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 4

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.

 

 

Chapter 5 – A Case of Mistaken Identity

After what seems a blur of days and activities, it's Friday.

The first few days of school have gone smoothly. The preparations have been thorough. The children have been responsive and the groupings have worked out ideally. Five-year-old little Eric was the only new enrolment and he has been helped to settle in by his older brother, David, as well as by Jane and the other children. Susanna will be six next month and she was not a new enrolee.

In the back of my mind I know that today is Karl and Kurt's thirteenth birthday. However, it is Jane who brings the birthday routine to my attention. It is usual, she tells me, to have a birthday lunch, for which she has made a cake, and Di has sent along some other "party food". I leave everything to her. All the goodies are "hidden" in the store room and my task for the morning will be to keep everyone out of there! It sounds a bit like one of those `Mission Impossible' challenges.

When they arrive, I wish the boys a "Happy Birthday" and congratulate them on turning thirteen. A part of the `usual' routine is that everyone is allowed to give the birthday person, or in this case persons, a pat or bump on the back for each year of their age. They all enjoy doing that.

When I see the mischievous looks on their faces as they await their opportunity, I have to remind Jake and Will that they are supposed to be `birthday bumps' and not `birthday bashes', and not to be too heavy-handed.

I, too, take my turn, loudly counting slow, circular motions to their firm young back muscles, instead of bumps, and I cannot deny that I enjoy the more intimate physical contact with each of them. Kurt seems especially responsive, relaxing noticeably into my rubbing hand.

The morning progresses quickly, and I send the boys and little ones out to play while Jane and some helpers set up a central table. Jane has, remarkably, made a cake in two apparent halves - half chocolate and half orange, knowing what each boy likes. The cake has six candles on each side and a larger one right in the middle. The food that surrounds the cake consists of home-made cookies, mint slices, muesli slices, a platter of sliced fruits and some juice.

Jane also produces two large birthday cards for everybody to sign. Her ornate lettering on the outside reads, `Happy Thirteenth Birthday Karl' and `Happy Thirteenth Birthday Kurt'. On the inside of each she has inscribed, `from all your friends at school'.

However, my emotions start to well up within me when I realise that, on the outside of his card, below his name, is a large pencil drawing of Karl and, under his, too, one of Kurt. Rather than just two of the same, Will has captured slightly different expressions, and he has not missed Karl's upturned eyebrow!

On the inside, there is a small 50c-coin-sized miniature of everyone else in the school, including one of me! The idea is that each person can sign or write something next to their picture. What an incredible keep-sake!

Jane, her helpers and I write on each boy's card. The helpers go out to play and, one at a time, each of the other children comes in to `autograph' the cards and is then sent out to fetch the next person, until all have signed. Jane helps Eric to print his name.

Will is the last one to come in. I take the opportunity of telling both Jane and Will how proud I am of them, and how I admire their efforts. I shake Jane's hand and give her a little peck on the cheek. Watching her blush is a delight. I put one arm around Will's shoulder and give him a firm squeeze. Jane laughs as Will also blushes, perhaps because it was done in front of her.

Jane steps out onto the verandah and does her high-volume, PA-system-like announcement that everyone should come inside.

The twins take in the scene and Karl positions himself on one side of the table, Kurt on the other. Jane adjusts the cake so that the chocolate and orange halves are closest to the correct twin. She produces some long matches and sets the candles burning.

We all sing "Happy Birthday" although there is some confusion as to whose name comes first. The tangle of words is very funny. Everybody laughs. Then, after the boys blow out the candles and cut pieces from their own half to share around, it's all in!

Recalling some of my little sister's birthday parties, I am expecting this to be like pigs at the trough, but am delighted that Jane and Will ensure that the little ones get to choose first, then in order of age. Remarkable!

Jane has suggested a number of the children's favourite games, to be played in the more spacious art/craft room.

`Hoppo Bumpo' requires two children of approximately equal size to hop and bump into each other to force the opponent to put their raised foot onto the ground. It's something that the older boys really get into, displaying their Alpha male strength.

`Treasure Hunt' requires children to hunt for concealed bags of goodies. When one is discovered, that child must sit down (and may start feasting on the contents) until each child has found one. As the last ones remain to be found, children who know their whereabouts chant "warm, warmer, hot" as they approach one, and "cool, cooler, cold" as they move away from one.

