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 3

“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!

Chapter 4 - Getting Lucky

Following our little morning escapade and brief ‘serious talk’, Marty leads the way. We do the quick tour outside the house starting with the dogs, which he scratches behind the ears. I extend my hand and allow them to sniff then lick it. Then he shows me the lean-to at the back that shelters both the cared-for SUV that he uses for driving on the public road and the old truck that he uses for sexing up young school teachers. LOL. The remnants of a garden that looks as though somebody is, or was, trying to grow some vegetables, but regularly forgets, or forgot, to water. The LPG gas tanks which fuel the stove and water heater. The solar panels that help to provide the electricity. Then we head towards the river which is about 100 metres to the west. Close to the river bank there is another small building. No, not a ‘building’ - more of a ‘happening’; a rough bush shed with no door, but enough of some sort of partial internal wall to prevent a view of the inside from the outside.

“This used to be the dunny. The loo. The toilet.” Marty explains, as if the schoolie needs another lesson in country life.

“Yeah, Marty, I know what a dunny is! The city slicker isn’t completely ignorant,” I smile at him.

“I had to use this all the time, until I filled it all in and put the flushing toilet in the house. You’re lucky that I did. Coming down here for a dump in the middle of winter is definitely an experience that I’ve saved you from! Not to mention the spiders...” Now, I’m not arachnophobic, but I really don’t want to hear about spiders, after Marty’s snake warnings. “...oh, and also the snakes,” he pauses to add. I think he delights in seeing me shudder. “I still call this the ‘men’s room’. I’ll show you why if you like.”

“Sure.” I try to sound upbeat and positive, imagining it plastered with girly pictures, perhaps. “But can we talk a bit first? We’re far enough away from the house. Marty, I’m not sure where to start. I want to say first that I really appreciate being here, and that there’s something about you that I like. No, there are many things about you that I like. I like your sense of humour, your annoying smirks, your confidence, and even - I hope this comes out right - the way you wear your clothes, or almost wear them as the case may be. And you have a great one - um... body that is. I wasn’t referring to what you try, unsuccessfully, to hide, or successfully to display, in your cut-offs. Although...” I deliver with an upward inflexion, and leave the speculation to Marty’s interpretation.

“And I also admire the way that you ‘handle yourself’ in all situations – especially in the bathroom.” Smirks from both of us.

The next bit is going to be difficult, but I have to clear the air.

“However...” The corners of his mouth drop. Maybe he knows where I’m leading. “What I am uncertain about is your relationship with the boys.” Silence. Is it confusion or fear that I see on his face? “Do you know where this conversation is heading, Marty? I saw the look that Jake gave you over lunch. I know that he understands the House Rule. As his teacher, I’d really like to know why.”

I add, “But, let me finish first. I’ve only been here a couple of days but I’ve taken a liking to young William, and I don’t want to see him hurt. Nor Jake. Nor any of the others. I am their teacher. Do I make myself clear?” He nods. “Now, please tell me about Jake.”

I experience what might be called the ‘pregnant pause’. But, I am expecting Marty to answer inside of nine months. He looks to be gathering the right words, but more likely the confidence to speak.

“Tom, I know how it seems, but to use your words from yesterday afternoon with Will in the bedroom, it’s not what it looks like.”

He’s got me there. I wanted his trust then. I’m prepared to give him mine now, unless I detect a lie.

He continues, “And I want to apologise for what I did this morning - getting you all ‘sexcited’ in the truck, after you parted your legs around the gear stick. I’ve seen you too, you know. I know that probably makes things look even worse in your eyes. Yeah, Jake stays here sometimes, but mostly when Little Willie is here. We are all cousins. The boys love the freedom of being around together without their parents. About six months ago I walked in on Little Willie and Jake jacking off together. I was about to go into the room when I heard their less-than-subdued voices and some rather familiar noises, so I stood just near the door for a while and listened. It sounded like Jake was getting a wanking lesson from Little Willie. I enjoyed hearing the two of them pleasuring themselves and each other before I ‘busted’ them at the critical moment. They were like a pair of rabbits caught in a spotlight. They froze with their hands still on each other’s cocks and didn’t move, at least until Little Willie spurted. He was too far gone to stop himself. I just smiled and said to him, ‘OK. Go ahead and finish Jake off, then come and talk with me.’ I left them, and after about five seconds of silence, the next few minutes were anything but quiet. Jake’s pleasure was very obvious.”

Marty looks at me, then continues, “That’s when I made up the ‘House Rule’. What happens in the house, stays in the house! Not only did it make them feel confident that I wasn’t going to rat on them to their parents, but it also gave me some protection as well. If they knew I wasn’t going to say anything, they certainly wouldn’t. Besides, Tom, I sense that you and I both have a sympathy for the needs of men and adolescent boys. Am I right?”

