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)
(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 52:
I
feel myself drifting off. No ghosts.
Maybe
an hour has passed.
It's
still quite dark. No moon yet and no Jintabudjaree elder. I sense the door open
slowly and then close again. No creaks. Almost silently he approaches. Stealthy
steps. Closer. I exaggerate the sound of my breathing, pretending to be asleep.
He stops next to my bed. Pausing. Thinking. Breathing. Waiting. Pondering. He
feels for, and then carefully lifts, the covers and slides in. Did he think
that I would not hear him, or sense him? He sidles towards me. I feel the
warmth of his bare skin against mine, and the pulse of his heart beat.
Who
is it?
Chapter
53 - Breakfast Sausages
I
wait. Nothing happens. Nothing is said. There is no movement, just shared body
warmth at the hip and shoulder.
It
is obvious that my bedfellow is not my brother because the body next to me is
discernibly slighter. Besides, Will would have initiated a lot more than simply
sliding his body next to mine.
Could
it be Kurt? However, if it is, I'm sure that he would have whispered my name to
check that it was OK before climbing into bed with me. His manners would have
ensured that.
Maybe
it's Andy. Even though he's thrilled to be with Kurt, maybe he's a bit too
thrilled, and needs a haven from continuous pleasure! It would be just like him
to say nothing and simply be content to rest, safe in my presence.
But
what if it's not Andy?
Surely,
it wouldn't be Karl. Why would he leave Will, and why would he choose now, to
initiate some intimate contact with me?
Are
there any other possibilities? What does a ghost feel like? Do ghosts have body
heat and exhibit breathing?
Should
I reach out and touch him?
Kurt
wouldn't mind. Neither would Andy (I reckon).
But
what if it's Karl? Would me touching him freak him out? What does he want,
then, if it's him?
What
if it's the ghost? Is Will's ghost story about to come true? Will he emasculate
me if I touch him? Or, will I die, or, perhaps, just disappear?
While
I struggle with the stress of `to touch or not to touch' and the potential
consequences (mostly negative), I drop off into a deep lack of consciousness.
When
I awake, there is no extra body heat. I tentatively lay my hand palm-down next
to me and slowly crab-walk it away from me, anticipating touching a body, some
body. There is no body.
I
can tell from the fine line of light below the folds in the curtains that
completely cover the windows that the moon has risen, but the room is still too
dark to see clearly. I reach for the lantern beside the bed and flick the switch.
The room is illuminated by a beam of cold LED whiteness that points towards the
ceiling. Apart from me, there appears to be nobody else in my bed, or in my
room.
Now,
I'm even more concerned.
I
force my feet to touch the floor, half-fearing that I will be grabbed by a
monster from under the bed, reviving memories of childhood nightmares.
I
feel something touch my ankle. Adrenaline rush! I'm sure that I exceed my
college long jump PB (perhaps even high jump at the same time) and land beside
the window. My heart is pumping and thumping. I pull back the curtains to allow
the moonlight to expose the culprit. Nobody! Could it have been only one of
those undulations in the quilt which is hanging low, almost touching the floor?
I
step gingerly to where I left the lantern, but keep my eyes firmly fixed on the
small gap between the duvet and the flooring, in anticipation of a grasping
hand. I snatch the lantern and then back away before directing its beam at the
floor.
I
move towards the end of the bed, hold my breath and then raise one corner of
the cover. There is no body under the bed! No monster. No ghost. No boy. I
exhale heavily, my chest deflates and my body relaxes. My heart is still
pounding and I wipe the perspiration from my forehead with the palm of one
hand, then rub my hand down my thigh.
I
catch a few deep breaths and take a little time to regain my composure then
suddenly wonder whether all of the boys are OK. I have to check on them.
I
step outside my room. The great hall below is partially illuminated by
permeating moonlight, while the front verandah on this level appears flood-lit
by the near-fullness of it.
Rather
than enter Kurt and Andy's room with the bright lantern, I leave it outside
(and a little to the side of) their door. The handle turns easily and silently.
Neither of the hinges betrays my pushing it ajar.
My
first concern is to establish that they are both here. I peer in and, again, I
feel relief as I see two mostly-uncovered, naked adolescent bodies; the one
farther from me is on his side with his arm across the chest of the other who
is flat on his back. With the curtains closed and me in the doorway, there is
not quite sufficient light from the lantern to distinguish who is who. No
matter! They are both here, seemingly very contented together. I feel a deep
warmth within me at the vision of the perfection of the two of them, so alike;
one is a handsome 13-year-old and the other soon-to-be 14. I wish that I had
Will's talent to remember a scene like this and to paint it. I smile and back
away, close the door, and hope that I have not disturbed their sweet dreams or
sweeter memories.
I
continue around the landing to Will and Karl's room. Their door is pushed
closed but, again, is not fully shut. For a second time, I set the lantern down
and ease the door away from its frame so that I can see inside. On the southern
side of the house, with the curtains fully open, there is quite sufficient
indirect moonlight to see Will snuggled up to and spooning the more diminutive
Karl, who is facing the doorway. So, they are both here as well!
I'm
aware that Will's naked front is pressed up against Karl's backside and I can't
help but wonder whether Will has introduced him into `something new'. Maybe
not. Maybe they just both enjoy the feeling of their bodies being against each
other. Anyway, sooner or later my brother will tell me everything!
I
close their door and back-track. I'm wide awake, both at the joy of seeing my
four special boys happy in togetherness but, at the same time, concerned as to
who was in my bed earlier, and why. Or was it just a wishful-thinking dream? A
very realistic `big boy dream' without the wet, sticky finale? I can't bring
myself to believe that, but it seems the only plausible ghostless explanation.
