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 40

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?"

 

Chapter 41 - School's Back!

I'm shocked that he would ask me that! But then, being Will, I'm not exactly surprised either. However, I now have another dilemma to deal with - do I honour my word to a young boy, or do I tell the truth to the one whose magnetism attracts my steeliness? Or can I avoid the truth without lying?

"Huh?" What?" I mumble, trying to sound as if I didn't hear the question.

This time he doesn't whisper. "I said, did you and Kurt do anything? He was over at the school for a long time and I know that there wasn't an hour's work to be done in the place. Maybe not half!"

I wonder whether Kurt said something when he promised that he wouldn't. Why would he? No! Will is just fishing. Think quick, Tom!

"He was very helpful," I tell Will. "He swept the dust and leaves off the verandah, then tidied up the storeroom and craft room and made sure that everything was in its right place, while I prepared some activities for the little kids. Then we talked for a while about his dad's job, and about you and Karl, before we heard the truck horn. Why?"

"What about me and Karl?" Will, thankfully, takes the bait, and the conversation changes focus.

"Oh, nothing important," I say, teasing him, and knowing that he will relentlessly pursue this line of questioning even moreso now, if he thinks that I'm trying to avoid it.

"What did Kurt say about Karl and me?" Will is a little more insistent. He reaches around and takes hold of my balls. "Tell me, or it could be painful!" Outwardly I'm submissive to his `friendly persuasion'. Inwardly I'm laughing.

"OK! He said that you and Karl often disappear together, leaving him by himself. I thought that you always do everything with both of them at the same time. Kurt thinks that he's missing out on something. Is that true?"

There is a momentary silence. "Umm..." Will says and he releases his grip on me.

"So, it's true, in other words," I say. "Your lack of a response is a confession!" I reach behind me. "Come on. Spill the beans, or it could be very painful for YOU!"

"Hey. I do play with both of them," Will starts. "I taught them both to jack off, didn't I?"

"But, Karl gets a bit extra on the side, does he?" I lightly tighten my grip.

"Yeah, well, he always wants more! Kurt's happy to spurt once - like you. Karl can do it two-, and sometimes three-times in a row - like me - and he stays stiff pretty much the whole time. So rather than just do it in front of Kurt, we go somewhere by ourselves for a while. Kurt knows, and he doesn't care. Karl said so."

He giggles.

"What?" I ask

"I make lots of precum and he loves to rub my shaft with it `till I spurt. And he likes to play with my balls while I jack him off."

"What does Kurt like?" I put to him.

"Why don't you ask Kurt?" Will says, reaching around me again.

"Because it's easier and less embarrassing to ask you!" I tell him, again tightening my grip. Then I add, "Hey! You've got nice balls!"

He giggles.

"That's what Karl says, but Kurt really prefers to play with my cock." There is a pause. "So, did you do anything with him?"

In my mind, I knew that he wouldn't, couldn't, let this go. I've had some thinking time to prepare my answer. "When I said that I needed to visit the toilet, Kurt came too. He stood next to me and we peed together. He made a big show of displaying his cock and balls to me and he kept checking out mine, close up! He said that it looked just like yours. He seemed really happy."

Now I know that this is the truth, even if it's nowhere near the whole truth.

Will pauses. "Hmm, Yeah, well that would explain the goofy grin on his face when he came back," Will says. "I could tell that he didn't just stack books and move chairs. He did make a comment about seeing a snake up in the toilet!"

I am about to doze off when Will says, "Kurt really likes you, you know!"

"Yeah, well, let's talk about that some other time," I mutter. "For now, I need to sleep. You've worn me out."

"OK, old man," he says, and kisses my neck. "Ouch!" he complains through gritted teeth about the sudden tightness of my grip.

"Yep, you've got nice, firm balls all right," I tell him, and smile to myself in the dark.

 

I wake to the smell of breakfast cooking. I can feel Will's body heat behind me.