I decide to expedite the discussion. “So, you haven’t done anything with Jake, like molesting him?” I know it’s a harsh word but, in such a short time, I can’t think of any way to sugar coat it.

“Shit, Tom. No! Why would you even think that? I’m no pervert! We see each other nude though. Swimming in the river. Showering. And we both like to sleep naked – in separate beds. And, yes, we often walk around without clothes before bed at night and also in the morning. It’s a natural thing to do! This is a woman-free zone!”

I think that Marty is either telling me the simple truth or he is potentially an excellent used-car salesman.

“Marty, I believe you. I want to trust you, and I want you to trust me. Firstly, I’m sorry for what I was thinking. But you must admit it looked very different.

“How?” he puts to me.

I explain. “Let me share with you what I saw, and then you tell me what conclusion you would have drawn. OK?”

“Sure,” he smirks. Then he adds, “This should be interesting!”

“Firstly, when I arrived, you came out in the skimpiest of shorts, and your package was very obvious. I couldn’t tell if you were boned up, or if that was the ‘natural’, gifted you. Mr Sexy. Next, there were the wise cracks about needing to take cold showers and your ‘night noises’. That told me that you were often horny and needed to cool off, or get off. And those damn sexy, knowing smirks of yours and all the innuendos. They have been driving me nuts, not knowing exactly what you’re thinking, but all the time hinting at something sexual. Then on Friday night you got me drunk, stripped me naked and put me to bed. You could have done anything to me and I would not have known. I still don’t.”

He winks. Damn him!

I go on, “And next there was the willingness to talk about Lilly and her bedding just about everyone who has a willie attached. And I wanted to ask you whether you and she... you know! Saturday morning you were watching me in the shower and you were boning up. Then, and you took a pee so I could see you instead of doing it outside or simply turning your back. And at breakfast you had your cut-offs undone clearly displaying your hairiness. And then you said that you and Little Willie share some ‘secret stuff’ together. And your wise crack about Little Willie and I looking alike after you saw me in the shower. And what about the porn magazine on the table in the living area? Naked men, natural and boned up. Men screwing women. Lesbians doing their thing. Guys sucking and fucking each other. To top it all off I saw yours and Jake’s exchange of body language about the House Rule. Now what do you think I was going to make of all that?”

Marty’s concerned, almost-frowning, face morphs to one of obvious amusement. “You know, for a schoolie, you sure know how to make two and two add up to five!” It’s his turn to get back at me! “Tom, most of what you see is who I am and how I am. I like sexy talk and jokes. I say it like it is. Let me tell you, most of us O’Briens have low hangers - like a prize bull, but Little Wille is different. He has balls like a boar - big and round and tight. That’s what I noticed when I saw you in the shower. You’re like a boar too. That’s all I meant, apart from your similar faces. I walk around naked most of the time because there’s nobody else here... usually. And yes, I’m pretty relaxed around other guys, especially my younger cousins - probably a lot more than I should be, I guess. And I enjoy the porn mag to jack off to. However, there is something that I had not figured on.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“You! You’re not the usual schoolie. You are so different! You keep throwing sexy lines back at me. You’re cool. You’ve got a body to die for, and a great package yourself. You’re smart. And you are a lot of fun. And whose mind is it that keeps interpreting my innocent comments as something sexual, eh? Well, maybe they aren’t all that innocent! You are as bad as I am - or as good as I am! And I may embarrass myself and risk a potentially great friendship by telling you that I’m very happy to be sharing my private haven with you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I feel myself blush, which I don’t often do. I’m not ready to reveal my true feelings right now. Maybe I’m still denying them to myself. “OK, Marty. Truce! You got me! Friends, then?”

“Definitely! You’ve got it. With benefits, if you like!” Oh, no. Not the smirk! “Now let me show you the ‘men’s room’. Do you trust me?”

“Why, what are you planning on doing to me in there?” Smirking back at you!

“See, there you go again!” He is right. I’m as bad as he is - maybe worse.

“OK. Show me.” We round the old toilet internal wall and are standing in a small earthen-floored area, with some light showing from the doorway, some from just under the tin roof, and some through a number of knot holes in the wood at the rear. There is an old bathroom-type cabinet mounted on the back wall above the holes. I wonder if he really is going to make a move on me. In my current mood, I probably wouldn’t stop him.

“What do you see?” Marty asks, as though it’s an exam question. I list everything that is obvious to my sense of sight, including the somewhat more compressed earth along the back, with multiple boot imprints.

“That’s good. Anything else?”