I
take the `short cut' back to my room via the set of down-then-up stairs below
the zebra pelt.
I
make the obligatory check under my bed, yet again. Before I clamber back in, I
notice the disturbed quilt on the other side of the bed to where I was
sleeping. Did I cause that in my troubled sleep, or was there actually somebody
here earlier?
I
lie and think, contemplate, ponder, wonder, speculate; hoping and wishing for
sleep to overtake me.
It's
of no use. I'm not the least bit drowsy! Back home if I ever felt like this, I
would resort to having a prolonged and explosive session of `self-abuse', or
gawk mindlessly at some inane late-night TV programs. Either would do the
trick. But, `Not tonight, Josephine!' as Napoleon is supposed to have said. I
don't feel like doing the former and, without a TV and electricity, can't do
the latter.
I
wander down to the lounge room and place another log on the
still-brightly-glowing embers. I pull one of the upholstered arm chairs closer
to the fireplace, sit, and mentally absorb the entire process of the new log
smouldering and then catching alight. I can't imagine why the line from some
old song springs into my mind: "...chestnuts roasting by an open fire..." LOL
Still
wide awake, I conclude that it would be a perfect time for me to look more
closely at the `treasures' of the library, without having to worry about anyone
else.
Even
though the upward-pointing lantern emits sufficient light to illuminate the
room, I use its directed beam to scan the volumes on the shelves. Very few have
printing on the spine, so I have to remove each in turn to ascertain its
contents. At the end of one row, I realise what a mammoth task it will be to
even discover what is here, let alone begin to actually read anything.
I
back away a few steps and take in the scope of the majority percentage of books
not yet inspected. I notice, above a normal arm's reach and pushed to the rear
on the top-most and left-most shelf a number, perhaps five or six, of
like-bound volumes. Intriguing!
I
pull over a chair so that I can reach them and I remove the first one. Instead
of being a book, it is in fact a folio of miscellaneous envelopes, letters and
notes, secured both vertically and horizontally by a single red ribbon, tied in
a (now-flattened) bow.
I
step down and shine the lantern upon the contents. I untie the ribbon and
shuffle a few of the objects. The name `Mr George Ferguson Bowen' appears
prominently both on envelopes and also as the addressee on some individual
papers. I recognise the name; it's the same as the first governor of the state
of Queensland (in 1859, as Davo reminded me). Could this be the very same
person? This will require more time and care, so I take the portfolio back to
the lounge room, utilising one of the nearby side tables on which I lay both
the folio and the lantern.
The
first thing that I note is the handwriting: beautifully scripted calligraphy,
obviously from a few distinctly-different hands, but each crafted with
uniformity. Then I see that some of the letters were written prior to 1859.
One, dated January 23, 1857, is signed `William E. Gladstone'. Wasn't there a
British prime minister by the name of `Gladstone'? The letter thanks Mr Bowen
for his support in his `campaigning' on his behalf and assures Mr Bowen that he
will, in turn, advocate his name `to the Prime Minister and to Her Majesty' for
the governorship of the proposed new colony.
Holy
cow! Davo and Uncle Bill were right. This stuff might be of serious historical
significance!
Without
delving any further, I sit back and reflect on the implausible but possible
connection between this place and Mr George Ferguson Bowen, first governor of
the state of Queensland and his relationship to Mr William E. Gladstone, Prime
Minister of England and Her Majesty Queen Victoria.
George
Bowen could not possibly have lived out here! As my memory serves me, after his
term as Governor, based in Brisbane, he went across the Tasman Sea to New
Zealand. So, what are these documents doing here? And why is there a Landau
downstairs with Queen Victoria's initials inlaid in the door? It will take
better eyes than mine, together with an intimate knowledge of the state's
history, to fully appreciate what is stored here. I'm sure that Uncle Bill will
know somebody appropriate (and, again, I wouldn't mind betting that it's a
female!)
I'm
tempted to browse further but my curiosity is giving way to fatigue... finally! I
re-tie the contents and replace the folio in the library. I leave the fire,
with the wood now crackling and spitting, take the lantern and make my way back
up past the zebra to my bedroom. I don't bother checking under the bed in case
I actually find what I had earlier feared might be there!
I
remember tossing and turning, but, ultimately, I must have slept well.
I'm
awoken by stifled giggling. I force one eyelid open. The other reluctantly
follows. I see half a dozen naked bodies standing at the end of my bed. As my
focus improves, that number reduces to four.
Their
mirth becomes less restrained and I follow their gazes to my crotch, obviously
uncovered through the night, and now sprouting a very healthy morning chunk of
wood.
I
should be embarrassed, but I'm not. "I'll bet you all woke up the same way!" I
tell them, pointing to the collection of various hardnesses sprouting from
their bodies.
"We've
been up for ages," Will says, smiling.
"I'll
bet you have!" I say with the fully intended double meaning. Then I mumble, as
if recalling its significance, "What is the time?"
Andy
pipes up, "My stomach reckons that it must be nearly time for breakfast."
"OK,
then," I say. "Let's get cleaned up and head back to Marty's."
"Do
we stay naked, Tom, or take off our clothes when we get there?" Andy asks, with
a measure of obvious concern for Marty's dress code.
Will
suggests staying naked. Karl and Kurt look at each other sheepishly. I settle
the matter. "I, for one," I tell them, "don't want to be seen like this by
anyone in The Village who may happen to be around as we drive through. You know
what it's like. You can't just drive past people in the street without stopping
to say hello. How would I explain my own condition, let alone a car full of
naked boys?" They look at me, and then each other, and nod agreement - I think
with some relief, actually, as the realisation of potential consequences
overtakes any collective bravado.
