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 39

I run my thumb back and forth across his patch of soft, brown, pubic hair, then I encircle his young cock with my index finger and thumb while, at the same time, fidgeting to cradle his balls with my other three fingers. I fondle all of him.

Raising his hips momentarily, he relaxes into more of a reclining position in my arms and his body goes limp against me. He moans contentedly. Victoriously?

I know that he can feel my own firm cock below his naked, round, butt cheeks, but when he slips one of his hands onto it and lightly grasps it, I say, "Kurt, we can't do this."

Unfortunately, instead of stopping there, I add, "Somebody might come and see us."

"No, they won't!" he whispers, looking up at me. "Karl and William said that they wouldn't."

 

Chapter 40 - Kurt's Wish Comes True

 

"What?" I reply to this totally unexpected revelation of collusion between him, Karl and my own brother. "Did the three of you set this all up then?" I hear a sharpness in my voice that I had not intended.

He tentatively looks up at me and I can see fear in his eyes.

He quickly takes his hand from my pants and, as an automatic reaction, I release him as well.

He slides himself from my lap and stands, almost facing me directly. He covers his privates with both of his hands as though they were suddenly objects of shame.

"I'm sorry, Mr Grant," he says. The muscles around his mouth contract and contort, drawing the corners of his mouth downwards. And his chin starts to quiver. "I'm sorry," he repeats, and his eyes fill with tears. "I just... I just... I... We... I..."

I cannot remember viewing a more pathetic sight - a young boy with his pants around his ankles, with fear on his face and tears in his eyes. It is as though I had taken him by force and heartlessly molested him.

The guilt in my heart is almost overwhelming. How could I have offended this beautiful young creature who, it seems, was only, apprehensively, following his primal desires and was supportively aided to achieve them by his two most trusted friends?

Am I so cruel as to hurt him? So depraved as to abuse him? So blind as to not see his needs? So insensitive as to not appreciate his courage in being here alone with me?

I'm ashamed of myself - not only for allowing things to go this far, but for crushing his tender spirit.

His pain becomes my pain. I've caused it. I need to fix it.

I lean forward, extending both of my arms, intending to enfold him. He cringes, as if anticipating being hit.

I persist, wrapping my arms around him and drawing him to me and holding him securely. "Oh, Kurt," I tell him, "I'm so sorry. That came out all wrong! I didn't mean to scare you like that. You just surprised me, that's all."

After an apprehensive few moments, I feel his tense body relax.

He is standing between my legs. I hug him tightly and his feet shuffle a little so that he is leaning on me. I rest the weight of my own body against his. I rub his back with one hand which soon finds his bare buttocks. My palm traverses both of his cheeks which contract at my touch. I hold him. The simple feel of him, and his body's reaction, causes a resurgence of blood to my nether regions.

My shame is quickly overtaken by more sensuous emotions.

"You are a very handsome young man," I tell him. "And I like the feel of your body." I pat his backside.

I know that this is what he wants to hear. His resultant giggle is almost a snort through his choked-up emotions.

I take a tissue from the box which I keep on my table for the cherubs to wipe their hands and blow their noses. I dab his eyes.

I'm acutely aware that he has said nothing, so I ask, reaching down, and giving his hands covering his assets a friendly little nudge, "What's say that we start the last ten minutes all over again?"

His eyes display a glimmer of hope. "Uh-huh," he nods, and he slowly removes his hands from between his legs.

With one of my hands still holding his buttocks, I use the other to cup and lift his silky-smooth adolescent balls. He is already well-endowed in that department. His boyhood again starts to thicken and lengthen. It then only takes a single grasp from me for it to harden and rise rapidly.

I ease him to a sitting position on my thigh with his legs between mine. He is fully and willingly compliant.

I guide his head to my chest and cradle it.

"Are you OK now?" I ask, giving him a hug with the hand previously on his backside.

"Uh-huh," he answers.

I know that all is well when he lowers his nearest hand onto my pants, grasps my stiff rod and says, "I like the feel of your body too, Mr Grant. It's just like Will's."

We allow any remnant of tension to dissipate as, with unvoiced permissions, we idly play with each other.

I need to hear him talking, and there is something that has been puzzling me. "Kurt, may I ask you something?"