“The knot holes are all slightly different sizes, and more or less at the same level.”

“Getting warmer,” he says. “What else?”

“The holes appear to be really smooth, as if they have been sandpapered, instead of just knocked out,” I say as I feel them.

“Very warm!”

“OK. The cabinet. Is there anything in there?”

“Hot.” he says. “Take a look.”

I open the small door and at first see nothing unusual. Then, when I focus on the box of tissues and the tub of Vaseline in the top back corner, the pieces start to fall into place. “You don’t mean to tell me that the Vaseline and the holes are for...”

“Bingo! There is only so much stimulation that a hand can provide, you know. And, after all, a hole is a hole.”

“Marty, that’s disgusting.”

“Yeah, well, Tom, sometimes I find it necessary, and it can be fun. Wanna try it? Pick one.”

“No thanks!” It’s not meant to sound harsh or condemning. My mind quickly processes the risk that he has just taken in showing me this, after all that has previously been said, so I practise my best, newly-acquired country smirk, together with, “At least, not right now! And not without a demonstration first!” Smirk.

“That sounds like a plan,” he chirps, with a big goofy grin.

We walk slowly back towards the house. I’m glad we’ve cleared the air. And, I want to confess to Marty that I’m totally OK with what he did this morning - I was getting so horny and I didn’t know how I was going to deal with it - but I decide not to say anything right now.

We all have an early lunch. I’m in a great mood. I’m not sure whether that will change when I talk with Will.

 

Here, in the car, heading from Marty’s place to the school, there is no fear of anyone else hearing the discussion between Will and me. My abuse of a teacher’s responsibility is gnawing at my conscience. I am confident that Will and I can be open and honest with each other. We have developed a great rapport in a very short time. I need to know how he feels about what happened at breakfast this morning with Mum and Anna, and then in the truck, and afterwards at the bath.

I think I’ll hedge around to it, so I begin with “So, Will, what did you think of Anna’s breakfast?”

“Food was great. I love pancakes. I don’t know if Marty can cook them. He never has when I’ve been here.”

“Apart from her cooking ability, Anna’s an attractive young lady, don’t you think?” There no comment from Will. I push further, “And she seems to like you.”

There is a long silence. I say nothing and wait for Will to respond. “She’s a pain in the arse. She’s always touching me, or trying to,” he says with a hint of venom.

I sense that something is wrong! I remember when I was his age. Most 16-year-old boys would be happy to be touched-up by a well-stacked and amorous 18-year-old female, hoping that it might lead to the fulfilment of their adolescent fantasies. Even if Will were to be gay, his attitude could be more of fear and uncertainty than of bitterness. My increasingly uneasy feeling about his manner regarding Anna needs to be advanced very carefully.

I am happy to drive slowly in order to talk more. I put my hand across the back of Will’s seat, just lightly touching his shoulders. I wonder whether he will cringe, the way he did when Anna touched him but, instead, he lays his head back onto me, seeming to enjoy the contact and using my arm as a head rest.

“Will, there’s something bugging you, isn’t there? Do you want to tell me about it? Just brother to brother?”

Another period of silence, then he suddenly sits forward. I can’t tell from the expression on Will’s face whether he is about to explode in anger or in tears. I get a combination of both - tears in his eyes and gritted teeth through which he growls, “I just don’t like her touching me. She’s always trying to do it, every chance that she gets. She never takes ‘no’ for an answer. Just like my mum, whenever she makes me...”

He stops abruptly, mid-sentence, and his eyes widen. He suddenly pivots and stares at me with an expression of absolute horror as he realises that he has inadvertently revealed something confidential to me, then, clutching his hands to his face, begins to rock backwards and forwards and bursts into mournful wailing. My heart is pounding as the realisation of his words sink in. No wonder he has been so emotional! Has that bitch been screwing her own son, the wonderful young guy to whom I am starting to feel a very strong and protective attachment?

We haven’t yet reached the main road so I stop the car amongst the trees and turn off the ignition. Will needs my full and immediate attention. I jump out of the driver’s door and hurry around to the passenger’s side, pulling the door open. I put my arms around Will and he swivels towards me with his legs out of the car. He is lower than me in his seat. He flings his arms tightly around my waist and buries his head on my chest. Oh, I just want to hold him and make his hurt go away! I rub his back and cradle his head in my other hand.

I know that my words may be of little comfort, but I need to say them, “Will... Little bro’... I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. I can’t stand to see you upset like this. What can I do to help?” The tears welling up in my own eyes begin to overflow and drop into his hair.