`Postman' is a favourite that requires a certain amount of chasing and tagging (of the `postman' by the `dog') around the outside of everyone, seated in a circle as large as the room permits. The senior boys have their own version, where the dog grabs (`bites') the postman on the backside, together with growling sound effects. You can imagine the mirth and uproar!

At the end of the afternoon, everyone helps to clean up, and school is dismissed.

I am left alone, to do some planning for Week 2.

It's an oppressively hot afternoon, and I decide to take my first dip in the weir. I can neither see nor hear anybody around so I strip off my shoes, socks, shirt and cargo shorts. I leave my microfiber black boxer briefs on. From a distance, they look like swimming trunks anyway, just in case anybody should be around - which there isn't! I close the school door and walk the short distance to the weir.

I walk past the log where I first saw the boys' undies and shorts and reflect on the whole afternoon frolic last Sunday. I wade into the deep side of the weir and absorb the coolness as I allow the water to rise past my ankles, knees, thighs, crotch (shuddering) then I do a shallow dive into the middle. It is certainly invigorating but my body adjusts to the change in temperature very quickly and I am refreshed. I surface, with just my head protruding as I tread water, maintaining a slow silent breaststroke to keep an adequate distance from the weir wall. My awareness of the droning summer buzz is heightened - cicadas, bush flies, dragon flies, beetles and other unidentified `country bugs'.

I decide to investigate the cascade on the other side of the weir and soon discover the world behind the wall of water. There is an eerie silence, apart from the noise of the cascading stream from above as it hits the water below. The light is subdued and tinged brown as the sunlight is diffused through the slightly muddy water. The weir itself is of old, hewn-timber construction and the logs are mossy, due to the combination of moisture and diffused light.

I sit on a horizontal beam at the base of the weir, my legs dangling into the water. I look from right to left and feel like a surfer inside a tube, with water breaking above me. This is a magical, secret, private place. I understand why it is popular with the children, especially the boys.

I decide to do an impersonation of Will, the very first time when I saw him - alligator style, and I submerge below the cascade and rise slowly on the other side. The summer buzz returns, accompanied this time by the sound of voices - Will and the twins. I submerge as much as possible but so that I can still see them, and back up towards the far side of the river, keeping close enough to the cascade so as to be unseen - I hope.

"Naked?" I hear one of the twins call, more of a command than a question.

There is no verbal response, just a flurry of arms, legs and clothing. From my vantage point I take in their beauty - slim, toned bodies; pubic hair; semi-erect cocks and gleeful shouts. It stimulates a flow of blood and I feel myself start to swell. I submerge totally, retreat behind the wall and take up my place on the horizontal beam.

There is silence, apart from the water. I fully anticipate being joined by the boys sooner or later, so I focus on absorbing as much of the chill that surrounds me to try to ensure that I don't have a full erection when they discover my presence.

The erratic surges of the water coming over the weir tell me that they are on the deep side and frolicking about.

Then the flow becomes regular and uniform again. Shortly afterwards, my solitude is invaded. Without warning a head pops up quite close to me.

The hair. The eyes. The stare.

Without attempting to hide his highly aroused state, Will sidles up to me, checks out my crotch, then nonchalantly says, "Hi Tom. Lucky, eh?" as he sits beside me, with both our legs dangling into the water. "Wanna muck around with us today?" It is delivered with an air of hopeful expectation. It is hard to reply, `No thanks' when I want to say, `Oh, yes'!

I suddenly feel a pair of hands on my ankles. They slide rapidly up my legs, past my knees and continue straight up my thighs onto my crotch, and he hangs on. A head surfaces and, with water running from his hair into his eyes, one of the twins yells, "I've gotcha Willie". Or was that, "I've got your willie"?

In the murky brownness he obviously thinks that he's got hold of Will, sitting alone. Then he obviously senses that the clothing-covered genitals that he is holding are very different to what he was expecting.

I will have to ask Will whether he can draw the expression on the poor kid's face at the moment when, brushing the hair out of his eyes with one hand, he realises that it is his teacher, not his friend, whose `gear' he is scrunching. His other hand springs off my privates so fast that I muse on his risk of dislocating something.

He stands bolt upright, with his erection directly in front of me, his face flushing bright red and muttering, "Oh, shit. Mr Grant. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry Sir." Then he unfreezes and dives out through the cascade! Hmmm. `Nice close up! Thanks buddy,' I contemplate.

At almost the same time, the other twin pops up beside Will. It's Karl. Surveying the scene, he eases out of the water, sits himself down and sidles up close to Will and mumbles, "Hi, Mr Grant, Sir." I can tell that he is unsure whether he should cover up, or leave his young stiffness exposed, like Will. He looks at Will's body and then at my reassuring smile, and decides to be brave.