But something is wrong! It's dark. What is Marty doing, cooking breakfast in the middle of the night? I check the time, which is immediately confirmed by the community of kookaburras.

Why is it dark? I ease myself away from Will, who emits a low groan before rolling prostrate into the warm spot on the `magic mattress' where I just was, and I venture towards the kitchen, still a little bleary-eyed and confused.

Marty is unusually chirpy - like he is on a Saturday morning before visiting his friends in Big Town.

"G'day, sunshine!" he says. "Great morning, eh?"

"What is going on?" I mumble. "Why is it so dark?"

"Lots of cloud," he almost sings. "It all came up during the night."

"So?" I put to him in typical city-boy-ignoramus fashion.

He stops. Then I hear, "You know, for a schoolie, you're not so bright sometimes," he throws at me, restraining a laugh. I stare at him. He stares back, waiting for a single LED to come on in my head. "What comes in clouds?" he asks me, with the attitude of a patient teacher to a dull student.

"I dunno!" I respond. "What? Water?"

"Exactly, good boy!" he congratulates me and pats me like one of his dogs. I could become miffed at his condescending attitude, but then it dawns on me - the possibility of rain! Drought-breaking rain. Life-saving rain. Prayer-answering rain. Construction-delaying rain!

Do you know how long it's been since it last rained here?" he asks. What a stupid question to ask someone who's only been here for just over three months, with no knowledge of local history and meteorology! "1,872 days!" he continues. "I worked it out. So what do you think of that?"

"Think of what? Your ability to count to 11 with your hands inside your pants, or something else?" I put to him.

He frowns and points his wooden spoon at me menacingly, gun-like. He lowers it to point at my balls and says, "Pow!" enacting an appropriate firearm recoil. "If I thought you were serious, I'd get my shotgun out of the spare room!" he chirps. I smile back, clutching at my intact jewels in mock injury.

"That's more than five years," I say, having done a quick mental calculation.

"Right on!" he replies and returns to the stove.

"Do you know what that means?" I ask. He stops and stares at me with a look of exasperation. I continue, "Some of the youngest kids may have never seen rain!"

"And a great many of the animals, too," he adds.

I think that a major part of my science curriculum for the coming term has just been laid out before me.

Marty continues to give me a lesson in the effects of rain on a drought-burdened community. "Fodder will grow; cattle will eat; farmers will have work; owners will make money; shopkeepers will be paid their dues; the river will rise; the flat plain will become a lake; the road will turn to a quagmire and you won't be able to drive that cute little city car of yours into The Village. It's OK. You'll get fit, walking. If Michelangelo can do it, so can you. Oh, and you may need a good pair of gumboots. And..." he pauses to draw breath.

"What? There's more?" I ask trying to digest the extent of his information and its many consequences.

He carries on, "That's when we discover where the holes are in the roofs, how long it takes our wet, favourite clothes to dry, how reliable our cars are, how quickly mold can grow and how good your health is. Oh, and there'll probably be a mouse plague because the conditions are right. And then..."

"Stop!" I tell him. "I've hoped and prayed for rain. Now I might have to work out if I can reverse that - if it's not too late already!"

"We desperately need rain and we'll happily put up with the side effects," Marty tells me. He adds, chuckling, "You and Michelangelo could always ride horses to school. He'd love that. He's good on a horse."

"Not as good as you, I suppose," I tell him, attempting to give his ego a bit of a stroke. However, somehow it just sounds like sarcasm.

"Better!" he replies. "Even though I hate to admit it! He was taught by Uncle Reg who might not look like it now but when he was young, was the best horseman in the district, Mum says. He tried to teach me but didn't have the same success as he did with `Little Willie'. Uncle Reg described him as `a natural'. You'll see him one day - probably soon. It's beautiful to watch him and the horse move as one."

"I had no idea," I tell Marty. "I know that he likes horses but Will has never mentioned that he can ride."