He pauses, then replies, "Uh-huh."

"You've been hoping to do something like this with me for a long time, haven't you?"

"Yes," he replies tentatively. It's good to hear even that one single word come from his mouth.

"Can you tell me why, Kurt? I'm a lot older that you are and I don't really understand."

He doesn't answer directly but asks instead, "Are you angry with me, Mr Grant?"

"Goodness, no, Kurt. Why would you even think that?" I put to him tenderly, giving his hair a bit of a tousle.

"Well," he starts, "you're always trying to avoid me or get away from me when I stand next to you. Don't you like me?"

"Me avoiding you has nothing to do with the fact that I like you, Kurt," I reply which, I realise, sounds more like a riddle to him than an answer.

"I don't get it!" he says. "You like me but you don't want to be near me?" Then he adds, "Do you truly like me, Mr Grant?"

"Of course I like you, Kurt," I tell him, giving his upper body a confirming one-armed squeeze. "But, I think that I like you much more than I should, because I'm your teacher and you're only thirteen years old. That's why I don't want any of the other children to notice it. I wouldn't want them to make some comment to their parents about it."

"Yeah, well, Karl and I wouldn't!" he says insistently.

"Thank you. But there are others like Jake and Jane and even cheeky young David all of whom don't seem to miss much!" I tell him.

"I suppose!" he replies, without any logical solution to my very real problem of which he, too, is now aware.

"So, why do you like me so much?" I ask again, reversing the subject and object, and giving his young pecker a squeeze as it jerks.

"I just do!" He is emphatic.

"I'm sure that there's a little bit more to it than that... isn't there?" I squeeze him again. He jerks again. He giggles, again. Aha! I thought that there had to be some reason. "So, why don't you just tell me?" I ask him.

"You'll laugh at me," he replies, giving my own cock a squeeze, playfully mimicking my actions.

"No I won't," I tell him, squeezing him again.

"You will so," he says, squeezing me back.

I squeeze. "Will not."

He squeezes. "Will too!"

We are being comfortably and delightfully playful with each other and he is starting to giggle heartily. A good sign!

"OK," he starts, "but you've got to promise that you won't laugh!" He squeezes me hard for emphasis, and holds on.

I return the favour. "I promise."

"Well," he begins. "You know that Karl is William's favourite, don't you?"

"Sorry?" I ask in complete confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Out of my brother and me, Karl is William's favourite."

I'm left speechless. There is a pause and he continues, "He's always been William's favourite. When we do anything, like wrestling, William takes his side and they both gang up on me. And, even when we are playing cards, they both seem to be against me. When we pick teams here at school, Will and Karl always pick each other first, before me. If my brother and I are doing different things, Will always goes to see him first, or help him first. Sometimes when William comes to our place and we `muck around', the two of them just disappear and hide from me. William never does that with me. Never."

"Are you sure, Kurt?" I ask, now genuinely concerned for him. "William has never mentioned Karl by himself. He always says `Karl and Kurt' together."

"See!" he replies. "He even says my brother's name first!"

"I think that's just an alphabetical thing." I tell him. "Besides, you and Karl always seem so happy together, from what I've observed!"

"We are, Mr Grant. But when William comes along, my brother changes, like he wishes that I wasn't there."

I will definitely file that bit of information away for a later chat with Will, and maybe Karl! I ask again, "But why do you like me, Kurt?" I smile at him.

"Hey! You promised that you wouldn't laugh!" he reminds me, as if he needed an excuse to squeeze me again.

"Hey, yourself! I'm not laughing at you," I tell him. Our mindless game of feeling and squeezing each other continues.

"OK," he says, taking a deep breath and exhaling loudly. "Last year, when my dad asked us both what we wanted for Christmas, I couldn't think of anything really to tell him, but I did make a secret Christmas wish..." He pauses.

"Yes?" I prompt.

"I wished that there could be another `Little Willie', just for me: somebody who would pick me first, somebody who would take my side, somebody just like William, only better."

I'm not sure, exactly, where this is going, but I encourage him to continue.

"Then a month later, we kids were all playing in the weir when Jane called out to us that the new Schoolie was here and we all rushed over to have a look. I couldn't believe it when I saw you! You were a copy of Will - only better! And when Jane told you all of our names and we went to the weir, you kept watching me more than my brother, even before we got to know each other. I knew that God or Saint Nicholas had granted my wish. He sent you here for me!"