"You'd better tell Kurt that everything's OK. He's just had a bad experience." Will laughs, "You should have seen his face when he discovered that he was grabbing Mr Grant's cock instead of mine."

Karl looks quizzically from Will to me. When I nod confirmation and laugh too, I can see the tension release from his face and body. He smiles sheepishly.

Hoping to put him at ease, looking deliberately at his handsome vertically-pointing erection and then directly into his eyes, I smile, "hey, nice gear for a thirteen-year-old." He stares at me, probably shocked that his school teacher would say such a thing.

Then, as if his mind has finished processing everything, his face takes on a very mischievous smirk. I'd love to know what he is thinking.

Will parrots, "Yeah, for a thirteen-year-old", and grabs Karl's firmness between his legs then dives out under the cascade. Again, Karl doesn't know whether or not to be embarrassed and is left with a slightly shocked expression on his angelic face.

I just shake my head, smile into his eyes and, without any sign of either approval or disapproval, but by way of explanation if any is needed, say, "Boys will be boys!"

Then, with bravado, Karl screams out, "I'll get you for that Willie!" and dives after him.

Some of the questions that I had last Sunday have been answered. I have witnessed their little game in close up. And, unwittingly, had become part of it, thanks to Kurt.

I decide that it's time to go, before I succumb to the temptation to join in and surrender my professionalism totally.

I submerge and cruise out, crocodile style, surfacing slowly, to survey the scene. Will and Karl are holding Kurt, tickling and groping him. Kurt is twisting and screaming with laughter, trying to free himself. I stand up and wade past the three of them, simply saying, "I'd better be off. Have fun guys!" and I head up the river bank.

I turn to look at them one last time. Will is spooning Kurt and holding him tightly around the chest, while Kurt is kicking to avoid his brother's grasping hands.

I can just imagine the comments and questions that the twins will put to Will when I am gone.

As Will looks at me, beaming, I return the smile and put my finger to my lips to prompt him not to say too much. He nods, acknowledging his understanding, then refocusses on having fun with the birthday boys.

Having left the three boys to their fun at the weir, I decide to pack up and head home. I'm sure that Will will fill me in with a little of what they did, knowing that I have already seen them all naked, erect and cavorting.

Arriving at Marty's I am met by the barking dogs which appear to have traded their vicious, snarling challenge for more of an excited greeting.

I hardly have my things dumped onto my bed when Marty has a cold can in my hand. I can tell that he really appreciates the companionship and that he is comfortable with being close, displayed through the incidental physical touching, backslapping, relaxed body language and smiling eyes. Not to mention his predilection for minimal clothing. I am certain that he would be right at home in a naturalist camp.

Then I smile at the thought of him starting his own - even right here. He catches my grin which I must have allowed to escape and simply asks, "What?"

I don't lie. I just don't tell him the whole truth. "Marty, I was just thinking how great it is to be staying here with you - even having young William around. I thought that it might be a problem, but it isn't."

"Young William? Oh, you mean Little Willie?"

"Marty, how can I say this without being overly serious or too flippant? I've seen the kid naked and last Sunday morning the three of us jacked off together. I just can't bring myself to call him `Little Willie', if you know what I mean." I raise an eyebrow and give him a grin. "Actually, he's bigger than both of us."

"Hey, not by much, he isn't." Marty quickly replies with his trademark smirk. "But, you're right. I suppose it's just the name we've always called him from the time he was a little kid. It'll be hard to break an old habit and call him anything else. But then I'm not sure that I could call him `William' either." He pauses while he downs half a can in one gulp. "I suppose I could drop the `Little' and just call him `Willie'. Would that be so bad?" Then he adds, "I hope he comes down tonight. I told Mum that I'd start actually building her new chicken coop in the morning. I could do with an extra pair of hands." Then he adds, "...or two", giving me a look that obviates the need for a direct request for me to help as well.

"No worries, Marty. I'd be happy to help. I might even learn something." It still sounds funny - the Schoolie being the one who's learning stuff, when I'm here to do the teaching.

We chat and, over a second beer, share reflections of our day. I tell Marty about the twins' birthday and my admiration for Will's and Jane's efforts, throwing in some funny moments from the games. I omit any mention of the weir. Marty details how he has prepared and marked out the site up at his Mum's, ready for the `real' work tomorrow.