"You
guys start cleaning up over in the other bathroom while I use this toilet over
here," I say to all of them generally but to nobody in particular. My wobbling,
now-only-half-chunkiness, precedes me, past them and out of the door.
When
I am finished, I step out of the bathroom to find Will waiting. The other three
are not there. "I told them that they could all use the big bath over there and
that I would share with you," he says, smirking, and pushing me back through
the door.
He
latches the door and grabs me in a close embrace, grinding his body against me
and pushing his face into mine. "I've missed you, bro!" he growls and then
begins kissing all of my hot spots. "Shower!" he orders and reaches for the
taps. I don't know how the water is heated, but it's warm, not hot. He soaps me
all over and pushes his stiffness into every convenient crease and crevice of
my body and, with his rod pumping in and out of my legs under my balls, he hugs
me hard and I feel his body convulse. "Sorry! Couldn't hold on!" he gasps.
"That's
OK," I tell him. "I wondered whether you might have done that with Karl last
night."
"Nah,"
he replies. "He likes to jerk off a lot, but that's about all, apart from
hugging each other to keep warm while we got to sleep." I don't tell Will that
I saw him spooning Karl during the night, and just take his comment on face
value.
"My
turn?" I ask seductively, running my hand down his crack and then between his
legs.
"Hell,
Yeah!" he rasps, and turns his back fully to me. I waste no time in relieving
my own pent-up juices. "How are we going to get back to our `normal fun' while
Andy is staying with us?" he asks as, turning and pressing our abdomens together,
we massage each other's back and glutes. I particularly love the feel of those
firm, youthful, posterior muscles of his!
"Come
on," I say, "before the three musketeers come looking for us." Then I ask, "How
did you get the three of them to go in there together? Didn't any of them
object? I don't know how Karl feels towards Andy and I'm almost sure Kurt would
want to keep Andy all for himself."
"I
think they were a little uncertain at first," Will comments, "but I said to
them, `you guys almost look like triplets,' even though I know that Andy is almost
a year older." The twins have already turned thirteen and Andy's almost 14 but,
apart from a couple of obvious differences `up front', they look very similar.
He adds, chuckling, "And despite Karl's comment about Goldilocks not sleeping
in their beds, I suspect that he really wanted to check out Andy up close and
that he wouldn't mind at all playing with Andy's longer tool and hanging balls.
He commented about them a couple of times last night." He laughs.
Will
and I dry ourselves and head for our respective rooms to `get decent' for the
trip through town. Even though it's Sunday, you can never tell who might be
around. "Meet you down in the lounge room," I call to him softly across the
void of the great hall. Will gives me a `thumbs up' in acknowledgment.
"Any
sign of the other three?" I ask as Will joins me downstairs.
"No,
but there was a lot of giggling from the bathroom as I walked past," he replies.
We
wait.
After
a few minutes I say, "OK. Which one of us is going to break up their fun?"
"Toss
you for it," he smirks.
"I
don't have a coin with me," I tell him.
"Easy,"
Will comments. "Just imagine a coin, heads I go; tails you don't." And he heads
back upstairs.
More
minutes later, I decide to investigate this further delay for myself.
It's
only when I begin to climb the second flight of stairs below the zebra skin
that I spot Will. He is standing at the bathroom door from behind which I can
hear three distinctly separate voices; engaged voices. Happy voices!
"What
are...?" I begin. Will straightens up and whips around with a single finger to
his lips to silence me. Then he beckons, indicating that I do so quietly.
Without
talking, he points through the barely-a-fist-width of open doorway and again
crouches slightly, sufficient for me to see over his shoulders, supporting his
forward-leaning body weight by placing his hands on his thighs.
Despite
being interested in the source of the jollity, Will's body position re-ignites
a passion within me and I ease myself, unapologetically, against his prominent
and firm butt cheeks, and, grasping his hips, I nestle the part of me that fits
best into the slight depression between his mounds of firmness.
He
emits a low hum of approval and wiggles his backside as if caressing and urging
my sudden chunkiness to fuller rigidity.
I
wrap my hands around his chest, lean my chin on his shoulder and rub my cheek
against his own. I feel the slight pressure of his head responding in kind,
then he whispers, "Look!"
All
three boys are standing in the bath, soaped and lathered, rubbing their bodies
together. I hadn't taken note of it previously but, with the three of them
naked and so close together, Andy's legs are slightly longer, his hips
narrower, his glutes a bit higher and his torso is broader than the other two:
another indication of his emerging maturity. They change positions constantly
and slide up, down and across each other. Andy is now sandwiched between the
twins, all facing the one direction. One turns, causing a chain reaction.
Frontside to frontside. Frontside to backside. Each gets a turn in the middle.
I catch glimpses of their patches of pubic hairs as they turn; Andy having the
most and darkest. The frotting frenzy culminates in a desperate jack-off, each
seeing to his own release.
"Come
on," one twin says. It sounds like Karl's voice and speech. "Mr Grant must be
getting pissed off by now, I'll bet."
Will
and I watch them begin to rinse off, with some last-minute jiggling of each
other. As they reach for towels, Will and I back away as quietly as we can to
go down the stairs.
I
hear Andy tell Karl, "Tom never gets mad. I've never seen him angry. I like
him."
"Me
too!" I hear from Kurt's voice.
I
look at Will for his reaction. "They all like you, you know. Even Karl," he
tells me, and walks on.
"What,
only the three of them?" I ask provocatively.
