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 34

It's mid-afternoon when the landscape becomes familiar. The tree line, indicating the river. Jake and Jane's place. The Village. The school. The church. Karl & Kurt's. The pub. And, there is some unfamiliar earth-moving equipment at the end of the road. Hmm!

We turn, and head south then take the dirt road towards Marty's. Will pulls up the car at a very memorable spot on the track.

"You wanna get lucky?" Will asks, laughing and sliding his hand up my thigh. It brings back beautiful and life-changing memories.

"Maybe later," I reply, with my hand softly clutching the almost-firmness in his crotch.

Despite a certain déjà vu, and nostalgic memories, I know that nothing for us will ever be the same again.

We drive on, and the familiar barking of the dogs heralds our return.

 

 

Chapter 35 - Welcome Back

Marty appears. He waves even before Will brings the car to a complete stop.

Three months after our first meeting, even though the sting has gone out of the sun's heat, Marty looks just as `hot' with his tanned, muscled torso and well-packed, bulge-enhancing cut-off jeans.

It occurs to me, for no apparent reason, that he's nearly 10 years older than most of our friends of recent weeks. No, this is not a stunning difference - it's just thought-provokingly different!

It hits me. Despite my fun with Marty, my previously-unconsidered preference is for younger guys - a truly vulnerable inclination for a gay school teacher!

Marty points enthusiastically at Will behind the wheel as if to say, `Well, look at you!' and I can tell that his smile is one of pride for his little cousin - now a licenced driver. (Maybe not so little! Younger!)

With the handbrake applied and the engine silenced, Will jumps out and gives Marty a hug and a slap on the back. His greeting is returned in kind.

Marty steps back and scans Will from head to toe. "You're different!" he says, turning his head from side to side as if better to discern something from his right eye or his left. "I don't know what it is, but you seem to have a new... something - maturity perhaps. And it's not just your `city slicker' clothes. I can't quite put my finger on it, but, not to worry, I'll work it out!"

What difference can Marty possibly detect? Surely not Will's forfeited virginity! Not wanting him to `work it out' too soon, I walk over to where he and Will are standing. "G'day, mate," I say. "It's good to see you again."

He embraces me just as he did Will. I don't receive the same scrutiny, but he adds, "Hey, missed you both! It hasn't been the same without you guys."

The dogs continue their greeting, perhaps recognising Will and me. "Shut up!" Marty screams at them. Silence. But, instead of retreating under the building, they sit and stare, their wagging tails, brushing the dirt, being evidence of their continued interest.

"Come inside and relax," Marty offers.

"I think I'd prefer to stand up for a while," Will replies, rubbing his backside.

I stretch, rub and add, "Amen to that!"

Marty chuckles, gives us a hand to collect our paraphernalia from the back seat of the car and leads the way inside.

As we pass his room, I detect a familiar smell - that aroma! I had previously smelled it in his SUV and then in the Acropolis Café the day that the young man and woman passed me. And now, from his bedroom! I think, `Don't you worry, Marty, because I will definitely work it out!'

So! There are secrets all `round to be divulged or discovered!

The beds in our room are unmade, but fresh linen and a light blanket have been placed at the foot of each bed for our use. Our belongings are `dumped' and I fear that Will is going to dump us straight in the shit when he looks at me, then Marty, and says, "You know, Cuz, I think that Tom's going to need a bigger bed!"

I feel a mild nausea begin to rise in my throat!

Marty bites - but not to the `bed' reference, as I dreaded. "Will, don't you mean `Mr Grant'? Since when do you call your school teacher by his first name?"

I can tell from the stunned expression on his face that Will realises that he has committed his first public faux pas - and we haven't even been home for five minutes! At this rate, Marty will know everything about us before dinner!

I feel his embarrassment. He responds, "I'm sorry, Mr Grant. I wasn't thinking."