A little later I hear the dogs barking. Somebody's coming. I hear a sharp `Shut up'. In contrast, almost melodiously, it is followed a few seconds later by an inquiring, "Hello?"

"Yeah, come in mate." Marty calls to Will, as the big kid bounces into the room, with a beaming grin. I wonder how long it takes him to get down here from The Village on foot. I'll ask him later.

"Hi Marty. Hello Mr Grant."

"Why the hell are you so happy?" Marty shoots at him. "You're normally miserable when you drag yourself in here."

Will shrugs at Marty and then looks directly at me. I wink at him. We both know the answer, and know that his secret, our secret, is safe.

"I dunno," Will starts. "Maybe because it's just the end of a hard week at school. The new Schoolie's a real slave driver, you know." He says it as though I am not in the room. Then he quickly glances my way for any sign of offense or disapproval.

Not wanting to be outdone by a sixteen-year-old, I flash back, "Hey, Marty, did I tell you that most of my little slaves are hard workers? It's only the big smart-arse one that's a bit of a handful." I wink at Will so that Marty can't see it, while at the same time cupping my groin, scratching, in case Marty should notice. Will catches on, understanding my intentional innuendo then winks back, restraining a full-on smirk. Marty smiles at the light-hearted exchange of words.

Marty says, "I'll get dinner ready."

I reply, "I'll put all my things away." Will asks Marty if he needs any help and, getting a negative response, follows me.

"Hey Tom..." he starts the conversation in private, "... thanks for being so cool about Karl and Kurt."

"No worries, Will. And you know that you can trust me to keep my mouth shut, like I trust you. By the way, we can't go on saying `house rule' every time we want to remind each other. Let me show you something." I show him some signing for the deaf that I picked up in university. I show him one letter specifically. "Will, this is the letter `H'. Can you do this? It's easy - just like pretending to have a gun but with your thumb tucked down, and displayed across your body." He gets it. "This `H' can just be a quick sign between us - H for House Rule. What do you think?" He smirks, and just gives me an `H'.

"What did the twins think about me seeing the three of you so `playful' with each other?"

"I don't think that it was a problem at all. But, Kurt said he nearly shit himself when he realised that it was you and not me that he grabbed. He was afraid that you might hit him or, even worse, tell his father. But he said that you were super cool not to say anything except, `have fun guys'. I told the both of them that I didn't think you would `rat' on us. They couldn't understand why, but I just told them that I thought you were a really cool dude and that I thought we could trust you not to give us up. After that, Kurt couldn't stop talking about it, going on and on about what you felt like."

"Hey. Do you reckon that you could draw that expression on Kurt's face when he opened his eyes and saw me?"

"Yeah. I'll do it tonight. No problem. He's gonna freak when he sees himself!"

Marty soon calls, "Dinner!" and we enjoy another one of his great meals. I offer to wash the dishes and Will says that he will dry and put away.

Marty sits with a beer and my occasional sideways glance alerts me that he is watching us both. I don't know what he's thinking but the smirk tells me that there's something going on behind his eyes, instead of just gazing in our direction. I wonder whether he's making some connection between Will and me, or whether he's just checking me out - again, exactly as Will alerted me that he does!

When it's time for bed, Marty simply gets up, says, "Night!" and disappears to his room.

Will and I go to ours. Stripping down to our underwear we prop ourselves each on his own bed - me with a book, Will with a pencil and a drawing pad.

After only fifteen minutes Will shows me his sketch, explaining that he likes to get the outlines and basic shapes done first and then concentrate on the expression in the eyes and mouth. He's drawn Kurt from the chest up and has him down perfect! Then he continues to add the cross-hatch shading and fine detail. In less than an hour it's all done, water background and all. This lad's a true artistic genius!

The picture of Kurt shows just the right balance of surprise and fear, especially in his eyes and mouth. Only the four of us will ever know why. I'm sure the twins won't tell anyone who might come across this latest portrait of Kurt and ask what was happening at the time. LOL.

I compliment Will on his amazing skill, get off my bed, lean forward, ruffle his hair and motion that I want to give him a hug. He stands and draws me in for a close embrace and I savour the feel of his chunk of manhood in its natural state as he leans his crotch against my thigh. "Sleep well, little brother," I whisper in his ear.

"You too, bro," he replies, giving me a peck on the cheek.

Two pairs of undies hit the floor.

Will behaves himself and my sleep is undisturbed.

 

Roosters and kookaburras are alarm clocks on which you can't hit a `snooze' button!