"Hell,
no!" Will answers. "I love you too - for different reasons." He reaches for my
still-hard cock as we enter the lounge. "Hey! Wanna get lucky with me tonight?
Those three will probably all be happy to spend the night in the same bed
together."
The
bulge in the front of his jeans betrays his seemingly insatiable lust. It
matches my own, or surpasses it. We fondle each other with some heavy breathing
until we hear the clatter on the stairs.
Will
and I reluctantly separate and relocate to the other end of the room, adjusting
our clothing on the way - shirts out to conceal any lingering tell-tale signs
of excitement. We adopt relaxed positions on opposite Chesterfields, just as
the boys enter. Each is dressed in shorts and carrying a shirt. "We weren't
sure whether to put them on or not, Mr Grant," Kurt informs me. It's more a
question than a statement.
Will
and I stand, displaying our `fully-dressed' selves. The boys copy our example
by pulling on their shirts.
"Yet,
it seems such a pity to cover handsome, young muscles," I comment to them. They
look at me curiously at my first real comment about their bodies. Then they
look at each other and smile knowingly, considering their very recent
appreciation of each other upstairs. I add, "Except for Will, here." Everyone
looks at me, then him. "He has to wear his shirt so that... nobody... gets too
excited." He actually blushes at my compliment (knowing what the vision of his
body does to me). The boys giggle.
Not
to be outdone, Will replies, "And Tom has to wear his shirt because... well, who
wants to see an old guy's body anyway?" He and the other three burst into
laughter. I take a deliberately-misdirected swipe at him which passes over his
head. Will adds, "His eyesight and aim aren't much good any more either!"
My
response is swift - a headlock. This provokes an all-in rumble. Boys! (That
includes 17- and 21-year olds.) That thought stops me dead in my tracks. I'm
not 21. I turned 22 yesterday! And nobody mentioned it, among all the fuss
about the funeral and the signing of the ownership papers. I'm a year older! I
determine to say nothing. Maybe Will and Andy have forgotten what they heard
Mum say when she and Uncle Bill introduced me to the Beast, and spare me the
`birthday bumps'.
"Stop!"
I shout. "Who's hungry?" There is a unanimous response! "Then, everyone out of
the front door. Go!" I tell them.
"Hey!
The rain's stopped!" Will yells from the verandah. Even at a distance of 100m I
can see the different colours of the wet/dry earth. Extraordinary!
This
time it's Will up front with me and the three cock-stirring young'uns across
the back seat.
On
the way to Marty's I tell them the plan. "I'll park around the back of Marty's
and we can all go into my bedroom and strip off. OK?"
"I'm
still a bit nervous," Andy confesses. "I don't even know Marty very well."
"It's
all good, Andy," I put to him. "Have you forgotten the House Rule?"
Everyone
choruses, with Andy joining in, "What happens in the house, stays in the
house." There is excited chatter and the twins hug and reassure Andy that
Marty's a `cool dude'.
Will
throws in, "And, what happens in the bathroom..." He doesn't need to finish the
sentence. The three in the back freeze. Now, my rear vision mirror isn't Hi
Definition but it's good enough for me to detect flushed faces and surprised,
wide eyes.
"It's
all good, guys," Will tells them again, swinging around in his seat to engage
them directly. "No problem at all," he adds, without revealing anything
specific in my presence, or even hinting at their antics.
While
appearing to keep my eyes focussed on the tracks in the dust by not moving my
head, I glance into the mirror to see Karl lean forward and, pointing
discretely towards my back, I'm sure that he mouths to Will something like,
"Does HE know?"
Will
doesn't answer Karl's question but, turning back towards the front, repeats
simply, "It's all good, guys!" thereby undoubtedly sowing a seed of doubt as to
my knowledge of their bathroom capers and happy endings.
A
quick glance in the mirror reveals some very close head-to-head, behind-hands
whispering. I smile at Will and he grins back at me.
Appearing
to change the subject, I ask, "So, how were the beds last night, guys?
Comfortable?"
There
are collective expressions of approval.
Andy
comments further, "I've never slept in a bed that big before. It's enormous!"
The other two agree.
"And
did you sleep well... in the big bed?" I add, specifically for Andy's and Kurt's
attention (but maybe for Karl and Will as well). I deliberately raise my head
and shoulders so that they know I'm looking at them in the mirror, and
anticipating a response.
Given
that he has already shared with me his short fuse of excitement when it comes
to physical contact with Kurt, Andy appears more at ease with my question that
do the twins.
I
lighten up on them by adding, "Was it just like going on a camp where the first
night is always the hardest to get to sleep? You know... in a strange place?"
Karl
volunteers, "There was plenty of room for William and me, wasn't there, Will?"
He adds, "We even had to reach out our arms to find one another."
Hmm.
Karl is attempting to persuade me and the others that he and Will kept their
distance from each other's body. As if! And, I KNOW differently.
"I'm
glad that you each had somebody to keep you company, especially after Will's
Jintabudjaree ghost story," I say, then add, "I was all alone in my huge bed...
that is, until something very strange happened."
I
look at the faces of the three in the back. They regard each other, perhaps
questioningly, and then all stare back at me, hoping for (maybe, for one of
them, fearing) more information.
"Yes.
Very strange!" I begin. "Perhaps I was just dreaming, but I felt a smaller body
creep into bed beside me when I was mostly asleep." There are some wide eyes in
the back. I look at Will, who mouths to me, `Who?'
I
continue, "Whoever it was came right up close so that I could feel the warmth
of his body against mine. It felt very comforting and I was hoping that he
might give me a hug - you know, like we talked about."
"Then
what happened, Tom?" Andy asks.