I smile broadly at his wishful `reading of the tea leaves'.

"Hey!" he says. "You promised!" He squeezes me.

"I'm not laughing!" I squeeze him back. Then he's the one to laugh. "Anything else?" I ask.

"Yes! I also made a birthday wish, when I blew out the candles on my cake. I don't know who grants those! But, I'm sure that me mistaking your legs for Will's behind the waterfall over the weir was no accident. And you weren't angry with me, or anything! And when the four of us played together, you were happy to be my horse versus William and Karl, and you even let me feel your willie and you played with mine. So, my second wish was answered! Karl has Will, and I have you; so, my brother and I each have our very own `special friend' now."

I have to ask, "Does Karl know of your Christmas wish and your birthday wish?"

"Oh, no!" Kurt replies quickly. "Wishes won't come true if you tell them to people!"

"Do Karl and Will know why you came over here or what you hoped to do with me?" I say with a giggle and a jiggle of his hard chunk of crayon and firm balls.

"Don't be silly, Mr Grant. I wouldn't tell them that! I just said that it would be good to talk to you and to see if you needed any help, without Karl butting in or finishing my sentences, like he always does."

"When I mentioned it, my dad thought that it was a good idea, too, to come and be helpful. So, William and Karl said that they wouldn't come over here with me, but would stay and help my dad. Oh, and Dad said that I should invite you back for a cup of tea, when I hear him give three toots on the ute horn."

In my own mind, I'm not sure that Will won't twig to `something going on' between Kurt and me because of his previous comments about Kurt `having the hots' for me. And, who better than Will, to know Kurt's sexual appetite! However, it sounds as though he enjoys his little private times with Karl, anyway.

My mind is tormented. Are Will and I really going to be monogamous? Or will that only apply to fucking? Could we freely `muck around' with other guys, like those in the Gold Coast? But what about Jarrod at the games shop in the mall? We've already included him, and talked about doing more with him when we go back. I'm confused - most often I'm very happy, but sometimes I feel extremely guilty and self-deprecating.

However, as Mr Andersen said, `two can be company but three...'. I'll bet that Will and Karl might be enjoying a little `uncrowded' time together too, somewhere out of Mr Andersen's sight.

Then, a thought permeates my brain. How ironic and coincidental that my appointment letter to the school came straight after Christmas! After Kurt's Christmas wish.

"Are you going to say anything to Karl, about any of this?" I ask him.

"No way!" Kurt replies, insistently. "He's got William and I'm not sharing you with him! I'm telling him nothing! William can have Karl and you can have me."

His last words bounce around in my head, `You can have me' and I'm sure that he doesn't mean what Will would interpret by them; what I actually thought when I heard them. Ashamedly.

Although that is reassuring and comforting, I find this conversation, especially Kurt's last statement, a little unsettling. I think that there may be somewhat more to this sibling rivalry than might normally be expected. Is there an age when identical twins realise that there may be more to life than each other?

"I won't tell Karl, so do you promise that you won't say anything to William either?" he quietly demands of me.

"Deal!" I reply. We seal our pact with a tight, lingering squeeze of each other's steeliness. It becomes like a staring competition. He doesn't relax his grip until I do.

He becomes a tad more serious. "I've never seen yours close up, Mr Grant," he confides, running his fingers the length of my erection. "Is it really like William's, up close?"

"Yeah, just like William's!" I reply, then I add, "But I think that his is a bit bigger than mine."

Kurt giggles, "That doesn't matter. He is heaps bigger than Karl and me. He's just like my dad, but I think that my Dad's is thicker than William's. I've only seen my Dad's hard a couple of times. Once when he got up in the morning and once when I accidentally went to wash my hands while he was in the shower."

He looks down and focuses on me playing with his naked cock, then at the bulge in my pants, then, almost pleadingly, lifts his gaze to my face. His eyes almost beg the question.

"OK. You can have a look at it if you like," I tell him, although I make no move to `whip it out' for him.

He tentatively reaches for my zipper and his eyes dart back and forth between my own (for approval) and `the prize'.