"You'll find that his riding skill is probably even better than his artwork," Marty replies.

"Wow! The only horse that I've ever sat on was attached to a carousel at a carnival," I confess.

He laughs at that. Then, when I maintain my passive expression, the smirk drains from his face, and then he adds, seriously, "Very Funny! You are joking... aren't you?"

"No," I tell him, blank-faced.

Will emerges, still displaying the slackening remnant of his `morning glory'. "What's happening?" he asks, uncertain of which area of his body requires scratching the most.

Marty jumps in, "Do you mean the cloud outside, or the fact that the city slicker, Mr Schoolie, here, has never been on a horse, apart from a wooden one?"

"As if!" Will shoots back. "It's a bit too early yet to start messing with my head, Marty, don't you think?"

"Ask him!" Marty says. "It's true!"

Will turns his open-mouthed gaze upon me. "You're both having me on, aren't you?" he finally puts to me, with a slight sneer in Marty's direction.

"Sorry, chum. He's right," I tell him. "I've never even sat on a real horse, let alone ride one."

"Well... fuck me!" Will drawls to nobody in particular, then swings quickly to Marty adding, "And, hey, Marty! No, that was not an invitation!"

He turns to me and, with a look of disbelief, asks, "How could you not have ever...?"

"Hey!" I cut him off. "Had you ever ridden a boogie board until two weeks ago?"

"That's different!" he protests. "Everybody here has ridden horse, and..." He stops.

"And every guy where I live has ridden a board," I smile at him.

He stares at me and I can almost see a pair of scales behind his eyes, weighing up both pieces of information. The emerging grin on his face takes on a mischievous, almost evil, aspect.

"So, you'd like to learn to ride a horse, eh?" he asks slowly and deliberately.

I reply, after swallowing hard, "Sure! If you can learn to ride a board in a day, I'll have a go at a horse. You just have to sit on it and it goes, right? Or do you have to say `giddy-up' first?"

Will looks hard at Marty, who says nothing. Is that a sympathetic or derisive laugh he's trying to stifle behind his smirk?

"I can ask Jake if it's OK with Uncle Reg for next Saturday. We can go up there while Marty's in town doing some bareback riding of his own," Will says cheekily. Marty gives him the finger.

"Good. I look forward to that!" I tell them both, looking from one to the other.

"I'm almost tempted to stay here and watch," Marty grins.

Will looks at me and asks, grinning, "Hey, our tablets can take movies as well as photos, can't they?"

I think of giving him his second `finger' for the morning but, instead, comment, "I don't care. You don't know how to take movies yet." I should know that challenging Will is not the way to get him to back down.

"Maybe I should ring Jarrod then," he says confidently.

I am suddenly feeling very exposed, and not because of my current lack of clothing!

"Breakfast is ready," Marty announces. Then he laughs, "A carousel horse! I can't wait to see Uncle Reg's face."

We eat, and I endure all manner of aspersions, to Will's and Marty's great mirth and entertainment.

 

"Good morning Mr Grant," the cherubs all chant tunefully and in unison.

We spend a good deal of time with everyone telling of their holiday experiences.

When young David has completed a quick rundown of the time spent with his grandparents, he hesitantly asks the question: "Mr Grant, did, um, William, you know...? Did your girlfriend...?"

I fill in the gaps for him. "What you want to know, David, is could my girlfriend tell us apart, and did she kiss him?"

Everyone giggles.

"You tell them, William." I pass the buck to him.

"Not once!" he says, forcing a pout to hide his amusement. The smile fades on David's face, but grows on that of the twins and Jane and Jake, all twigging to Will's choice of words. Then, after a pause, Will adds, "Three times!"

The whole class erupts in the pandemonium of hoots and cat calls and some whistles, all led by the senior students.

When the noise dies down, David asks me, "What did you do, Mr Grant?"