"Nothing,
Andy," I reply. "Unfortunately, absolutely nothing! So, either it was the
ghost, or I was just having a nice dream. I woke up a bit later and there was
nobody there."
"What
would you have done, Mr Grant, if it was a real person who got into bed with
you, and hugged you?" I sense a little nervousness in Kurt's voice. Is he about
to confess, or is he sounding me out for some future occurrence?
"I
would have hugged him back, of course," I reply, wondering if it was Kurt who
lost his nerve, after going so far. "Maybe there was somebody else who was
scared of a ghost too, eh?"
Karl
chimes in, "Well, I slept like a log. I didn't move a muscle, did I Will? All
night! I didn't even need to get up to pee. I had a really good sleep."
Hmmm!
We
cross the bridge, turn right and follow the muddied road into The Village. As
we approach the pub, I notice Julie Smith outside, sweeping. "Glad you're
dressed, guys?" I ask them, indicating Julie just ahead of us. There is
collective affirmation!
I
slow and pull up near to her. "Good morning, Julie," I call through Will's open
window.
"Good
morning, Tom," she replies, stopping sweeping, and takes a couple of steps
across to the car. Without prompting she explains, "It hasn't rained for so
long that I'd almost forgotten what a mess mud makes." She says hello to Will
and the others, which is met with a school-type chorused `Good morning, Mrs
Smith'. She asks, "How did you all sleep? Were the beds comfortable and warm?
No ghosts, I hope?"
They
scan each other's faces, then I hear positive responses, but Karl takes the
prize with, "The beds are so big and soft! And I slept like a log... all night...
didn't move until this morning."
Hmmm,
again. Methinks he doth protest too much!
"Thank
you again for yesterday, Julie," I tell her. "You and your husband did so much
for me. How can I make it up to you both?"
"You
already are!" she replies. "You and Bill. I still find it hard to believe that
he's offered to restore the old pub to its former glory. All of the locals are
really excited, too. Many have even offered old photographs and paintings from
among their family heirlooms of how it looked in its heyday. Some appear to be
even older than those that I have displayed in the dining room."
"When
our architect, Ashley Cook, is back in town, I'm sure that he'd love to see
them all," I tell her. "I think Uncle Bill said that he's coming next week."
Will looks pleasantly shocked that this information. I was going to keep it a
secret, but I still want to surprise Marty.
"We're
just on our way to Marty's for breakfast," Will interjects, albeit politely.
It's not so much of an innocent contribution to the morning chatter as it is a
hint for me to keep driving!
"I
won't hold you up, then," Julie says. "Say hello from me to Marty, and to the
family if you see any of them."
"Sure,"
I reply. "See you later then."
"Later,"
she echoes. "Bye, boys!"
The
guys wave as I drive on and Julie resumes dealing with the muddied verandah.
We
turn off the wet road onto the even-muddier track to Marty's place.
Without
commenting, Will reaches across and nudges me with his forearm as we pass our
`lucky spot'. He grins as he cups and jiggles his `gear', out of sight of the
others. I look at him and wink.
The
dogs are still acknowledging our arrival as I pull up the Beast around to the
back door. That is, until I hear Marty scream a threatening, "Shut up!" from
inside the house.
The
boys jump. I think that they are just as shocked as are the dogs. "You OK,
guys?" I ask as they pile out. They nod and grunt a collective but tentative
`uh-huh'.
Will
ushers them to the back door then he turns and yells, "Last one in gets his
bare bum slapped!" He grins, and says slowly, "That would be you, brother!"
There is giggling from inside the doorway and he quickly disappears inside
behind them. "We'll be with you in a minute, Marty!" I hear him call.
I
walk straight past the bedroom and bathroom to the kitchen. Marty has the
bacon, sausages and eggs cooking. I guess that the initial barking of the dogs
was the signal to turn on the stove. Marty has already pulled the table away
from the wall and has set 6 places around it and I recognise the few extra
chairs as coming from Acacia's place.
"Hi,
Marty," I greet him. "The boys are all `getting ready' and will be out soon." I
add, "Go easy on them, OK? They're still a little apprehensive about the dress
code."
He
smiles at me. "No worries," then, again turns his aproned front to the stove,
showing off his muscular backside to me. "Just breakfast as normal! Nothing
more!"
I
enter the bedroom to be greeted by four guys, already au naturel, with
their clothes strewn over the bottom bed. They step behind me to the doorway
but, instead of going to the kitchen, they stand two on either side. "A guard
of honour?" I ask.
"More
like a gauntlet I reckon," Will replies. "You WERE the last one inside." He
lightly slaps his own backside to indicate a softer form of what is in store
for me. The other boys do the same. They keep going, in unison, and create a
steady drum-type rhythm.
Now,
while all four of them have seen me naked previously, the younger three have
never watched me strip down, so I put on a bit of a show, using their slapping
tempo for my strip-tease. I don't know how I manage to stay soft, given the
sight of their various degrees of increasing chunkiness.
I
saunter towards their waiting palms. Then I dash! All but one swinging hand
misses its mark completely. I turn to them from the corridor and, on the point
of either poking out my tongue in juvenile defiance, or giving my four students
the finger, I think better of it. Instead, I say calmly, "Well, come on. What
are you waiting for? I thought you were hungry."
I
smile at the embarrassed confusion on their faces, which says something like,
`should I follow Tom and let Marty see my cock like this or should I wait until
it goes down?'
Will
whispers something to them, then announces, "OK. We're coming." The boys are
about to display the glory of their adolescent bodies and their emerging
manhoods to Marty. All follow me in the direction of the kitchen but make a
sudden detour, led by Will, into the bathroom. "Just washing our hands before
breakfast!" he tells me.