I jump to his defence. "Marty, Will has had a great time staying with my folks who accepted him as one of the family, and we've developed quite a (I'm about to say `close relationship' but catch myself) strong friendship! It just no longer seems appropriate for him to call me `Mr Grant'. Well, maybe at school he'll have to remember but, otherwise, to him I can be just `Tom', with my blessing."

So, this is our first encounter with Village reality, by an honest slip of the tongue. He and I look earnestly at each other and there is a realisation that we will need to be much more vigilant.

Marty, in his inimitable style continues, "Strong friendship, eh?" Then he looks at each of us and pauses for a moment. "What were you saying about needing a bigger bed?" Maybe Marty's just being a smart-arse, but he doesn't realise how close he is to the truth! Or is he actually putting 2 and 2 together?

This is all happening too fast! This is not the way that Will and I have planned on telling him.

However, I had forgotten that Will always seems to have Marty's measure. He quickly gives Marty an answer. "Yeah. Too right! You should see him put away custard tarts and muffins and..." the little devil smirks at me "...and cannolis! At this rate, I'll bet he'll achieve middle-age spread before Christmas. He's definitely going to need a double bed sooner rather than later!"

Well! The seed is planted, but I hope that Will shuts up now. Too many clues and it is not beyond Marty to strike pay dirt with his digging and probing.

To change the direction of the conversation, I throw in, "Hey, Marty, is the jug on? I'd love a coffee to wash down a custard tart, or a muffin, if Will has left me any." Will takes a swing at me, but I'm a bit too quick, having anticipated his reaction, and I skip away to the bathroom. Marty guffaws and, at first following me, continues to head for the kitchen.

I flush and turn to head out. Will confronts me just inside the bathroom door. With Marty out of sight, he gives me a quick hug and a friendly little grope.

"Relax, Tom!" he reassures me quietly. "I remember what we've planned. It's all good!"

I join Marty in the kitchen. He grabs me in a tight hug, and I feel the bulk between his legs press against my thigh. He makes no effort to disguise it. "Thanks, Tom," he says, at first tightening his grip and then releasing me.

"For what, Marty?" I query, with sincere curiosity.

"For Will," is his brief reply.

"What do you mean?" I ask. "For bringing him back alive?"

"Very funny! You haven't changed, have you? No. Thank you for whatever has changed him. He's glowing. He's confident. He's happy. What has happened?"

Will emerges just in time to hear the end of Marty's question and all of my answer. But first I give him our secret `House Rule' sign, and hope that he follows my lead.

I start, "Marty, I'm sure that Will can speak for himself. All I'll say is that he has been to places, seen things, met people and had experiences that I'm sure he had never contemplated before leaving The Village." Then, looking at Will, I add, "What do you think, bro?" Oops! Slip number 2 - mine! Marty shows no sign of recognition. He's heard us light-heartedly call each other that previously.

"Well, Cuz," he addresses Marty, "I have so much to tell you. I don't know where to start."

"Give me that `quick and dirty' version," Marty replies, then corrects himself. "Well, the quick version, anyway." He smiles at Will. Will turns to look at me. So does Marty, following Will's eyes.

"If there had been a dirty version, Marty," I say, trying to deflect the reality of it, "I'm sure that Will wouldn't want you to know about it. So, you'll just have to settle for the truthful, `quick' one."

Marty laughs. "Just an expression!"

I think to myself that he's really pushing the boundaries here. Subtle, but pushing, nevertheless. I hope that Will and I can hold out!

Will gives it to him all in one breath. "I drove a lot, met Tom's family, made some friends, went to Movie World and Wet `N' Wild, learned to surf, helped the police solve a crime, ate at a famous restaurant, had lunch at an Italian villa, met the Director of the Brisbane City Art Gallery, who likes my work and got a computer tablet and mobile phone, and..."

He pauses, takes in air and, before he can add anything about Uncle Bill, his father, Marty jumps in and cuts him off. Just as well!

"Hey! Whoa! What good is a mobile phone? They don't work out here. You know that."