He shakes his head, sobs heavily, and manages a brave, “Just... hold me Tom... please.” He moves one foot so that I am standing between his legs, and he pulls me closer to him. Our bodies are almost fully touching. His crying gradually subsides, but the heaving of his chest remains laboured. I kiss the top of his head a few times and continue to rub his back. He looks up at me, puts his hands on my shoulders, lifts his body and kisses me on the cheek. “Oh, Tom. Tom. What will happen now? If they put her in jail, they’ll throw me into a home, won’t they? That’s what she said would happen if anyone ever found out.” His crying, and deep sobbing erupt again, as he struggles to breathe.

Despite my rapidly rising anger, I try to stay as calm and in control of myself as possible. “Will, have you told anyone else? Does anybody else know? Marty?” Again, he shakes his head. “Then they won’t put her in jail unless you and I go to the police. And nobody is going to put you in any home. I’ll find a way to make sure that never happens.”

He looks at me, wanting to believe me, but has the expression of somebody who has just been told that the moon is actually a big ball of Swiss cheese! It’s obvious that Will has never told Marty anywhere near the extent of his mother’s abuse. I’m uncertain myself at the moment, and I begin to wonder what really happened the night she destroyed his paintings and he came crying to Marty’s. Was that the first time she forced herself upon him? Did he refuse to co-operate? Has she actually made him go ‘all the way’ with her? Will’s words, actions and emotions scream ‘insecurity’. Yet, as bizarre as it seems, he appears to regard his mother as his anchor in a cruel and uncertain world. He is desperate for some stability and somebody to trust. Maybe Marty. Maybe Jake. Maybe… me.

“Will?” I say, very calmly, while rubbing his muscular back.

“Yes, Tom?” he almost squeaks out.

“You know... that now I feel really guilty too? I molested you as well, this morning in the car, and I forced you to touch me too. I’m sincerely sorry! We need to think about this seriously, and then to decide what to do; what’s best for you.”

Some long moments of nervous thinking time for both of us.

“Tom?” He is first to break the silence. “You didn’t force me to touch you this morning. I think that it was simply helping me to touch you.” A long pause follows while he seems to draw confidence into his breath, and I try to comprehend his meaning. “I was aching to do it. I was actually trying to work up the nerve to touch you. I got so horny when I saw what Marty was doing, and that you seemed to be enjoying it. I desperately wanted to touch your cock too. And I wanted you to feel mine. That’s different to mum and Anna. I don’t want them to touch me, but I want you to do it... again. Tom, I’m sixteen. Doesn’t that mean anything? Don’t I have any choice in who I touch, and who touches me and who I want to have do stuff with me?”

“Will, if I was your brother or your cousin, it might be a bit different. But I’m your teacher.”

“Not yet, you’re not!” he shoots back. “School doesn’t start till Tuesday!”

The thinking behind his words surprises me. He has obviously mulled over this in his mind! It’s too good and too quick an answer to be spontaneous, and I wonder within myself whether there is actually any truth or hope in what he has just said. My appointment as ‘Teacher-in-Charge’ doesn’t come into effect until Tuesday, despite my early arrival. Would that actually mean anything to the authorities?

I don’t want to leave him at his mum’s place now. And we can’t go back to Marty’s - there would be too many questions that Will is not ready to answer. And just sitting here isn’t an option either, in case Marty decides to drive out, and see us. I’m thinking.

“Tom, just drop me off near the pub, and I’ll walk home. Nothing will happen. If it does, I’ll come over to you at the school, I promise. I want to think about everything. Mum’s usually OK on Sunday afternoon... she’s all I’ve got, Tom.” Aha! As I thought! Then after a pause, reflecting on what he has just said, the semblance of a smile crosses his face. “Except, now, for my new big brother!” He tightens his hug, then adds seriously, “Tom, I’m glad that you know now, because I feel like I might be able talk about things, to you. Anyone else would just tell everybody in town! The women would call me a liar and the men would laugh at me and ask me what my problem was.” He reaches up, puts his arms around my neck and pulls my face down to him. This time he plants a lingering sweet kiss right on my lips. I reciprocate. The sensation redirects a quantity of blood from my brain to my groin, and I know that it’s time to resume driving. I ruffle his hair, big brother style, and take my time walking back around to the driver’s side, via the rear of the car, adjusting my half-boner before I get in so that Will can’t see it.

I’m almost ashamed to be sexually aroused at such a significant moment in Will’s life.

I’m feeling quite uneasy as I drop Will near the pub. I don’t want that drunken whore, Lilly, attempting to use her son simply because there is nobody else to satisfy her lust. I have a genuine concern for his well-being, both as a teacher, and as a protector. I’m hoping that it isn’t because I want him for myself!

I open the school building and release what I hope will be the last remnants of stale air.