"I didn't say much, David," I tell him and the others, "but I did take him down to the ocean to feed him to the sharks!" They gasp.

"Did they eat him?" one of the little girls asks.

"Yep. All of him," I tell her. They all ponder the fact that if he was eaten, how could he be here? I add, "And he tasted so bad that the big shark spat him back out and told me to keep him!"

That's a cause for greater laughter, and some back-slapping of Will by those nearest to him.

I notice Will make multiple teeth impressions on his arm then he swings around and displays it to the younger ones. "See, Susanna, I still have the marks where it tasted me!" he says. There are more gasps. The senior boys chuckle amongst themselves.

By the expressions on some of the younger faces, I'm sure that the story of `William and the Shark' will be repeated in a few homes tonight, with its credibility and veracity attested to by the fact that `Mr Grant said so!'

Karl, Kurt, Jake and Will all take time to summarise their highlights.

Jane crowns herself `Miss Unpopularity' when, at her turn, she concludes with the announcement, "... and Jake's got a girlfriend!"

It's not just looks that could kill! Jake's desire for absolute murder is exuded by every pore of his body. Only for the fact that I'm standing near him, I'm sure that he would immediately like to dispatch her to the afterlife. In fact, if Jake was an exponent of telekinesis, I'm certain that every sharp object in the building, including all of the craft tools, would now have his sister looking like one of their mother's sewing pin cushions.

The previous cat calls for Will are now repeated for Jake, whose mood and the grey skies outside are the only things in harmony at the moment. Looking as though he is about to burst into tears, Jake drops his face to the desk and provides his head with as much of a hiding place as his two arms can offer.

After momentary solitude, his head emerges and snarls at his sister, "Why don't you tell them about your boyfriend!"

More hoots!

Disappointed at his sister's lack of embarrassment, Jake returns his face to its seclusion. Will places a consoling arm across Jake's shoulders.

I look at my watch. Now would be a good time to take an early recess. Nobody objects.

Jake remains in his seat. Will stays with him. I join everyone else outside. Knowing the extent of their friendship, I'm sure that Will and Jake have a few things to discuss - better to do it now rather than delaying it.

Two distinct groups have formed in the playground: all of the girls around Jane, and the boys around Karl and Kurt and David. While the girls are happy and animated, the mood of the others, huddled together with occasional glances at the girls, appears more sombre, almost conspiratorial.

Without an excessive time lapse, Will and Jake emerge. Jake seems to have recovered his composure. They are both smiling and head straight towards the boys' toilet without acknowledging anyone else.

Karl and Kurt make to follow them but I call the pair of them back. "Hey, guys. Just give Jake a few minutes to wash his face. OK?"

"Yes, Mr Grant," they reply compliantly and wait until the older two are on their way back before they `ambush' them.

Leaving Jake with the twins, Will continues towards me and comments, "It's all good. He's OK. I'll tell you later." Then he rejoins his friends.

The rest of the day runs smoothly, even though Jake and Jane avoid each other.

I hear Reg's Land Rover approaching and I'm able to meet him at the gate as he pulls up. Jane climbs into the front passenger's seat and Jake piles into the back - as usual. I motion to Reg that I'd like him to come and chat. Leaving the car door fully open, he steps out and I walk with him to a position some metres behind the car where we will not easily be overheard.

I start, "Reg, we had a bit of an issue this morning."

He looks at me in surprise.

I continue, "All of the kids were sharing about their holidays and Jane embarrassed Jake by disclosing the existence of a girlfriend. He was extremely upset about it and retaliated by snapping at her to tell everyone about her boyfriend. Is everything OK between the two of them at home?"