Will doesn't answer, but leaps up and goes to our room, returning with his phone. He shows it to Marty who looks it over and then hands it back. Will pushes a few buttons. After a short delay, a ringing sound comes from down the hallway. "Excuse me," I say, jumping up.

I grab my phone and head back to the kitchen. "It's for you," I tell Marty, handing it to him.

He looks at me as though it is some sort of practical joke, expecting the phone to either explode or, at least, squirt water in his ear. I encourage him to answer. "Hello?" he says tentatively.

Will replies, "What were you saying, Cuz, about phones not working out here? These are special ones. Satellite phones."

Marty hands me back my phone. "This is a put-on, right? It's a walkie talkie, and you're both pretending that it's a phone!"

"Hang up, Will," I tell him. On my phone, I call up a menu of contacts that I've already entered and press one. I wait a few seconds until it answers. "Hello. Chad? Tom Grant. How are you? ... Yeah, Will and I just got back a short while ago ... Yes, great time, thanks ... Satellite phone ... No, I'm not in any trouble - that I know of - except with Marty ... Yes, I know what he's like! Want to say `hello'?" I hand Marty the phone. "Walkie talkie, eh?" I smirk at him.

Marty takes it, somewhat apprehensively. "Hello? ... It's Tom's new phone. Will has one too. Yes ... Yes ... No, I don't plan on being bitten by any snakes, thank you! ... Oh, yes ... No, I haven't told them yet. See you tomorrow. Bye."

He looks at the phone a little more carefully, then hands it back. "OK. I believe you. Nice tool."

I smile as I recall young Tony saying something similar at the restaurant.

Marty adds, "Before I forget, Mum has arranged lunch at her place tomorrow. Chad and Sean are coming. So are Reg, Di and the kids, plus the three of us. And Anna, of course."

He waits for Will or me to react. Nothing. One for our team!

`Perfect!' I think to myself. Part one of Will's and my planned revelation - and they'll all be there! But I wonder what the occasion is for such a gathering.

Marty breaks into my thoughts. "There's a lot of talk going about. Something strange is happening near where Lilly and Will's house was." Will and I look at each other and I subtly shake my head to encourage silence. He acknowledges with a single nod of his own.

`Not just yet!' I muse.

Marty makes three coffees and places a large, screw-top jar on the table. It's full of cookies. "Anna made them ... for you ... she said. But, they have to last longer than a single cup of coffee," he adds, peering pointedly at Will, who immediately attempts to deflect guilt by pointing an accusing finger at me then patting his stomach, as if to indicate `fat'.

Little bugger! I'll give him something fat tonight!

I squint at him then, changing expressions, look to Marty. "Yes. We saw some machinery up in The Village when we came through. What's going on?" I ask as ignorantly as I can make out, then thinking that maybe the wide eyes and raised eyebrows are a touch too much overacting.

"Nobody's sure," Marty replies. "There are all sorts of rumours. Tomorrow we all want to throw in what we've heard, including Chad and Sean, and see whether we can make any sense of it."

I know that Will and I could solve it for them in less than 60 seconds. But we won't! The rural version of `Chinese Whispers' should be quite interesting, and everyone's speculations could be very entertaining.

Marty adds, "Some guys drove in the other day, off-loaded those heavy machines that you saw up there. Then, after walking around Lilly's place for a few minutes, taking photos, including some of the pub, they left. At least, that's what some of the patrons at the bar told us. Very strange! Chad said that he would see whether he could find out anything. Those guys weren't here any longer than 10 minutes. Didn't even stay for a beer."

"What do YOU think that they were up to?" I ask, feigning obliviousness and displaying a measure of required curiosity.

"Well, Uncle Reg said that he thinks that he's seen the machines somewhere before, but that they don't look like standard Council equipment. I reckon that somebody's finally going to fix the road through The Village, Council or not. We don't expect that it will be tarred but they'll probably grade all the holes and wheel ruts out of it, truck in and spread some crushed rock, then bring in a heavy roller. About time! Mum's opinion is ... Well, you'd have to believe in UFOs and aliens to go along with some of her ideas."