Smart
little brother! He knows what effect cold water will have on their bodies.
Modesty restored! The more natural the better I suppose.
As
they emerge, Marty announces, "Hi guys. Welcome to my place. Sit wherever you
want on each side. Tom and I get the two ends. I'm putting all of the food over
here on the kitchen bench. You can bring your plates and help yourselves.
"It
smells really good, Marty. Thank you." Andy announces. The twins agree.
Will
and I look at each other, totally surprised. He knows, as I do, that Andy's
senses of taste and smell were affected by his trauma. We say nothing, but
again I feel my eyes beginning to mist over. His mother is going to have
trouble believing this! I'll have to get him to tell her all about breakfast
when he phones her tonight. For her benefit, I'm hoping the word `delicious' us
used. I'll have to ask him before he rings her what he thought of it, as a
prompt.
Normally,
Marty would have put the plates of cooked food in the middle of the table.
However, while there may not be sufficient room this morning, and knowing him,
I suspect that he wants to watch their tensing glutes and wiggling young cocks
going back and forth. Pervy old man! (Well, older than me, that is!)
The
boys don't move until Will goes first. As he walks past Marty he comments, with
more than a grin of sarcasm, "Hey, cousin, aren't you over-dressed with that bit
of an apron on? What happened to the dress code? I'm guessing that there has to
be some penalty for ignoring it!"
The
only response that Marty gives him is a hard swat to the backside, just as Will
had planned for me. Will winces. Marty's palm print starts to redden immediately
on Will's pale cheek, and reminds me of stencilled artwork.
"Crikey!"
Will splutters, instead of something more `colourful'. "What was that for?"
"For
showing too much cheek," Marty answers with his infamous grin.
I
look at the boys. Their expressions convey a combination of apprehension and,
yet, mirth (at Will's expense). I really hope that they see and appreciate
Marty as a true joker and not as some terrible person whom they should fear.
"Plenty
of food this morning, guys. Dig in. Nice sausages, too!" Marty announces.
I'm
not sure whether he is extolling his own skills as a cook for his guests, or is
commenting on that which he can see attached to his guests! He removes his
apron, under the close scrutiny of five pairs of eyes.
Kransky!
Despite
the splendid smorgasbord of `eye candy', breakfast proceeds without incident,
accident or discernible innuendo. To all intents and purposes, nudity aside, it
is a normal family breakfast. No lasting erections. No obvious embarrassment.
Talk
centres around last night at the homestead. The fire. The shadows. The stories.
The ghost (which I insist was only a figment of a hyperactive imagination,
inspired by Will's spine-tingling narrative).
By
the time we've finished, I'd say that everyone is sufficiently confident, parading
in their birthday suits, even Andy, who delights in the re-telling everybody of
Will's first encounter at the beach with a dolphin. For some reason, everyone
finds Will's terror hilarious. It wasn't at the time - for him or for me.
"Remember
the House Rule!" Will cautions. "One word of this at school tomorrow and
somebody will be walking funny for a week!"
Marty
adds, "Guys, the House Rule is taken very seriously by us who live here. For
the benefit of everyone now and in the future, do we all agree that nobody says
anything about what they hear or see this morning?" He stretches his hand,
palm-down, across the centre of the table. I lay my hand on his and all of the
others follow in kind. Marty breaks the hand shake by pushing upwards, calling,
"House Rule!" As all hands disperse, `House Rule' is echoed as a vow of
everyone's pledge of solidarity for discretion and silence.
As
the whole breakfast-in-the-nude experience winds down, Marty insists on
cleaning up.
Andy
asks, "Marty, do you have anything to cut off this plaster? I know that my arm
is better underneath, and after my shower this morning, it's really annoying
me.
Marty
talks to me, softly, "Do you think that it would be OK? He seems pretty adamant
that he wants it off. But what would his mother say? Then again, if he's going
to stay for a few weeks, and it's due to come off anyway, why not?".
"I
don't know, Andy," I tell him. "Maybe we should ask your mother."
"My
mother's not here," Andy says, "and I really want it off. Now. Please!"
Marty
and I talk again, and agree that it's easier to beg forgiveness than to ask
permission. Marty goes out to his shed, comes back with a tool that looks like
a pair of tin snips and makes short work of the elbow-to-wrist plaster.
"Ooh,
that feels really good. Thank you so much, Marty. You're my friend," Andy says,
rubbing and squeezing his arm where the plaster used to be.
Will
challenges the three boys to go naked with him on a tour of Marty's property,
around the river's edge. I go to my room and, while dressing, allow myself some
time to reflect on breakfast, the twins, Andy, Marty and, of course, the
incorrigible Will.
I
sit on my bed and ponder... it really should have been with absolute reluctance
that I allowed (now) four of my teenage students to be placed in a situation
where they were required to parade naked in front of two adult males,
especially since one of them is their school teacher.
And
yet, the fact that I was aware of their sexual proclivity seemed to justify it.
Was I providing them some additional `growth' experience or, perhaps, just a
bit of fun, or, was it just that I was satisfying my own lust, maybe `grooming'
them for some future personal gratification?
Am
I on a dangerous slippery slope to an ugly legal end? That fear comes and goes
from my consciousness.
Will
and me. There is not too much more that I could experience physically with my
17-year-old brother, with both of us having shared our bodies (and our
emotions) completely with each other. He was `Little Willie' with a big willie.
He was secretly gay and painfully closeted until I showed up. How did our first
meeting ever develop into us `getting lucky' with each other? I know... he wanted
it and, I guess, I did too. We both yielded to the temptation after carefully
sounding out each other.