I turn my attention immediately to lesson preparation. The senior students (probably Will, Jane and Jake, possibly Karl and Kurt as well) will have materials prepared by the Education Department’s special Remote Students Division. It will be my role to guide them through this material and to offer assistance as and when they need it. Generally, I believe that these students help each other before ‘bothering’ the teacher, leaving him free to work with the little ones. I’m also aware that senior students assist the smaller ones if the teacher is busy. If that isn’t the case, it soon will be. And, hey, I have the freedom to change anything! Total flexibility, so long as compulsory curriculum areas are covered.

I set about selecting material from the store room for the younger ones and plan their timetables for the week. I am going to balance the ‘Three R’s’ with a lot of oral discussions, so that I can get to know them all better. There will also be art, craft, games, and singing.

I want to understand from them what they like, and what they have done in the past, so I only plan the first week - four days, in fact. I don’t know if the youngest ones still take an afternoon nap, but we can accommodate them if they get tired. The craft room will be ideal, especially since I saw some tumbling mats amongst the sports equipment that they can pull out after lunch to rest on.

 

I am alerted by chattering and, glancing out of the western windows, see Will, Karl and Kurt enter through the gate. I follow their progress until they appear at the door. “Come in, guys.” I call.

Now, what should I call Will in front of his class mates? We didn’t talk about that one! Think quick Tom!

I had previously dismissed ‘William’ as too formal a name for me to call Will, but with the informal version being settled for our personal interaction, ‘William’ now suddenly sounds reasonably appropriate for the classroom.

I’m not sure what, if anything, Will has told the twins about me, or staying at Marty’s, so I attempt to play it cool with him. “Let me guess... You’re Karl, and you’re Kurt, both twelve, turning thirteen next Friday, right? And of course, your big friend is William, the artist.”

Will looks confused, and shoots me strange inquiring expression, but says nothing.

“Wow, you’re good,” Karl says, amazed that I remember their names and that I can tell them apart. Apparently, he has forgotten that his eyebrow makes it dead easy for me! Then, turning to his brother, he says, “It looks like we won’t be able to trick Mr Grant, Kurt.”

Kurt replies, “Bugger! Oops... sorry sir! Umm... why did you just call Little Willie ‘William’?”

“Simple. I couldn’t bring myself to call any boy a ‘little willie’. So, from now on, at school he’s going to be ‘William’. OK?”

The twins cast quick glances at each other, and at Will, at my choice of the words ‘a little willie’, and they utter a stifled giggle. So, they caught the innuendo, and, knowing him as they must, I’ll bet that they realise how absolutely inappropriate it is to apply that expression to Will!

I continue, “William’s going to be a famous artist one day, and everyone here will be able to say that they knew him.” And I think to myself, ‘William is a damn sight more respectable than what everybody else calls him, yourselves included’.

I give Will a wink. Well, can this lad ever smile! What a set of perfect, white teeth. He now has two names from me - one that I use with him privately, and one that I’m going to ensure catches on and eliminates the ‘Little Willie’ persona. So let it be written: so let it be done - move over Pharaoh! OK, so I also enjoy a bit of dramatic effect!

All the while we are talking, I’m trying to be very careful about checking out the boys’ obvious endowments. I’ve already had one bad experience, which I don’t want repeated. Besides, I might add, my excellent peripheral vision is serving me well, as I pretend to look past them occasionally.

It is not possible to miss, however, that they are dressed as they were when I saw them on Friday, Will in his flesh-coloured shorts, and the twins in their close-fitting white underpants. It doesn’t take an Einstein to work out that they intend going swimming. The blond-haired twins have handsome faces and I muse on the fact that the four of us all have blue eyes. We are probably the only ones in the whole school, maybe the whole village. However, because their clothing is dry, what is being hidden is not as obvious as when they were wet and almost transparent. Pity! But their bulges, close up, do reveal the clear outlines of thick but normal-length adolescent tools, each flanked by a pair of sizeable, firm round balls that push their boyhood outwards.

Will speaks, “Nice chatting with you, Mr Grant, Sir.” We are just going to go and muck around in the weir.” Then he adds with a mischievous smile, “Would you like to come and have a swim too?” Now I can’t tell what his motives are but, containing my humour at his over-formality, and exercising a large measure of professional self-restraint, I politely decline.

However, I indicate that I would enjoy ‘mucking around’ with the three of them at some other time, which they all seem genuinely pleased to hear. I can’t help but think that Will’s idea of ‘mucking around’ might be different to what I had in mind - diving and swimming races. I don’t know what the twins might be thinking.