I wrap my fingers around his boyhood and start to caress it up and down. "Ooh!" he moans. "That feels good. William is really good at doing that but sometimes he goes really fast." I take that as a hint, provide some of my own saliva as lubrication and then ensure that his whole length slowly slides in and out of my fist. "Ooh, Yeah!" he moans again.

"You like it that way?" I ask him.

"Oh, yes. William is good and he can make me shoot faster than Karl does. That feels terrific, Mr Grant."

He concentrates on my zipper and lowers it slowly. I remind myself that he has probably done this with Will and knows exactly what he is doing. He inserts his fingers which are met by my cock, twitching. He rubs it through the fabric of my underpants then he looks at me and I nod. He undoes the button and clip of my pants, folds the flaps down exposing my tented undies and hooks his thumb under the waistband which is already somewhat raised by my concealed bulk. He again looks at my face. Again, I nod.

He pulls the waistband out sufficiently to slip his hand inside. The feel of his soft young hand around my cock causes me to shudder. He begins to rub me as I am doing to him, and immediately discovers that he will have no need of saliva. He giggles and says, "I know what this stuff is. William makes lots of it when we're playing together." He spreads my precum all over my cock and continues to carefully jack me off.

"Hey, didn't you just want to see it?" I ask him, yet knowing full well that his intention would have been a bit more. I raise myself sufficiently and he uses both hands to pull my clothes down a little way. We are now both fully exposed and I can't help observing the contrast between my hairiness and his general smoothness. We resume rubbing each other's stiffness. He stares at mine as he resumes `working his magic'.

It only takes a matter of seconds. He freezes. Leaning backwards, he has a sudden intake of breath. I know the signs and quickly reach for some tissues.

Too late!

One massive squirt escapes and lands on the floor. I manage to catch the others with the tissues. "Uhhh, uhhh, uhhh," he moans, in sync with his hip-jerking ejaculations. He relaxes against my body. There is one final shudder as I milk him, and he is done.

Leaving the tissues between his legs, I wrap both of my arms around him, and cradle his now-limp body securely against mine.

I rock him gently, as a baby, waiting for him to `recover'.

After a short while he murmurs, "Oh, Mr Grant, thank you. That was the best ever. When I felt yours, I couldn't help it, it just... sort of, happened really quickly. I'll bet that Karl has never shot it that fast!"

I ask, "Kurt, do you think it's good when it `happens' really fast?"

"Oh, yes, Mr Grant." Then he pauses, ponders, and adds, "Why? Isn't it?"

I reply, "If you enjoy it, Kurt, then `yes'." I add, "When you and Karl play with William and he makes you both `shoot your stuff' like that, who goes first?"

He thinks, then says, "William always does me first because I shoot really quickly, and he has to spend a lot more time on Karl to get him to do it."

I think to myself that Kurt is being `short-changed' by Will, who devotes far more time to pleasuring Karl by telling Kurt that he wins the race and that Karl is really slow. I can't say anything to Will or he will immediately know what I've done with Kurt. However, I would really like to show Kurt what pleasure he's been missing out on! Maybe next time.

"Would you like me to do you, Mr Grant? William says that I'm really good at doing it to him."

"Do you want to do it, Kurt?" I ask. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Oh, but I do. It's only fair. You made me happy so I should make you happy too."

I allow him to exercise his gratitude, and give him some tips along the way.

I compliment him on his skill and his blue eyes sparkle through his long eye lashes. He is indeed a stunning and youthful beauty!

I tell him when I am really close to `shooting my stuff' and suggest that he slows down. I grab a fistful of tissues and hand him half of them. Then I give him the `OK' to `go for it'!

He squeals with delight when he feels me cum and, between the two of us, we get it all - what he doesn't catch as my fountain soaks his tissues, I mop up from my pubes and balls.

"Wow, Mr Grant," he says. "That was a lot of stuff! Does it feel good shooting so much?"

"Yes, it does, Kurt, and you did a great job. Thank you." He is absolutely beaming, almost, it seems, bursting with pride.

There is a slightly awkward moment as we separate, ensure that we have cleaned ourselves up, ponder what to do with the wet, smelly tissues, and pull up our pants.

"I'll get the bit on the floor," he tells me, noticing where it fell, and he wipes the boards clean.