Kurt.
Where exactly is my `fun' with him heading? Somehow, I have allowed `things' to
progress from frolicking communally with him and Karl and Will in the weir to
the point of private mutual masturbation and oral sex, which he loves. But, he's
only 13; still a kid! I feel ashamed. It's not as though I orchestrated our
whole relationship and pursued him. What if he wants more? Can I allow this to
go any further? He appears so morose if I ignore him and his apparent desires.
Karl,
Kurt's twin brother, confided in Will that Kurt wanted to `do stuff' with me,
like he, himself, does with Will. Was that just to get Kurt out of the way so
that Will and Karl could have more alone time together? Until the `nudity
thing' yesterday, my contact with Karl had been limited to the four-in, `horse
and rider' antics in the weir (and his one cheeky feel of me). At least, with
him, I have maintained a semblance of professional separation.
Young
Andy is the handsome, athletic body boarder and surfer, heart-throb of my
sister, Amelia, and her school friends. Wasn't it Andy who gravitated towards
me at the beach and in the showers? Didn't I just `play along'? I was
absolutely gutted by his near-death `accident', especially when I knew the
circumstances leading up to it and that I could possibly have prevented it. I
have a special feeling for him, and I don't mean as a sex object. I feel a
sense of responsibility for his condition, a sense of pity at his family
circumstances, and a sense of great relief at his seemingly-miraculous progress
to recovery since entering the Jintabudjaree homestead. It seems, from his
insistence on me helping him with his `gear' at the wake, and despite my large
measure of self-restraint, that he is still `coming on to me'. I can only hope,
with him and Kurt `clicking' with each other, as they have, that my temptation
to `do stuff' him and Kurt will greatly diminish, perhaps even disappear
altogether.
I
hang my head. Am I hearing myself correctly? Am I actually laying blame on each
boy for initiating my involvement with him? What a wretch! I feel that I'm
unsuited to my job. Why did I ever decide to become a teacher, and expose
innocent boys to my personal character flaw? What damage have I already done to
these cherubs?
My
misery and self-deprecating reverie are interrupted by the approaching sound of
laughter. I finish tying my shoe laces and stand to greet them as they enter
the bedroom door.
One
look at their joyful faces, chatting happily with each other, brings an
immediate grin to my own, and my gloom is instantly dispelled. The fact that
they are naked is irrelevant. My focus is their smiles and the delight that is
positively radiating from each of them.
They're
happy. I detect no sign of regret or apprehension or hesitation in greeting me.
I don't read `monster' or `pervert' or `criminal' anywhere on their faces as
their eyes greet mine. Their energy levels are high. They are bubbling with
enthusiasm.
I'm
happy again.
Without
so much as a glance at each other, they begin to locate their own clothes and
put them on, appearing totally ignorant of their nakedness, or my clothed
state, babbling to me the whole while about where they have been and what they
have seen.
"The
river is amazing," Andy says to me, while pulling up his underpants. "You
should have seen all of the birds, Tom. There were kookaburras and heaps of
different parrots and we even saw a couple of emus on the other side of the
river."
"Not
like back on the Gold Coast, eh?" I ask him.
"No,"
he immediately replies. "All I ever see back home is squawking seagulls that
argue over bits of food that tourists throw to them. And those ugly black and
white, dirty-looking ibis scavengers that continually pull rubbish out of the
bins with their long, curved bills. The birds out here are colourful and
beautiful."
His
comment gives me an idea for a science project during the few remaining weeks
of term by the whole school, young ones and older, on local bird life.
"And,"
Karl throws in, with one arm through his shirt sleeve and a mostly-obscured
head, "we saw an eagles' nest, way up high at the top of one of the trees."
Will
adds, "Tom, do you remember that pair of wedge-tailed eagles that we saw
dancing together months ago? You know, the ones that I painted?" Without
waiting for my response, he adds, "Well, I reckon that the nest has to be
theirs. I hadn't noticed it until Karl pointed it out."
Karl's
chest seems to expand as both arms and his head all appear from their right
openings in his shirt. His broad, white-teeth grin confirms his pleasure at
being acknowledged for his `discovery' by his older friend.
"And,"
his brother, Kurt, adds, while securing his shoes, "we climbed up the ladder of
the windmill."
"I
hope that Marty's sister didn't see you all up there," I half-tease. Then a
pang of concern hits me. I REALLY hope that neither Anna nor Acacia spotted the
naked foursome.
Will
comments, "Nah, she couldn't have. The ladder is on the river side of the
windmill. We could only see her place from the very top and, besides, her
eyesight couldn't be that good." He laughs. So, do the others at their
brazenness.
"And
Will showed us the `Mens Room', too," Andy chirps. There is a bit of a titter
from all of them.
I
give Will a serious look.
"And
he showed us the holes," Kurt adds.
"Oh,
did he?" I ask, and I intensify my gaze on Will's face.
"And
he showed us what they were for," Karl puts in, looking at me for any hint of
disapproval.
"Really?"
I ask, with as much of a non-judgmental face as I can muster for their benefit.
"Yeah,"
Karl continues. "When he showed us what they were for, we were all going to
have a go, but we had already done it when we were up on the tank stand.
Inwardly
I am furious at Will's indiscretion. I bite my tongue and say nothing, and yet
his face betrays no remorse.
Andy
adds, for my benefit, as if I did not know how to use the holes, "Yeah, you
have to stand in front of the hole and pee through it without wetting the wall.
The one who can back away the farthest from the wall and still pee through the
hole is the winner!"