Will is trying hard to conceal his mirth at what he's just heard and I can't wait to hear the other speculations over lunch tomorrow.

"Hey, what's for dinner, Marty?" Will asks. "I'm starving." Big mistake on his part!

Marty replies, "Which one of you is going to need a double bed? I thought that you said it was Tom who did all the eating and was getting fat! He still looks in pretty good shape to me!"

At that comment, Will looks at me as if trying to read something into my facial expression about Marty and me that he doesn't already know.

I need to cut off this conversation about beds before either of them gets carried away and says something that I'll regret. "What can I do to help, Marty?" I ask him. "We don't want Will to waste away!"

Marty smirks. "I thought we'd have lamb chops with mashed potato and carrots with a bit of chopped onion through it, plus grated cheese on top. Peas. Corn. Mint sauce. If you do the potatoes, `Fat Willie' over there can peel and chop an onion." Then he turns to Will, points a finger and says, "And no baby crying about it!" He adds, addressing me, "I hope that I have enough chops to fill him up!" He pauses. "Then you and I can share the dessert - I have half of one of Aunty Di's apple pies left."

"Hey!" Will protests, at the thought of missing dessert. I smirk, thinking that a `fat willie' is now far more appropriate for him than a `little willie'.

Marty joshes him with, "I'm only thinking of you. I'd hate you to put on weight. Besides, a double bed for your fat body would take up a lot of room."

The bed again! I have an interesting thought. How would this sound? `Hey, Marty, your cooking is so good that Will and I are both going to need a double bed soon! We don't mind sharing.' ... Nah! That's not as good as what we've already planned.

Dinner is a fun time: good-natured taunts, insults and jibes, predominantly between Marty and Will. It beats watching reality TV! And, I get to interact if I think that I'm not going to end up as the butt of someone's joke or, worse, a target for the both of them.

Marty gets a lot of mileage out of the effect of the onions on Will's tear ducts. The words `cry' and `baby' and `diddums' figure prominently. So does `fat'.

So does `Fuck off, Marty!'

Will retrieves his book of facial sketches and comments, briefly, to Marty about each of them - the completely sanitised version! Simon, Luke, Joey and Andy taught him to body board and became his `surfing buddies'. Jarrod is the `computer games guy'. His father is merely `Tom's Uncle Bill'. You get the idea! He adds a few anecdotes - Movie World, Wet `N' Wild, the `shark', the hot-chip-snavelling seagulls, but not a word about showers or cannolis and cream!

I offer to clean up, leaving Marty and Will still trying to out-insult each other. But I nearly drop the plate that I'm wiping when Marty says to him, "So, fat boy, how would you like to sleep in my bed tonight?"

This stops Will dead in his tracks! And me. Is Marty blatantly hitting on Will? Will has never mentioned Marty making any advances to him previously. Why would Marty offer to have Will sleep with him? This is the first moment of dead silence all night as Will and I process Marty's words and Marty gauges our reactions. Will looks at me, and then we both turn our gaze onto Marty.

Marty wins a point with, "Yeah, fat boy. You can spread out your bulk in the double bed and I'll bunk in with the Schoolie." Wait a minute! Now who's being propositioned? Is Marty suggesting something to me? I thought he was setting up something with Will. I'm confused.

Will looks at me ... very differently, inviting (no, demanding) an appropriate response.

"Even better than that," I suggest. "I'll take the double and get a good night's sleep, while you two can keep insulting each other as late as you like!"

"You two should see your faces!" Marty quips. "I think you are reading way too much into what I said. Now you've got me wondering why.

Cripes! Are we betraying ourselves even by the simplest of comments and friendly exchanges? Marty's going to catch us out for sure at this rate because I'm not good at being sharp and Will's not known for holding back!

This is going to be harder than I had imagined. This is not quite going according to plan!

Time out needed. "Will," I tell him, "why don't you duck out and feed the dogs for Marty, and I'll make the beds. And, yes, another cup of coffee would be great, Marty ... Thanks for offering!