“Go on then. Have some fun while you can. On Tuesday you’ll become my slaves, and I’ll be the evil old schoolie,” I wring my hands and cackle, in an attempted imitation of a sinister villain. This elicits much mirth as they play along with my bit of melodrama and pretend to flee for their lives. As I watch them wave their arms and run, I contemplate that the twins certainly fill out those tight, white undies nicely at the back as well!

 

Having completed all of my lesson preparations I feel the need to stretch my legs, so I wander the short distance across to the weir to see what the boys are up to.

I can’t see them. They’re probably under the cascade.

I sit on a fallen log, after first checking for spiders, snakes or anything else carnivorous that might like a piece of a city slicker. The log’s position is set back somewhat among the river gums but still gives me a perfect view of the water above and below the weir. I just sit still, trying to feel at one with nature, reflecting on the rough beauty of the environment that is now going to be my home for a couple of years. It is only then that I notice a pair of shorts and two pairs of underpants on another log. All dry.

Then there is movement towards the lower side of the river. One of the twins emerges, followed by the other, who grabs his brother’s semi-erection then turns and dives in the opposite direction, and back under the spill-over.

At first glance, it appears that they are playing some sort of ‘tag’ or ‘gotcha’ game. Karl (identified by his just-discernible, distinctive eyebrow), remains stationary, almost facing me.

Then Will emerges, alligator style, closer to me, but with his back to Karl who immediately pounces upon Will and some wrestling ensues. Will rises, only to have his manhood groped. And yes, he too appears to be boned up, even in the cool water.

OK, that confirms what I was thinking about their game! As Karl dives under the water, in my direction, Will remains standing, surveying the best spot to attack. He dives back towards the waterfall in the middle of the stream, possibly to intercept Karl, or to take Kurt by surprise.

So engrossed were they in their little grabbing game, that none of the boys spotted me.

I reflect on the simple beauty of watching three boys enjoying innocent teenage fun. I wonder whether it was instigated by my hormone-rampant ‘little brother’, or whether the twins, being sufficiently developed and perhaps experienced, could have suggested it themselves. The fact that they were naked before they went into the water indicates that all three did so without many, if any, inhibitions and, perhaps, with prior intent.

Yes, I would have loved “mucking around” with them but, sadly, it would have been impossibly inappropriate, professionally. However, I allow myself a moment of fantasy - a foursome.

Enough! I decide to quietly slip back to the school before I am seen.

 

I sort out where I want each of the children to sit. I group the desks together and angle them so that no child will have his or her back to me at my desk; rather, side-on so that they can turn their faces to me easily.

I will have Will, Jake, Karl and Kurt together in one group. Observing the interaction between these four should be very interesting! They will be at the front of the room on the verandah side.

The young ones will be in two small groups directly in front of me.

Jane and the older of the girls will be in a group closest to the door.

This leaves some free space over towards the store room. I don’t like to feel cramped or closed in. If this arrangement doesn’t work out, I’ll change it. Hey, I’m the boss!

I prepare some white board work for Tuesday morning, ensure that I have the roll and Record Cards ready and then I sit back and relax, knowing that all bases are covered. And I must remember to get a cushion, from somewhere, for this chair!

Having everything as ready as possible, my mind strays back to the scene at the weir.

I only saw the rear of Kurt and the front of Karl. Put them together and I have a reasonably complete picture of one naked body. Two actually! I smile at that - ‘two for the price of one’! Their just-discernible patches of light brown pubic hair, darkened by being wet, confirm their recent entry to puberty and, even though Karl was not as stiff as Will, his young cock was not slack either - not long, but reasonably chunky when plumped up, as cocks go. Kurt’s backside seemed tight and rounded without being of the ‘bubble butt’ variety. Small melons maybe - cantaloupes, or as we call them at home, ‘rock melons’. Cute!

 

I lose myself in visions of how the ensuing days will unfold.

Before I know it, Will is back. The twins are not with him. He tells me that he wants to stay the night at Marty’s. Should I ask him why? There are two possibilities - to get away from his mother, or to get into my bed, again. I dare to hope so.

He says, “I just need to go home and ask my mum first and collect some clothes and things, but it’ll be OK with her. I know!”

“All right,” I reply. “I’m done here anyway. We can do that on the way.”

I point out to him where I think everyone should sit, and he seems pleased with my plan, especially since he will be sitting with the boys instead of alongside Jane, as he was last year, he tells me. I think that his grin has a bit of a lustful leer to it. Hmmm.

“OK, Will,” I say, standing up. “If you help me close everything, we can go. Thanks.”

We stroll out to the car, get in and shut the doors, I kick over the engine and feel the air con coming to life. Following Will’s directions, I drive to his house which is, as I suspected, ‘the shack’ at the western end of the road past the pub.

While I’m still pulling to a halt he says, “I’ll be back in a minute. It’ll be OK. Mum will be glad to get rid of me for another night.”