He pushes the brim of his beaten-up old hat back off his forehead and back onto his head, then replies, "The brother of Jane's friend in Big Town has taken a liking to her, it seems. That would be the `boyfriend'. Not only that, but their next-door neighbour, on the other side, a girl about Jane's age, appears to like Jake, and always comes outside to see if Jake is there when I drop Jane off. It's all new to Jake and he's like a fish out of water when it comes to talking to girls. Jane delights in watching him flap and squirm by mentioning this `girlfriend' at every opportunity. I think that the girl is more infatuated with him than he is interested in her."

He continues, "Although Jane seems to thrive on the boy's attention, Jake is mortified by any mention of a girlfriend at the moment. I expect that the embarrassment will pass." Then he adds, "...hopefully! Just between you and me," he continues, lowering his voice a tad, "when I picked them both up the other day after I had done some shopping, Jane, her friend and the brother were all sitting on the front step. Jake was talking to the neighbour across their common fence, as he usually does. When he turned around, I saw the tent in the front of his jeans which might indicate that he's not totally disinterested. I didn't say anything to him, and I don't think he realised that I had seen it. It was bound to happen sooner or later. He's just at that age, isn't he?"

Reg then (uncharacteristically) jokes, "I'm sure that you, being so young, can remember those first stirrings far more easily than my ageing memory allows."

I slap him on the back and chuckle at his boldness without commenting!

"Have you spoken with him about `everything'?" I ask.

"No, actually," He replies. "I'm sure that he knows the `basics' of it all from watching the horses and the cattle, but me talking with him about girls and feelings and relationships isn't going to be easy... for either of us!"

"I might be able to help, Reg," I tell him. "I am certain that Will is ready for that discussion as well. How would you feel about me giving them both the `big brother' talk at the same time? They'd probably feel more comfortable if they were both there together." I add, "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they had already chatted a little about it. Will spent a bit of time alone with Jake after Jane's `bombshell' and was able to restore Jake's normally-happy disposition fairly quickly. Think about it. I'll sound out Will tonight."

"Thanks, Tom." Reg says, shaking my hand. "The parents, as well as the kids, are lucky to have you as the Schoolie. I hope that you're around for a long time."

"I'm already learning to love the place, Reg. It seems that all I need now is to learn to ride a horse."

That stops him in his tracks.

"Sorry?" he says. "Did you say...?"

"Yes," I tell him. "I've never ridden a horse. We `city slickers' don't get to do that!"

He lets out a long, low whistle. "Well, we should do something about that! We can't have the Schoolie not knowing how to do something that all of the kids can do!"

He heads towards the car then turns to me. "I'll do you a deal," he says. "If you will do all the birds `n' bees stuff with Jake, then I'll teach you to ride, myself. Want to get started this weekend?"

I think about it. Hard! But not for long. Maybe two seconds worth of hard!

"How about this," I propose. "Marty's going into town Saturday morning, If Will picks up Jake, I can have `the talk' with them at home. Then I'll leave them to amuse themselves and drive up to your place for whatever you might have in store for me."

"Will they be OK by themselves?" he asks.

I comment, "It won't be the first time that they've been alone for a while, will it? And they're not little kids any more, Reg. Besides, I think that I could be in for more pain than they will be."

"You're right," he chuckles, and we walk back to the driver's door. Reg kicks the `old girl' into life and they chug away. I return the kids' waves.

 

The three boys have locked the windows. I grab a few things from my desk as Will and Karl head for the door. Kurt follows, a little tardily. I help him out of the door with a friendly swat to his cheeky young backside. He turns momentarily and shoots me the cutest of grins, almost communicating appreciation, then, with a couple of quick skips, he joins the other two. The lock on the school door clunks as I turn the old key.

The twins head across the field of weeds on what is now almost a discernible track.

"Look out for snakes!" I call.

"Not many around now with the cooler weather," Will says quietly, delivering yet another lesson in country life to his city-slicker look-alike.

He drives (of course).

"So, what happened with Jake?" I ask. I'd prefer to hear the details before we get to Marty's. Jake doesn't need to have Marty teasing him as well as his sister!