The three of us get up and head in different directions.

Having fixed Will's bed, I'm part way through making up mine when Marty strolls in and corners me with, "What's going on, Tom? You two are acting very strangely! Every time I mention the word `bed', one of you either jumps at me or quickly changes the subject."

"Really?" I ask. I feel myself blushing and try not to face him.

"Yeah, really. My guess is that he kept hitting on you until you gave in. I told you ages ago that I thought that might happen, the way he kept looking at you, standing close to you and touching you - poking, prodding, nudging, bumping..."

Silence.

"I'm right, aren't I?" he says seriously but without any malice in his voice.

OMG. This is definitely not how Will and I planned to tell him.

Saved by the bell! Actually, by the Will!

He strolls in, proclaiming, "All done!" Then he stops in the doorway, takes in the unease, obviously sensing that he has interrupted something.

"What's going on?" he asks, looking first at Marty and then at me.

Silence.

Then Marty repeats his observation and assertion.

I am about to break down and confess when `the cavalry' again comes to the rescue!

"Tom's a very handsome guy," Will starts on him. "Don't you think so, Marty?"

Yet again, the predator has become the prey. If Marty answers `No' then Will can become the chief prosecutor and nail him with a series of questions, observations and knowledge of his own, and humiliate him. If he says `Yes' then there is even greater scope for Will to `pursue' him and to have him admit to `stuff'. I don't know how Will does it, but I'm grateful!

Silence.

Will, as usual, not content to stick the knife in, begins to turn it. "Let's drop it for now, Marty. But, tell me Cuz, what's that strange smell coming from your bedroom? It's not your usual deodorant, is it? Or have you changed brands? Or does it belong to somebody else?"

I can tell from the expression on Marty's face that he now knows exactly how trapped I felt a minute ago.

"We have a lot to talk about, haven't we?" Marty offers with as much humour as he can muster. "House rule?" he asks, as if to say, `you tell me your secret and I'll tell you mine', "and nothing leaves these four walls!"

"Tomorrow!" Will says, buying us time. Then he adds, "House rule!" He looks at me.

"House rule," I add, extending my hand. Will places his on mine. We look to Marty, who adds his hand to the stack.

So! The scene is set. Much will be revealed tomorrow - more than I had expected (regarding Marty) and some sooner than Will and I had planned to tell about us. Maybe!

There seems to be an uneasy `truce' to the swapping of insults between cousins as we sip our coffee. That is, until Marty says, "I'm going into Big Town on Saturday, if you two want to ride along. The food's gonna disappear three times faster with you guys back. Maybe four times with fat boy here!"

"That reminds me," I tell Marty, retrieving my wallet and handing him a bunch of cash. "I hope that this goes some way towards keeping the pantry and fridge stocked."

"Thanks, Tom," he replies, folding the notes and tucking them into his back pocket. "But, from all accounts, if fat boy wants custard tarts and muffins he'll either have to learn to make them or... " (he just can't help himself) "... or make friends with Anna!"

"Fuck Off Marty!" Will exclaims.

Two thoughts flash into my head. Is Will's apparent rejection of the near-perfect female specimen of the species too strong, providing Marty with another clue? Also, maybe he should just learn to use the abbreviation `FOM'!

LMAO!

"So, am I taking the double bed?" I put to Marty.

"What, and leave me with him all night?" he quips, nodding towards Will. "That's a bit cruel, don't you think, Tom?"

"Yes, Tom," Will joins in. "Don't be so cruel!" I know that Will's motives are totally different to Marty's.

The banter continues until I break up the `happy' trio. "Nature calls," I tell them. "First, the bathroom, then the bed." Then I add, "Hey, Marty, it's good to be back!" He smiles and gives me the `thumbs up'.

As I flush the toilet, I hear Will deliver a loud `FOM' then, mumbling further obscenities, passes me on my way out of the bathroom.