He jumps out and doesn’t even close the door. I sense that Will does not want me to see the inside of his house, nor meet his mother, whether it’s to protect her from me, or me from her.

The shack is smallish. There must be no more than a living area and two (hopefully) separate sleeping areas. Maybe a bathroom / kitchen / laundry attached to the back. It is of all-timber construction, even though ‘construction’ does not adequately describe its state. It looks like something out of a picture book, something left over from the gold rush days. One of those classic slab-construction huts. The wood is knotted and greyed with age. The door seems ill-fitting. The wooden-framed windows appear bowed and not all of them contain glass panes - there are a few pieces of board, similar to those on the pub. The roof is sheets of old rusting wrought iron, held down by some roughly-nailed timbers. I sense an icy wind would not be deterred from blowing right through the place. I don’t see any electricity wires. For that matter, I see no chimney either, which would indicate that there is no means of warming the inside. Sadly interesting!

Will is so quick to return that he could almost have been through a revolving door - taking him in and pushing him back out. He had that bag ready to go! He’s a little schemer - however there’s a lot of brainpower in that seemingly-muddled young head! He climbs in, pulls the door shut and surprises me with, “Home James, and don’t spare the horses!” I stare at him, burst into laughter, and ruffle his hair, which I can tell that he loves by the way that he leans in towards me when I do it.

This will be a perfect opportunity to ask Will a few questions, while he’s in such a good mood, so I determine to drive slowly and spin out the time.

“So, little bro, how are you feeling, now?” It’s a bit of an ice breaker, but I really do need to know.

I really just say that? WTF! First, I look like Will and now I’m talking like Marty. What next?

“Fine, Tom. Thanks. It’s been a good day. Great day, actually.” The smirk is back, and I think I know why - the weir and the twins. I wonder how far their little game went and how it finished.

I continue, “Will, I know that you are great friends with Karl, Kurt and Jake, but I trust you to respect our rule that ‘what happens in the house stays in the house’, and to not tell them anything that you’ve seen, or done with me, OK? It could end my career and then you and I would likely never see each other again.” Memories of the truck ride and the touching and the group jack off at the bath flash into my mind. Not to mention the brotherly ‘display’ of our junk first thing in the morning.

“Tom, you can trust me, 100%. I promise. And I’ll be very careful not to let anything slip out like I did to you about mum. Honest. I love my pretend brother too much, to ever do something that could cause me to lose him!”

Interesting - he’s used the ‘L’ word. I continue, “And, Will, I’m a little concerned that if you ever wanted to, umm... touch me... again... would you please do it in private, and not when Marty is around? And, can you keep it a secret so that Marty never finds out either?”

“Hell, Yeah!” he blurts out. “Are you saying that I can feel your cock again? When?”

His overt show of enthusiasm and confidence catches me a little off guard.

“Hang on buddy,” I tell him. “That wasn’t an open invitation. I’m just saying there has to be a line between what’s private and what’s public, that’s all.”

He pushes his bottom lip forward, and his juvenile pout seems to feign disappointment that another touch-up session is not imminent.

Little does he realise, that I’d probably give in to him having a feel of me any time, if there was no chance of us ever being ‘sprung’ by someone else.

“Hey. Cheer up,” I smile back at him. “I was just checking; that’s all. Besides, you never know when you might get lucky!” I give him a quick squeeze on the thigh plus my now-much-practised wink. That brings a smile back to his face.

“So,” I say, “tell me about some of the others around here. You know Karl, Kurt, Jake and Marty much better than I do. But remember any confidences that you might have agreed to, OK? If you’ve given your word, people rely on you to keep it.”

He giggles and, after I turn the corner, I give him a serious glance to emphasise the importance of secrecy - especially when it involves him and me. “If people are to trust each other, we all have to follow the agreed rules and keep private things private. We owe that to Marty, and to each other. OK?”

“OK, you’re right, Tom. Yeah, there are some things I can tell you, but without all of the detail. Is that all right then?”

“Will, you’ve already told me a lot about yourself today. I thank you for that, and I really understand you not wanting to go into all of the details - many of those would be your own private information. But, if you ever feel the need to share the specifics with someone about it, I’d be honoured if that person was me.”

“And thanks, Tom, for not asking. Maybe someday I could share things with you, but not right now. OK? Let me start with cousin Marty because I get the impression that you don’t trust him when I’m around. I’ve noticed that you get tense: your muscles tighten up; you draw your lips closer together and your eyes squint a little. Not much, but I’m aware of it, even if you’re not. Marty’s a great guy. He looks after me when I need to get away from my mum. And just so you know, we’ve never ‘done stuff’ together, even though I’ve thought about it. But we do walk around naked pretty often, and he jokes about me springing boners too. I can’t help it. It just happens. And a little while ago, he caught Jake and me... umm... having a bit of sexy fun together.”