Will's
face erupts into a huge `gotcha' smirk that disarms me totally. I should have
known better than to mistrust him! But, then, Will is Will!
I
relax, exhale and ask, "And who won when you were up on the tank stand?"
Everyone
points at Andy, who raises his fist in triumph. "Water pistol!"
After
a moment, Andy tugs on my sleeve and puts his hand to his mouth, like he wants
to tell me a secret. I bend down and he whispers, "I can think of another use
for one of the smaller holes."
I
have absolutely no intention of pursuing that line of thought. "Come on, guys,"
I say with some haste, not wanting to give him an opportunity to continue,
"Let's say thanks and good-bye to Marty, and we'll head up to the school to
organise things for Andy to start tomorrow."
"Then,
can we go back out to the homestead?" Will asks. "I want to have a good look
around. Everything has either been rushed or it's been too dark whenever we've
been out there." He looks at me and then, as if there was any doubt regarding
my answer, seeks to influence me by the weight of numbers, and he asks the
boys, "What do you say, guys?" (I allow the `can we' / `may we' grammatical
faux pas to pass without comment.)
"Hell,
Yeah!" they chorus. Will has definitely influenced them! For years, he's been
like the big brother that the twins never had and they, in turn, have become
like instant brothers to Andy.
Marty
has already cleaned up. He is still naked, but the situation suddenly feels
`normal' and I detect no sneak peaks at his `parts' from any of the boys. They
each thank him and head for the car by the back door. I follow, but Will lags
behind a little with Marty.
I
suddenly hear a loud slap, which is followed by Will launching himself from the
top step and dashing past me and the boys towards the Beast. He jumps into the
front passenger's seat and pulls the door closed behind him. Marty appears at
the back door, rubbing his backside. He pounds his fist into his other palm, in
a mock threatening gesture towards Will. It's only the grin on his face that
tells us there is no malice in his intentions.
Everyone
climbs in. Will's only word is, "Payback!" He bursts out laughing, pointing
towards Marty tauntingly. At least everyone sees the humour in his cousinly
interplay with Marty.
It's
a jovial drive up to The Village. I pull up at the school.
Will
extends his hand for the school keys, then he and the boys head for the door.
I
take my time and admire my surroundings. The sun is warm. The autumn sky is a
brilliant blue. The air, super-oxygenated by the rain, is fresh. The smell of
dust has been replaced by the faint but distinctive eucalyptus scent of the
river gums. I hear the gurgle of the replenished river water cascading over the
weir to the lower side. There is a cacophony of bird calls up and down the
river. I love this place!
By
the time I enter the classroom, the boys have it all sorted out, with Andy to
sit next to Kurt, and Karl next to Jake. Will at the end. I suggest an
alternative. "Why don't we have Andy next to Karl then Will, at the end, then
Jake then Kurt, who will be opposite Andy?"
My
main concern is that if Andy and Kurt are next to each other, there might be
some unwanted embarrassing moments. The boys can see no flaw in my suggestion,
and they rearrange their belongings accordingly. Jake won't need to move at
all.
Even
though Andy has already seen the school, the boys insist on giving him the
fully-escorted tour, complete with their own different commentaries. As they
leap the single step off that end of the verandah and head towards the toilets,
I busy myself in collecting some books for Andy from the store room and in
preparing some work for the young ones.
The
four of them soon re-appear and inform me that they are heading over to Karl
and Kurt's place, to `dig up' some extra clothes for Andy to wear during the
coming week, before our shopping excursion.
"Thanks,
guys," I tell Karl and Kurt. I add, "How'd you both like to come into Big Town
with Andy, Will and me next Saturday - if it's OK with your dad?"
"Wow!
Thank you, Mr Grant," Karl replies. "We haven't been into Big Town for... AGES!"
Kurt
smiles at Andy, and they follow the other two out of the door and across the
paddock. If it was socially acceptable, I could imagine them holding hands and
skipping! But country boys don't do that!
I
settle down to complete all of the preparations necessary for tomorrow's
lessons.
I
become aware of heavy footsteps on the verandah. It's Jan, the twins' father. I
look at my watch. Holy cow! Where have the past couple of hours gone? He must
have walked over. I didn't hear a car.
"Knock,
knock," Jan verbalises rather than rapping on the door.
"Come
in, Jan," I say, rising to walk across and greet him. He is smiling. I extend
my hand. "How was Whispering Gums? Any rain up that way?"
"Not
a drop!" he replies. "But it looks as though there's been a lot here!"
"And
it seems that everywhere south of here `copped it', all right." I tell him.
"Have you noticed that the river has risen? It rained from here half way to
Cunnamulla."
"Then
I expect that the level will come up a lot further, as all of that water makes
its way downstream," he informs me. "I wonder if we'll get more."
"I
absolutely have no idea," I reply. "What would I know? I'm only a city
slicker."
He
laughs. "Don't sell yourself short, Tom," he reassures me. "You've fitted in
really well here in just a few short months. You've touched everyone's lives."
I
smile at him, but inwardly cringe. Some lives I've touched more than others,
including one of his own boys!
"Anyway,"
he continues. "Helen is making lunch for me and the four boys. Will you come
over and join us?"
"Sure.
Thank you," I tell him. "I think I'm done here, anyway."
I
decide to leave the Beast to `guard' the school while I walk across the paddock
with Jan.
"So,
what did you and Helen get up to last night?" I say, just to initiate a
nondescript, friendly conversation.
"Is
it that obvious?" Jan asks, looking at me with a Cheshire-cat grin and slightly
flushed cheeks. I can tell that he has something to reveal!
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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