I poke my head around the corner and catch Marty's eye. I don't have to ask. He just says, with a huge grin, "It's fun having him back!"

I shake my head and say softly, "I'm sure that he's happy too!" Then I head to the bedroom. Will emerges from the bathroom behind me as I walk past. He pinches my backside.

"Hey, watch it!" I tell him. "The walls have ears ... and eyes."

"Yeah, and a bloody big mouth!" he utters as he closes the door behind us. I try not to let him see my broad grin.

I turn and entrap him in a hug. He relaxes into my arms and wraps his own around me, clasping my backside and pulling my hips against his. He nuzzles his cheek against mine and I run the fingers of one hand through his hair. In a matter of seconds, I feel his swelling pressing upon my own and he begins some slow, gentle thrusting.

No words. No permissions sought or needed. I am his, and he is mine.

We begin to undress each other. He has my shirt off and is starting on my pants while I am still caressing his back and chest and stomach under his shirt. I slow him down by pressing my lower body tightly against his, restricting the freedom of his hands to continue. He settles for kneading my glutes, causing them to contract and my cock to thrust alongside of his.

I take his head into both of my hands and firstly kiss his neck, then lightly touch my mouth to his. The tip of his tongue emerges and traces a line across my lips and back again. My own tongue greets his and we continue to slowly explore each other. A quick flick of my tongue up his nose elicits a fit of giggles - from both of us.

Passions are aroused slowly but intensely.

Will removes his own shirt while I continue to trace his upper body musculature with my fingertips. I caress from his armpits to his hips and he shudders. I love the reaction that stimulating his body produces.

I let him undo my pants and, guiding them over the lump in the front of my undies, he lets them drop to the floor. He inserts his thumbs into the waistband of the remaining CKs, but I whisper, "Let's leave them on for a while."

He settles for alternating between rubbing my peg through the material at the front and massaging my cheeks, skin-to-skin at the back. I slowly reduce his garb to the same level as my own. We step apart, remove our footwear and stand, looking at each other.

I allow my peripheral vision to drink in his slim, muscular beauty, while staring directly into his alluring eyes. I extend my hand, palm upwards. "Want to dance with me?" I ask. His smirk broadens to a smile and he takes my hand.

I draw him into a classic dance hold, one hand on the small of his back, our hands clasped and pelvises touching, with my firmness against his right thigh and his against mine. Kicking our discarded clothes towards the beds, we sway rhythmically and slowly in the middle of the floor, to imaginary music for many minutes.

I close my eyes and drink in stimulation by my other senses - the feel of his chest and face against mine, the firmness of his body, the rhythm of his movements, the aroma of his masculinity and the heaviness of his breathing.

Then he turns me around and pulls my body back against him. He jiggles his stiffness vertically against my crack and, with one arm around and across my stomach, initiates some slow, flowing, `dirty dancing' moves, ensuring that we are in perfect sync - his anterior with my posterior.

How on earth does he know about dirty dancing, with no TV and movies as he grew up? Hopefully not from his mother! I prefer the alternative - there are things that I need to learn from Jarrod, Tony and Rocco about Google and YouTube!

I think that, maybe, the teacher and student are experiencing role reversals, when it comes to lessons of passion.

Speaking of reversal, he loosens his grip, turns me around, then does an about-face and backs up to me.

He reaches behind him and lowers the back of his underwear to expose his cheeks and crack. Then, feeling for mine, lowers the front, ensuring that my erection is properly aligned between his perfect buttocks.

His up and down movements not only cause my cock to slide the length of his crack, but they also ensure, with my profuse release of oiliness, that it is well lubricated. I'm sure that he would be leaking as well. I reach around him and, sure enough, milk him for a quantity of pre-cum, which I add to my own. He uses his glutes to grasp and massage my stiffness while I reduce us both to total nudity. I am on the point of wanting to thrust when he disengages our bodies, retrieves and spreads a towel on my bed, and lies on it, face-down.

His glance at me is sufficient invitation.

