as if he doesn’t notice so I, myself, pretend to be oblivious to what’s happening. However, my manhood is not as unresponsive. I can feel it grow as each forward lurch causes it to press up against Marty’s bare skin.

I would normally have attempted to reposition my leg back towards Will, but I’m now curious to see how far Marty is prepared to take his little touchy/feely game. Marty and I are not the only ones aware of what he is doing. I glance at Will, who raises an eyebrow as if to say, “What the hell...?” I just wink knowingly at him. He smiles! I actually allow myself to fully bone up which, in my light trackies and freedom-permitting underwear, becomes very, very obvious. It’s now pushing against his hand even without me sliding.

I glance first out of Marty’s window and then Will’s, to surreptitiously check their crotches. Marty’s wearing his cut-offs and Will has a pale blue pair of cotton shorts. As expected, both are bulging, but for different reasons - Marty is enjoying the feel; Will is enjoying the show.

We bump along for another few minutes and there is a definite sexual tension right across the front seat. Marty’s hand, while still holding the gear stick, is now resting directly on my rigid member, and both he and Will seem stretched to their limits in their confined pants. Marty’s pants appear to have a quite-visible damp patch developing. Will is definitely not showing any interest in the scenery outside.

Marty slows the truck to a halt at the back of the house and finally removes his hand. I half turn my body towards him, look at him, eye to eye, drop my hand directly onto his crotch and say “Thank you Mr O’Brien for the stimulating ride, but how hard can it be to avoid a few bumps?” And I give his hard tool a couple of firm squeezes. He jumps out, bangs the door shut and wanders around to the back of the truck, presumably to remove his tools (or to adjust the one in his shorts).

Will is chuckling and trying very hard to avoid laughing right out loud.

I think: ‘What the hell, who cares? He’s reached the age of consent.’ So, I turn to him and say, “And I hope, Mr O’Brien, that the ride was not too hard on you too?” and I give Will the same gentle grope and squeeze as Marty.

As I leave my hand in place, I look into Will’s face and am met with a quite discernible expression - a lusty desire in his eyes, but accompanied by a hesitant drawing in of his bottom lip.

I can tell what he is thinking and what he would really like to do. To make it easy on him and to remove any guilt on his part, with my free hand, I gently take his wrist and draw his fingers directly across and down onto my boner. I position, and hold, my hand firmly on top of his own while I stare directly into his eyes. He gets his first feel of his new room-mate. At first, his hand just rests there. Then his fingers close around my firmness. My cock twitches strongly. So does his. More than once.

After an inappropriately long ten to fifteen seconds, I remove my hand, and so does Will. We also pile out. Confused. Excited. Horny.

I deliberately do not adjust myself and allow my boner to point the way to the door. “Excuse me gentleman,” I say in the most cultured voice that I can muster. “I think that Junior here,” pointing down to it, “and I have some personal business to attend to in the bathroom.”

I purposely do not close the bathroom door. I stride across to the bath on the opposite wall and take down my track pants and underwear in one swift motion, and begin to vigorously provide my rigid body member with some long-overdue stress relief.

The open door and my naked contracting butt muscles have the desired alluring effect. First Will, and then, shortly afterwards, Marty, step up beside me, one either side, and drop their gear. For a short while we are a trio in a synchronised performance, and none of us is shy about checking out each other’s gear and tension-relieving technique. The thought enters my mind ‘I wonder who will shoot first’.

It is almost a three-way dead heat. “House rule!” I groan. “House rule!” they both echo.

“OK, you pair of sexy O’Briens, let’s clean ourselves up and go have a cup of coffee and a serious talk,” I say to break the uncertainty of what to do next.

While the other two attend to themselves I volunteer to clean the bath. Toilet paper, face washer and towels are the order of the moment. Will and Marty each leave the room while I attend to myself, then rinse out the bath and flush away all evidence. I think we all need a change of clothing. Pre-cum stains can be embarrassing. Especially large ones.

No sense in covering up now. When I enter our room, Will has his underwear on and is about to put on his clean shorts. He stops and watches me. I let him.

I do something wicked. I decide to give him a personal performance of the reverse of a strip tease. I decide to do my very first ‘dress tease’, if there is such a term. I slowly remove from the drawer, and display to Will, my many mail-ordered underpants. I select a pair and, while facing him, put them first on my head then draw them back and forth over my shoulder then rub them across my chest. I turn and wiggle my butt to him, let their black silkiness fall down my back, catch them with my other hand, pull them through my legs, form a sling and pull my whole package upwards, before letting it flop down. Then, turning full circle, I carefully put one foot and then the other in and pull them up slowly, cradling my butt at the back, and then deliberately causing my balls to hang over at the front before I grasp everything and make it disappear inside. He applauds and I take a bow! Nothing like being comfortable with a brother, and enjoying a special moment together! OMG! What have we both missed out on for so many years?

“Tom?” he whispers in a breaking, emotional voice.

“Yes, Will?” I reply.

“You are everything that I ever dreamed of for a brother. Thanks. And please don’t worry. Nobody else will ever hear anything about any of this, from me.” He gives me a quick man-hug, finishes getting dressed and heads for the living area.

I worry whether it is Will’s deprivation, or my own depravity that was satisfied here.

By the time I get there, Marty and Will are holding their coffees and are sitting in the two armchairs. My coffee is on the corner table. I pull over one of the dining chairs to complete the triangle, turn it around, straddle it and cross my arms on the back of the chair facing them, sternly.

Marty hands me my mug. I thank him, take a sip and then place it on the floor next to me.

“OK guys. There’s some important stuff that we need to discuss,” I begin. Marty’s face is more downcast than Will’s. I can only imagine the myriad of confused questions pounding through both of their heads.

“Did we all enjoy our little bit of fun this morning?” This throws them! The hard expression on my face relaxes. Followed by theirs. “Because I certainly did! However, it’s not something that can ever escape this house.” I get nods of agreement from both of them.

“House rule,” Will says, tentatively but trying to be positive.

“Agreed,” adds Marty confidently.

“All for one, and one for all,” I proclaim with my fist raised, but immediately see that my Three Musketeers allusion is lost on both of them as they stare at me, weirdly.

“Good!” I say. “But what we did this morning is something that we will not repeat.” Their faces drop again. Interesting reaction!

“At least not regularly,” I add. They look at each other and both brighten considerably. I am aware that I am playing emotional yo-yo with them, which is amusing me, but it’s totally unfair on them!

“Guys, I’d like to talk with each of you privately. Will, if you’d like me to drop you home when I go up to the school, we can talk in the car.” He nods, but not enthusiastically. I’m not sure whether he’s not looking forward to our ‘talk’ or to going home, or both.

“Marty, can we go for a walk first?”

“Sure,” he says. “I’ll show you around the property. I haven’t done that yet, sorry.”

“Are you going to be OK for a few minutes, while Marty and I are outside?” I ask Will, hoping that he will not feel excluded or be too anxious.

“Sure. No problem, Mr G.” I wink at his remembered protocol.

He winks back.

What an amazing guy!

 

(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 the 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 are posted. Do it here: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html