"No big deal, really," Will says. "Apparently, the next-door neighbour of Jane's friend has taken a liking to him. He doesn't mind talking to her but Jane teases him that she's his girlfriend. Jake said they only ever talk across the low front fence, but his real problem is that whenever he stands near her, he gets a stiffy and he doesn't want her to see it. Or Jane! Can you imagine what she might say to her young brother if she actually saw him with an erection? And he's not so little down there anymore! He's dead-set scared of her!"

"What did you say to him?" I ask. "You seemed to calm him down fairly quickly."

"I asked him whether he was more concerned about his uncontrollable cock or about his uncontrollable sister. He laughed at that and said, `Definitely, Jane!' I also told him that his body was just telling him that he likes girls, or that particular girl even if he didn't think so, and that he shouldn't worry about it because his `girlfriend' wouldn't! Then he punched me."

"What did you do?" Now I'm curious.

"I grabbed his gear and told him that one day he'd probably prefer a girl to jack it off instead of me. He shrugged and just laughed, `maybe' then he was OK after that and we came outside."

Then Will asks me, "Tom, Jake isn't gay, like me, is he?"

"Probably not," I tell him. "But why would you even ask me that?"

"Because I can't feel what he feels. It makes me sad that I don't understand what he's going through. I never get stiff around a girl, only other guys - like Marty and Jake and you, and Karl and Kurt." He adds, "And the horses when I see their long pizzles."

I have to tell him, "Will, just because guys muck around with other guys, especially if they are around the age of Jake and the twins, it doesn't mean they are gay. For some guys `mucking around' is just part of them getting to understand their own body by playing with someone else's. Some end up liking only girls. Others, like Marty, can be happy with either. And there are those, like you, who have only one preference - guys! Lucky me!"

He laughs, then asks, in all innocence, "What about you, Tom?"

"To be truthful, Will," I start, "I tried mucking around with girls, but my `little friend' down below didn't seem too interested. But whenever I was near a hot guy, especially if he was in Speedos, it always woke up pretty quickly. Lucky you!"

Then I add, "Maybe Jake will like girls; maybe he'll like both. So, until he finds out, you two should still be able to play with each other, if he wants to. You should tell him that too. Maybe he's afraid of losing you as a friend and `playmate' if you were to think that he only likes girls now."

"Tom," Will asks, seriously, "really, do you mind if I continue to play with Jake? I like making him happy. You should see him just before he spurts. His whole body goes stiff and he has this painfully happy look on his face - if it's possible to describe it that way. It doesn't change you and me, does it?"

"Not one little bit, kiddo," I answer. "And, by all means, you and Jake can continue to make each other happy! I've come to the conclusion that you need a whole lot more of `happiness' than I do." He smiles at my acknowledgment. "And, you've also got Karl and Kurt. Then there's Luke (in the Gold Coast) and horse-boy Sam (at the motel) and Rocco (Tony's hairy cousin). And, let's not forget Jarrod. Hmm. Yeah. Jarrod's in a different category. We need to talk about him and us some more. Hey! You certainly get to make a lot of different people happy, don't you?" I add, smiling.

"And, there's you too!" Will says, with some finality to the list.

"Yeah. Definitely me! It doesn't change us. Come to think of it... about all those playmates of yours... you've been a busy little..."

"Hey, what about you?" Will interrupts. "You've got Simon and Tony and... and..."

I leave him time to try to add to his list. "Looks like you win!" I tell him. I don't mention the interlude with Sam's little brother, Mikey, nor my `alone time' with Kurt.

"I suppose, if we're counting, we could both include Marty, couldn't we?" he asks.

"And Joey and young Andy at the beach." I reply.

The reality suddenly hits me. We're just a pair of horny young male bimbos! It's not a word that I relish, but how else could I describe us? Active? Promiscuous (or does that only apply to fucking)? This isn't a situation that I've wished for, it just ... sort of ... happened!