I gently lay myself upon him, resuming our previous position, albeit horizontally this time. I slide on his body. My cock slides within his crack. He wiggles so that my stiffness parts his thighs below his balls (as he and Sam did to each other). This is almost as good as ...

He raises his hips and jiggles his body, searching with his hole for my cock head. When he has both touching, he pauses. "Want to do it without `brushing our teeth'?" he asks.

I'm in a dilemma! Cleanliness? Or Protection? Or passion? "This is going to be a problem for us, with Marty around, isn't it?" I put to him gently.

"Let's do it and see what it's like. I had a good shower at the motel and used plenty of soap. I'm still pretty clean, I reckon," he responds. It's his way of saying, `Go for it'.

"Let's not," I reply. His gyrations stop abruptly.

"Why not?" he asks with genuine surprise and obvious disappointment.

"If I tell you now, it will be a real turn-off," I say to him. "Let's just enjoy each other like we did before we went on holidays, and discuss the rest tomorrow. Please." Then I add, "I don't need to fuck you, Will, to get a thrill. I know that we both like it, but let's not forget about all of the other things that we can do and enjoy."

He's silent. I can't tell whether he's thinking or sulking.

"Think about this," I encourage him. "Remember the fun that you had with Jake and Karl and Kurt before I came here, and also the pleasure that we had together before going to my home and `doing it'. And the enjoyment with Simon, Luke, Joey and Andy in the showers. And Tony and Rocco. And Sam. And Mikey."

I pause and await his response. I relax my body weight fully onto his back, interlock my fingers over the back of his hands and start kissing his neck.

He shudders. "Yes, Tom," he whispers between his moans of pleasure. Then he adds, "You know, you're not often wrong, but this time ... you just happen to be ... right!"

"Hey," I growl. "Save the insults for Marty!"

He giggles a childish titter.

"Do you know what I'd really like?" I ask him, rolling off him to one side.

"What?" he replies.

"I'd like you to worm your way into my bed and `creep up on me' like you did that very first night. Do you remember how slow and sneaky you were? And you even had that towel ready for what you were hoping for!"

"I remember," he replies. "I was shit scared that you would hit me or, worse, tell Marty." He rolls onto his back and presses his thigh up against mine.

I respond, "And, before that, I was petrified that you were going to tell Marty about me checking you out when you came into the school in your still-wet shorts."

"I knew," he says, "the moment when I caught you staring at the front of my pants instead of at my face, that you and I were going to end up `getting lucky' with each other. I was so happy that you were like me that I cried."

"I remember," I tell him, and kiss his neck under his chin, while running my fingers through his dense patch of pubic curls, deliberately avoiding contact with anything firm or round.

He kisses me and rolls out of my bed, then, waggling his cock at me, slides under his sheet. "Later!" he teases. I blow him a kiss then settle back to impatiently await his nocturnal visit.

Only moments later there is a quick knock on our door and Marty enters, without waiting for an invitation. He looks at each of us in our own beds. The surprise on his face betrays that he was expecting to see something different. Very different, I expect, and I am thankful that I didn't give in to Will's need immediately!

"Yes, Marty?" Will poses to him, with an air of rebuke at his intrusion.

I expect that Marty had a speech already prepared; something like, `Aha! I thought so!' in anticipation of finding us in the act of doing something together. However, he stumbles to find replacement words. "Umm, I, umm, I forgot to ask ... Are you planning on sleeping late after your long trip, or would you like breakfast early?"

Not a bad comeback!

I am anticipating a smart-arse response from Will, along the lines of, `Well, you may as well poison us earlier rather than later!' but I beat him to a reply. "Early would be great. Thanks, Marty. I'm looking forward to whatever it is. Good night."

"Good night," he replies, knowing that he has been dismissed. Then he adds, "I knew that fat boy wouldn't want to wait for longer than necessary!"

"Fuck off Marty!" Will firstly hurls the words, and then Marty ducks a flung pillow, closes the door and escapes to his double bed.

 

(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/

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