I can’t let on that I already know something about him and Jake. “Really? Was it embarrassing?” I ask, without pressing for any further information, or hinting at being judgmental in any way.

“I’ll say! Marty’s timing couldn’t have been worse, if you get what I mean.” He looks at me and smiles.

If I wasn’t already aware of what had happened with him and Jake, I could imagine a whole lot more! But, I want to put him at ease by telling him a similar story, and give him the freedom to share more if he wants to. “Wow! Well, I’m not sure exactly what the pair of you were up to, but let me I tell you the most embarrassing moment in my own life. One day when I was 14 my dad walked into my room just as I started to cum all over myself after jacking off, naked on my bed. Your situation couldn’t be worse than that, could it?”

“Worse!” he exclaims, and I think, ‘My God, did Marty not tell me something?’ Then Will blurts out, “At least it was your own hand on your cock when you were spurting!”

We look at each other and burst out laughing. Enough said. I nod and make a face as though I understand all of the implications about him and Jake.

He’s being open and honest with me, and I am deeply touched by the complete trust that he’s putting in me.

His laughing subsides to a chuckle, and he continues, “And, I do play games with Karl and Kurt too. But not like with Jake... not exactly.”

“Not yet?” I ask, with my almost-perfected O’Brien-esque smirk.

Will’s teeth gleam as he smiles broadly at me, and winks back. “No... not yet. But, you never know when you might get lucky.”

He has parroted my earlier words back to me, and feels bold enough to squeeze my thigh, exactly like I did to him, which just breaks me up. My laugher is immediately joined by his.

Hell, this outrageous kid would have made an amazing little brother for me, growing up!

He leaves his hand on my thigh. I say nothing and just lay my own hand back on his leg.

He glances at me and smiles.

I turn off the road onto the property and we continue to talk and exchange the odd squeeze as if emphasising each point that we are making. The squeezing becomes more frequent, and for less obvious reasons; more of a game now.

There is a perceptible tension growing, so, when he next squeezes me I ask him, “What’s going on? You planning on getting lucky?” He looks at me to see whether there are any red lights, then, while looking directly into my eyes and smiling, slides his hand a bit higher. I say nothing, and focus my eyes on the track. He slowly continues the upward movement. No red lights from me. When he reaches the object of his desire, he just leaves his hand there, holding me, feeling me swell up.

“Hey. You wanna get lucky too?” he asks.

His intent is not lost on me and, with my hormones and better judgment now in direct conflict, I find that it’s an invitation which I am unable to resist.

I pull the car up among some trees and switch off the engine. I recline a little in my seat and part my legs, exposing my full package to his hand. He does the same, and I slide my hand up his thigh, pausing when I encounter the bulk at the top of his inner leg, then proceed slowly, savouring the moment, until my hand fully envelops his own firmness.

I allow us to go beyond the simple touching that we did in Marty’s truck, now gently fondling one another’s package and relishing the attention that we are giving to each other - squeezing, rubbing, tickling and adjusting each other’s rigidity and tracing over and around each other’s balls; copying each other’s initiatives. Gently. Playfully. Memorably.

We continue for a few, maybe five, minutes, exchanging the occasional “That feels really good!” and “Oh Yeah!”. I can feel the tube standing out on the underside of his swollen cock and I run my fingers back and forth across it, and massage it towards the head, sexing him up good, fully expecting his emission of pre-cum.

When Will makes a tentative move to undo my zipper I place my free hand over his and gently say, “Not yet, little brother!” After a moment, I reluctantly release my other hand from the wet patch in his crotch, give his thigh a last friendly squeeze and a pat and smile appreciatively at him. I lean across towards him and putting one hand behind his neck, pull him closer to my face. I kiss him tenderly on the lips, then sit up and repeat, “Not just yet.”

I restart the car and resume our trip back to the house. Will stays reclined, legs apart, with his eyes shut, and a broad smile on his dial. I see his confined cock pulse once or twice.

As I drive, I contemplate the fact that I am not dealing with a sexually-inexperienced and naïve little boy. I see Will as a smart, gifted, mature young man despite his emotional frailty, who seems to know exactly what he wants, and isn’t afraid to take the initiative and go after it - with Jake, with Karl and Kurt; even with me, his teacher.

With the now-real prospect of going a bit further, sometime, Will appears satisfied with what has just happened. Me too.

And then, thoughts of the almost-13-year old twins, Karl and Kurt, intrude upon my mind.

 

(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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