"I'll take the tissues up to the toilet," I say. "Besides, I need to pee."

"Me too!" he announces, smiling at me, obviously pleased at the thought of sharing another personal activity with me.

After depositing the tissues down the hole, we stand side by side, hips touching, and let fly two streams of yellow at the urinal. He smiles at me and I smile at him.

When he is finished, he smells his hands and screws up his nose. We rinse with the scented hand wash. He inhales again and says, "That's better!"

We walk back together, and I see him stride slightly to match me step-for-step.

We are hardly inside the door when he enfolds me in his arms and says, "Thank you, Mr Grant, and I promise that I won't tell anyone. It's just our secret, isn't it?"

"Yes, Kurt. Thank you. And I promise, too! We wouldn't want your Christmas wish to disappear if somebody found out, would we?"

He looks at me seriously, possibly contemplating the possibility of me vanishing in a cloud of smoke, or a willy-willy of red dust.

I don't know why I added that last comment. Perhaps it was just planting the seed of a thought for him to be extra careful or, maybe it was my vision of me being whisked away in a police paddy wagon. I ponder - did he entrap me or did I seduce him into thinking that he was the perpetrator?

I add, "So, there is no need to be upset if I appear to be avoiding you. You know why, now, don't you?"

"Nope!" he smirks. "I won't I mean, yes, I do now."

We ensure that everything is tidy for tomorrow morning's resumption of classes and lock the windows.

The truck horn sounds. Perfect timing!

"Race you back to my place!" he chirps and dashes out of the door, apparently revitalised.

I think that I'll have time to lock the door and still overtake him. I step off the verandah and see him going cross-country - taking a short cut through the paddock of weeds.

"Hey!" I call. "That's cheating!" He doesn't even look back.

There is no point in me acting like a hoon in my car and churning up red dust; I wouldn't beat him anyway. I casually drive out of the school `road' and around into his `street', perform a U-turn and quietly pull up behind his father's truck.

Kurt, Karl, Will and Mr Andersen are on the verandah. "What kept you?" Kurt calls out cheekily. The others are all smiling, and his father gives him a playful cuff to the head for his impertinence.

I remember Mr Andersen's tall, strong, handsome, youthful figure from the night of the fire and, although I pass within 75m of his house twice every day, we have never actually spoken.

He steps off the verandah and strides to meet me, hand outstretched. "Mr Grant, how wonderful to finally meet you." Then he says what I imagine most parents would say at first meeting or at a parent / teacher evening, "I hope the boys haven't been too much trouble." I smile at that.

"Please call me `Tom'," I reply, taking his enormous hand in mine, "and, no, the boys have been no trouble whatsoever; just the opposite in fact. They've been very polite and extremely helpful." I look past Mr Andersen at Kurt who rolls his eyes, as if I'm peddling a huge lie.

"I'm Jan," he says. "Please come in." He pronounces it `yarn', but I remember the spelling from a story that one of the boys wrote about their family.

The small house is clean but `lived-in', with bits and pieces tidily cluttering most available space.

"Tea or coffee?" Jan asks. "I don't keep any beer here. It seems stupid with the pub such a short distance away."

"What do you drink, yourself?" I reply, not wanting to put him to any trouble with double preparation.

"I'm a tea drinker," he says, "but coffee is no problem."

"I haven't had a good cup of tea for ages," I tell him, remembering the day with Anna's pumpkin pie with cream. "Black with one sugar, please."

Jan addresses the three boys, "You guys may help yourselves to whatever is cold in the fridge." Will is obviously treated more as one of the family than as a visitor. They choose a can and then disappear into what I presume is Karl and Kurt's bedroom.

Jan hands me a mug and asks me how I have settled in and he tells me how much the twins are enjoying school this year. I respond by telling him what a delight they both are and how proud he should be of them; all the stuff that a parent wants to hear. In this case, it's all true!

I politely broach the subject of the rumour.

"Good new travels fast here!" he says, meaning `bad' news as well. "I didn't know about it until just two days ago. I haven't even contacted the boys' mother yet to see when she can take them - the sooner the better. I'm afraid that means you'll be two students short in a couple of weeks. I've just been attending to some things around the outside of the house so that I can lock it up and hope that I can return to it at some time. There has been tell of a cattle drive from up in the territory [Northern Territory] back into the gulf country [Gulf of Carpentaria] where there is plenty of feed. Two of the casual hands out at the property who will be going there have said that they could always use an extra horseman."