I feel that I definitely need to arrest this moral decline! But, who can I give up? Will? No way! Marty? Possibly. After all, he has `him' and `her' with whom to release his pent-up emotion and juices! Kurt? I definitely should give him up, but that would hurt him so badly! Simon? Most possibly. Tony? He needs me too! Mikey? That will only happen if Will wants to stop visiting Sam! What are the odds?

I know that `life wasn't meant to be easy' but I'm sure that it wasn't meant to be so complicated either! Maybe Will and I can buy or rent a tropical island and spend the rest of our lives just fucking each other senseless (without all of the other wonderful distractions). Nice plan! Nice dream! Not going to happen! We'll have to make the new home our island. But, then, why are we including guest rooms? Nice visitors!

Suddenly, it seems, we have arrived home. "Don't mention anything to Marty about Jake's `girlfriend'," I urge Will.

"Of course not!" he retorts. "Marty can be a cruel bastard when he wants to be, sometimes even without trying! Jake doesn't need that!"

Over dinner we relate some of the holiday experiences of the cherubs to Marty.

In return, he shares that, despite the lack of `conveniences', the cottage behind his Mum's place is ready for `habitation'.

We talk about the fact that the grey clouds have dissipated, without depositing so much as a single drop of moisture on the landscape. "But, it's not necessarily a bad sign," Marty fills us in. "I can still remember when the last drought broke. It happened just like this - clouds for a couple of weeks and then, `Whammo!' Down it came! You'd better take the opportunity to buy some boots. You'll definitely need them after the rain starts." He adds, "Why don't you both also get a Driza-Bone in Big Town."

"Hell, Yeah! That'd be so cool," Will adds. "I've always wanted one of those!"

"What bones?" I ask, again showing my ignorance of many things rural.

Marty gives me one of those looks! He takes a deep breath and says, very calmly, even spelling the word, "Driza-Bone" is like what you city boys call a... raincoat, only much more effective for out here. I'm sure that you would have seen stockmen in movies wearing them. They're designed so that they can be worn while riding a horse. They're oiled to make them waterproof. Hang on!" he says, and disappears towards his room and returns wearing a heavy dark brown coat. "See! They make them long like this for horsemen, but they have shorter versions for people who only ride on a carousel."

He laughs. So does Will. I don't mind their humour. "I suppose, I'd better get a long one then," I spruik. "I think my carousel days are over!"

I try on Marty's coat. Very comfortable. And I like the extra layer of material around the shoulders; it's sort-of like giant lapels that continue all the way round. This bit almost looks like my grandma's fur stole, only without the fur! I vaguely remember Englishmen in a Sherlock Holmes movie wearing something of similar style. Marty explains how useful this is in driving rain to help keep the wearer dry. I decide to check them out on-line before going to sleep. (Well, before going to bed, that is. I'm unlikely to go straight to sleep when I hop into bed with Will.)

While Marty is replacing his coat, I ask Will in a low voice, "So who's brushing his teeth tonight? I'm fine either way."

"You then," he answers.

So tonight, he's on top! I'm looking forward to feeling his youthful energy being expended on me and in me. LOL.

It's not that late when Marty, instead of his simple `Good Night' says, "Have a good night, guys." There is an implication of activity. Cheeky bugger!

"You, too, Marty," I reply. Then I add, "Try to get some sleep too, eh?"

He winks. I wink back.

After `brushing my teeth' then cleaning and packing away the enema kit, I find Will still dressed, checking emails.

He looks up. "Dad reminded me that he'll be here tomorrow, but he didn't say what time."

Oh, no! I forgot to check the accommodation availability with the pub. I'll duck across first thing in the morning and organise something. And I haven't had a chat with Marty about the work, either. I can do that at breakfast. And, I should check my emails in the morning, in case there is something important there. But, for now, I have other things on my mind.