Will and I both stir and smile a sleepy `Good Morning' at each other. Will throws back the sheet and doesn't try to hide his morning glory as he heads to the bathroom, closing the bedroom door behind him. I hear the bathroom door shut as well.

After five minutes he still hasn't returned. My own wood has slackened off. I rise and cross the room and turn an ear towards the bathroom wall. I don't hear noises that sound like peeing or taking a dump! I instantly know what he is doing. LOL. I don't blame him after his excitement in the weir yesterday. Maybe his play with Karl and Kurt didn't progress beyond `grabbing'. But then again, Will seems ready to `get lucky' at the drop of every dried gum leaf in a wind storm! I have no idea how often he can jack off. Maybe one day I will find out.

I hear the call of `breakfast' from the kitchen so I pull on a pair of briefs and head out there. Marty almost automatically checks out my slightly plumped-up bulge, then looks away. He and I don't wait for Will and we dig into the baked beans on toast with bacon and eggs. The coffee tastes slightly bitter - so this is what it's like without sugar! Ugh!

Will eventually emerges from the bathroom, heads back to the bedroom then appears, wearing his pair of thin flesh-coloured shorts. Marty and I both look at the post-ejaculation plumpness in his crotch, then at each other, and just smirk, knowingly.

After cleaning up, taking my turn in the bathroom and getting dressed, we all head across to Mum's. Marty lets Will drive the truck, a regular occurrence, I am told - his second thrill of the morning. I ride shotgun and Marty sits in the back with the assortment of tools. Will negotiates the bumps and holes much better than Marty did on our previous trip home from Mum's and he pulls up next to the cleared spot and the materials that Marty has prepared, and we all jump out. I compliment Will on the great job of driving, which I know he appreciates, based on his broad smile. However, his grin changes to a grimace when he sees Anna walking towards us. I cringe too.

"Hi Marty, Hi Little Willie," she says almost dismissively. But, in a contrast of tone, I hear, "Good morning Mr Grant. Thank you for coming over to help." Anna's voice is almost lyrical as she walks up to me. Looking beyond her shoulder, I can see Marty and Will nudging each other and restraining their obvious humour at my expense.

"I'm happy to help do this, for your mum," I reply, choosing my words much more circumspectly than I had done on my last visit.

"I'll bring you across some refreshments a little later," she says. "It's going to be hot work out here."

We all thank her, although I think that mine is delivered with a little more sincerity than what the other two manage. She stands, just looking at me.

Marty calls, "Tom, can you come and give Willie a hand with the tools?" What a saviour! Anna turns and walks back across to the house.

Among the tools are a post-hole digger, chain saw, axe, heavy hammer, bags of quick-setting cement, staple gun, shovels and a funny-looking device called a wire strainer. Marty explains, to the city slicker, the intended use of each as he lays them out. There are also rolls of wire and a box of heavy-duty staples for attaching the wire to the posts. Marty has the timbers pre-cut to length and he has marked out with spray paint the positions of the corner posts, the intermediate posts, and two for the gate.

After tossing our shirts into the truck and donning the wide-brimmed hats that Marty has brought along, he demonstrates how to use the post-hole digger by doing the first hole. Will and I shovel the dirt to the side. Marty says, "there are seven more. It will be easier on all of us if we take turns in using the digger and shovelling. "

We start to work our way around the rectangular plan. When I take my turn on the post-hole digger, turning and pushing down at the same time, I gain a new appreciation for both Marty's and Will's strength. It's `hard yakka', but I'm determined to pull my weight. I don't want any jibes about `delicate Schoolies' or `soft city slickers'.

This is totally different to gym workouts! I can feel muscles that I never knew existed around my shoulders and upper back. We do the fourth hole and the three of us are wet and shiny with perspiration. It's a great sight watching the other guys working and seeing their toned muscles contract and relax. It appears that we have also attracted attention over at the house. Anna comes towards us with a tray upon which I can see a large pitcher and some tin mugs. The minted ice water is very refreshing. I thank Anna. Placing her hand on my back, she tells me that it is her pleasure to do this for me.

Again, Marty saves me. "Back to work, guys!"

"When you finish the other holes, I'll have morning tea for you all on the verandah, "Anna smiles as she turns and walks away, taking the occasional look over her shoulder at us, or is it just me?

Marty says, "I did warn you on Day #1, didn't I?"

Will laughs, "Now you know how I feel. Thanks heaps for coming here, Mr G!"