"Jan, can we talk outside?" I put to him.

I'm in two minds about this impending discussion. The safest choice for me is to say nothing so then the Kurt-ly temptation will be removed to far-away Brisbane. But... that's the logical and proper option, not the emotive one.

We both step out onto the verandah with our mugs of tea, facing the idle machinery that is sitting on the property beyond the remains of Will's old house. It is all partially obscured by the thigh-deep brown weeds between here and there. Glimmers of bright sunlight reflect off various glass and metal surfaces.

"Jan, I didn't want any of the boys to hear this... just yet," I start. "But, what if there was a work opportunity for you, right here? Would you stay?"

"What do you mean?" he asks, surprised. "What work is there here?"

I indicate the machinery. "You see those?"

"Yes," he replies. "I've been over and looked at them. I have no idea why someone would leave them there. There's no construction work likely to happen... out here!" he adds.

"What if there was?" I put to him, trying to sound reserved but positive.

"What on earth would somebody build out here? And why?"

I reply, "Let's just say, I have some knowledge of a project that is going to happen that will take around four months, which will require a number of strong workers, even an on-site supervisor. Would you be interested in the work if that was true?"

I had originally foreseen Marty running the project, but I'm sure that there would be an opportunity for the both of them to participate, especially if we go with the row of cottages as well.

He appears stunned, as I'm sure that many others are going to be, not the least of whom will be Marty - at the thought of consuming a delicacy of pastry à la equine excrement. I can't wait to see his face!

I continue, "Everything should be known by the end of the week. What do you think?"

He replies, almost disbelieving, "Are you serious?"

"Totally!" I answer. "I wouldn't joke about something that could impact the lives of so many people."

"Well, you've got me really curious now about what it will be, and I know three boys who will be over the moon if we didn't have to leave," he says, nodding towards the house.

"What about you?" I ask him.

"It would be an absolute blessing to work here and not have to ride for weeks behind smelly cattle and their dust." He adds, "And even though the boys sometimes express the desire to see their mother again, they both suddenly love being here and going to school. What magic spell have you cast over them?"

I smile and muse on the spell that Karl and Kurt have actually placed on Will and me. I think that it would suit all four of us to have them stay.

I go into Schoolie mode: "Jan, both Karl and Kurt have very positive work attitudes and I know that Will always enjoys being with them."

"I have so many questions," Jan replies. "When will we know the details of the work - you know, what exactly will it be? When will it start? And I'm almost embarrassed to ask, how much will it pay?"

"I'm sure that all of those questions, and any others, will be answered by Friday," I tell him. "Can you wait until then before making any other decisions?"

"Sure," he says. "What about the boys? Can I say something to them?"

"Maybe it would be better not to, until everything is `put to bed'." I reply. Hmm. Interesting expression! I think of a couple of faces whom I could easily put to bed. No! Will must be the only one to separate my sheets!

Jan shakes my hand so fervently that I spill my tea held in the other.

"Thank you Mr Gra... Tom. You have given me some hope that I could not possibly have expected."

"I'll come and see you as soon as I know anything - possibly even Tuesday or Wednesday," I tell him.

I will need to check some details with Uncle Bill when he arrives. That reminds me, I have some emailing to do.

We drink our tea while Jan and I exchange perceptions of The Village and its people. He inadvertently, or mindlessly, volunteers comments about a `man's physical needs' and how Lilly, Will's mother, often met those for him. He doesn't ask about how my `needs' are met, but I comment anyway that I know how difficult it is being away from `loved ones' on the Coast for an extended period of time. That seems to forestall the question - not that a gentleman would ask!

We go back inside. Will, Karl and Kurt emerge, bright and chirpy. I wonder whether they have been `mucking around' (surely not with Jan and me so close!) or just sharing (other) boyish interests.

"Are you ready to get into those emails?" I ask Will.

"Sure," he replies. I toss him the car keys which he catches, exhibiting a huge grin. Will bumps fists with both Karl and Kurt and I shake Jan's hand who then gathers his two boys to him and stands with one arm each around their shoulders.