Will has, too. He shuts down his tablet, puts it aside, removes his shoes by holding the heel of each one with the toes of his other foot and then flicks off his socks. He is about to remove his shirt when I stop him.

"Hey! May I do that?" I ask him. He doesn't answer (or, more correctly, doesn't have time to answer) before I wrap my arms around him from behind and kiss his neck. I know that he loves this. He shudders. I continue to stimulate each side of his neck and nibble on his ear lobes. His moan indicates that I should keep going and I feel the towel below my waist rising away from my body, pressing against his backside.

I run both hands down his youthful, muscular body. One rises back up under his shirt and my palm caresses his pec muscles and nipple. The other continues down and rests on the front of his jeans. Firmness! Roundness! Big-ness!

I use both hands under his shirt to stimulate his skin, alternating between tickling and lightly rubbing it until I feel his body start to tremble with goose flesh. His nipples are hard. I lift his shirt over his head and discard it. I turn him to face me. We spend some considerable time savouring the touch of each other's hands on our skin and in rubbing our bodies together.

I cup his firm glutes and knead them, working with first one hand and then the other, while undoing his belt, buttons and zipper. His jeans slip down his thighs and over his knees, and I feel his body. And rub it. And savour it. Back and front. Tight glutes. Stiff cock. I insert my thumbs into the waistband of his underpants and very slowly ease them down, exposing first his hairiness and then his firm tube of flawless man-flesh. At the same time, he releases the tucked-in part of the towel around my waist. It doesn't drop. It's hanging on my rigid man-peg!

I bend down to remove all of his bunched clothing and he steps free, fully naked. While I'm here I kiss his cock head and give it a friendly lick. As I stand, he ensures that my towel remains behind by planting one of his feet on one corner of it on the floor.

We look at each other. Mirror images. Our hands caress where they roam. Our swords joust amiably of their own volition. We kiss.

He lays the towels down on the bed and then reaches for the strategically-placed lube.

I lay face-down then raise my hips slightly. He prepares me, liberally - hole, crack and thighs. He pulls me up to him and assumes his preferred doggy position behind me and starts to slide, between my thighs, under my balls and then up my crack. His cock, of its own desire, searches for my hole but each time it finds me, Will pulls away and continues to slide - up, through, down.

He motions me back down onto my stomach and he lays himself on me, continuing his range of sliding motions. I sometimes feel his cock halfway up my back, sometimes down near my knees. He slides and pokes. I savour his wiry pubes each time they brush my butt.

On one of many upward slides his cock head gets `stuck' at the entrance to my hole. Will urges it forwards, slowly. I raise my hips and pull apart my cheeks to assist. Forward. Slowly. Inward. Slowly. Right in! Wiry pubes on enthusiastic butt cheeks.

A couple of thrusts, and he rolls to the side, taking me with him, into the `favourite spooning position'. He hugs up against me as tightly as he can and then his hips commence a rocking motion, thrusting his pleasure tool deep, then shallower, then deeper again. I raise my knees towards my chest and he goes deep. Very deep.

I manoeuvre into a situation where every push and withdrawal rubs over my prostate. We synchronise movements and breathing. I moan. He groans.

"You'd better cum soon," I gasp at him after many enjoyable minutes, "because I can't hold back much longer."

He increases his tempo to rabbit speed and begins to grunt. I stop breathing. I can't hold on! I let fly into the towel. As my glutes contract and my anal muscles grip him vice-like, I feel him explode. His entire body spasms uncontrollably. I feel his fluid heat fill me. I reach right around behind me and him, grasping his glutes and I roll onto my stomach. He's on me. He cries out, as if mortally wounded, continuing to spasm, and then he collapses his whole weight onto my back.

At some stage, I resume breathing. His nose and mouth are near my ear. His puffing slows.

OMG. Where did that passion come from? Who would know that love-making could be this beautiful?

Aware that my body has been able to provide him with such intense pleasure, I start to cry.

 

(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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