The pain of the physical work is diminished by watching the bodies of these two handsome cousins. The other pain is sitting on the verandah, watching all, or one, of us. Despite the desires of my stomach and taste buds, I'm almost dreading stopping for morning tea. However, the body needs a rest after eight holes. We down tools, swap the hats for our shirts and head for the verandah. We are greeted by freshly-baked cookies and some home-made pumpkin pie (I thought that that was only an American thing) with freshly-whipped cream. And tea, which I read somewhere is more refreshing in the heat than coffee or carbonated drinks like Cola or beer.

I note that there are five seats around the circular table and I quickly calculate that, no matter where Marty and Will sit, there will still be two vacant ones together. Shit! Unless I sit between them! Haha. However, the scheming mongrels are too quick and sit alongside each other. I give them both a dirty look. They smirk in return. I sit next to Marty, hoping that Anna will choose to sit next to Will.

She doesn't. Shit!

Anna cuts me a large slice of pie and smothers it with cream. Handing it to me she asks, "How do you like your tea? Black with one sugar, isn't it?" I didn't think that she was that observant at breakfast last week while she was flirting with Will. Then I remember that Mum poured my tea. They've had their heads together. I can tell that Marty and Will are enjoying her little game with me! I look at each of them, squint, and think, `I'm not going to get mad with you two. But I will get even! You can be sure of it!'

Mum appears, and takes the vacant seat between Anna and Will. In contrast to the `Ma Kettle' character that I saw last week, Mum has pulled her mostly-grey hair back in a neat bun, and has donned a clean, colourful apron. I stand and say politely, "Good morning Mrs O'Brien. How are you?"

"Ooh," she says, "A gentleman." She curtsies to me. And then glaring at Marty she adds dryly and sarcastically, "Such manners are rare around these parts." Anna giggles and pats my arm as I sit down.

Marty stands, bows regally and says, "Good morning mother, dear. It's sooo good to see you again." I know that he's taking the Mickey out of me, but he's stirring her up too. I didn't pick him for an extreme thrill seeker! This madman is flirting with Acacia O'Brien! If she had anything throwable in her hand, I'm sure that Marty would not have been able to avoid it at this close range. But I suspect that she is on her best behaviour. Why? Are she and Anna hatching something?

I know that I may regret it, but my upbringing demands that I compliment Anna and Mum on the pumpkin pie and cookies. I say, "That was really delicious. I've never had pumpkin pie before. It's much nicer than I had imagined it would be. Thank you. Which one of you is the chef today?"

Marty's and Will's eyes widen as they look at each other in disbelief, as though they can't believe that they have just witnessed me digging myself a deeper grave!

Anna replies, "It's one of Mum's specialties." I exhale a lot louder than I had intended, not realising that I had been holding my breath. Then Anna adds, "but I do have something for you - inside." I gulp, look at Will and Marty who are both slightly shaking their heads in pity and disbelief. Will is biting his bottom lip to prevent himself from laughing. The look on Marty's face says, "Are you nuts??"

Anna gets up and takes my arm for me to follow her. What is she going to do? Give me a pash, or a grope? My heart is thumping. I ease myself out of my chair. Marty deliberately nudges me with his elbow as I get up. Inside, Anna reaches down to a chair, then hands me a colourful cushion. She says, "I understand that you want one of these for school." When I reach out and take it, she pats me twice on my backside, once on each cheek, and adds, "Not that I think you need it."

I laugh at her boldness and, without wanting to give her tentative attempt at intimate interaction any significance, simply say, "Thank you, Anna. That's very thoughtful."

We've been inside for no more than thirty seconds when I go back out. Anna doesn't follow. Mum heads back inside as I motion the guys to get back on the job. Do I hear giggling from inside the house? I head for the truck, place my shirt and the cushion on the seat and retrieve my hat.

Marty punches me on the arm. "You know what's gonna happen now, don't you, you fool?"

"What?" I shoot back at him, partly in fear of his impending answer.

"She'll be cleaning out the spare cottage next to the house, and the next time she goes into Big Town, she will check out the preacher's availabilities to perform a wedding ceremony. Then she'll be inviting people to keep certain dates free `for a big event'."

"Bullshit!" I retort, missing him with an attempted punch to his shoulder as he steps aside and cackles with laughter.

As we set about completing the chicken coop, I can't get Anna out of my mind. Is she really the witch that Marty makes her out to be, or the nympho that Will dreads? Family exaggerations! Or is she simply a talented and very attractive young woman?

 

(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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