From my position in the passenger's seat, I overhear his comment to the boys, "I understand now why you guys like him." Will drives off, exercising my car horn.

How can so many emails accumulate so quickly?

Dad said that Mum was admitted to hospital the night that Will and I left but he didn't tell me because he didn't want me to fret unnecessarily. According to a message sent about an hour ago, she is greatly improved and that I shouldn't worry. Yeah, right! As if!

There are seven from Amelia, `Sis', telling me that she's afraid for Mum and for all of us, and keeping me updated on how she is feeling as well as Mum's condition. This morning's message has a much more positive tone to it.

Good news! Andy came out of his coma yesterday. Simon says that he, Luke and Joey had been taking turns in visiting Andy, with his mum, and just talking to him while one of them held his hand. Last night, he and Simon both went with Mrs Thompson. She was reminding Andy of his friend, Tom, when he opened his eyes, smiled at her and then went back to sleep.

Tony says he was delighted that Uncle Bill introduced us to him and Rocco at his father's restaurant and that he looks forward to visiting us or to catching up next holidays.

Uncle Bill will arrive Tuesday morning with Ash, the architect, together with the local council building inspector. They don't plan on staying the night. I wonder how on earth they can do that, seeing that we are so isolated here. Maybe they are going to stay in Big Town. Regardless, I must check with the pub to see whether they have accommodation available, despite Uncle Bill's assertions! I've learned over the years that whatever he says is liable to change without notice.

Jarrod hopes that we are enjoying the games and he looks forward to playing with us again when we return. LOL - the double meaning is obvious. Then he adds that he'll be `ready for us'. Hmm.

Will tells me that he has emails from his Dad, Rocco, Luke, Jarrod and Sam (from the motel). AND, he adds, from Monika, the director of the art gallery.

We agree to swap stories after dinner.

"So, whose turn is it tonight?" Marty asks provocatively before forking a piece of sausage into his mouth.

"Not yours!" Will quips back, then adds, "You will have to wait until Saturday. Isn't it your turn to have `him' all to yourself?"

Marty doesn't reply, except for the rapid raising and lowering of his eyebrows, oh..., and smirking.

I suspect that Marty may be open to a bit of 3-way action, but, beyond jacking off together, Will and I have agreed that nothing more should happen with him - and he knows it. Marty just seems to be testing the boundaries.

Will and I both brush our teeth and then `brush our teeth', uncertain of where any spontaneous passions may lead us.

We sit side by side on our `magic mattress', backs against the wall, tablets on our laps and we share information from our emailers.

He has a long message from his dad (OUR dad), `Uncle Bill'. It's pretty `mushy', totally unlike the practical joker that I've always known, but he's obviously very proud of his previously-unknown love child (actually, `passion child' or `one-night-stand' would be closer to the truth) and his artistic skill. He expresses his best wishes for the future happiness of his `two boys', without mentioning our sexual relationship, which would probably have been on his mind anyway.

Jarrod's email to Will expresses similar sentiments to those he emailed me, with extra thanks for allowing him to experience full-on sex for the first time, with Will. He says that he hopes to `return the favour' next time. We joke about that and discuss the fact that it breaks our exclusivity rule. We settle on the fact that a 3-way shared partner may be permissible, but only if both of us agree. Sort of like Marty with `him' and `her'. I think, `Does that mean that Will and I can do it with Marty if we both agree?' Hmmm, let's cross that bridge if we ever come to it! But, I just can't see it happening.

Will's most startling message is from Monika, suggesting that if he can put together a small portfolio of his works, then she would like to consider them for a one-room showing at the gallery for an exclusive display to some of her counterparts from other galleries. It would be putting William O'Brien-Grant `out there' to gauge reactions.

We comment on the opportune cleaning out of Marty's spare room and our selection of his work for just such an opportunity. We can probably send them back with Uncle Bill.

After lights-out, we are awake for a long time.

I've got to fix that squeaking spring!

Will finally spoons up to me and whispers in my ear, "So did you and Kurt do anything?"

 

(to be continued)

 

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

-----

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

rob.zz@hotmail.com

I try to reply to everyone. Please be patient.

-----

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

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