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 54:

"Andy. What happened?" I ask him, sitting next to him and putting my arm around his shoulders. "How did you get here?"

The others clamber up the stairs and stand, wide-eyed, in front of Andy and me. Kurt is definitely crying, most likely from relief.

Andy's head moves and appears to look at each of the boys in turn, before raising his eyes to mine. He whispers, "I can't tell you how I got here. One moment I was in the dark, and then... and then... I was up here.

Karl, probably from the relief of his guilt, gushes to Andy, "We were scared. And we thought that the ghost had taken you."

Andy focuses on him, swallows hard, takes a deep breath and his voice squeaks, "There IS a ghost."

 

Chapter 55 - An Epilogue

[Author: If you want to know about Andy and the ghost, see my note at the end. However, ...]

 

Life carries on.

Weeks extend into school terms, which become years, and then, almost unaccountably, a decade has passed.

The teenagers have become young men.

The young men have become older men.

Experiences are had.

Memories are made.

Stories can be told. But, most appropriately, they aren't all necessarily from the perspective of the young school teacher who, as his first appointment, was despatched to a school in the isolated outback of the state.

 

It's ten years since Tom Grant, the Schoolie, was first introduced to the folk there. It was through his personal contacts that The Village has experienced a reinvigoration to a vibrant representation of its `glory days' in the late 1800s.

It has become a thriving tourist destination, not only because of it being a living portrayal of the history of the region, but also as an example of sustainable self-sufficiency in a harsh environment.

The pub has been restored and rows of cottages have been built, all in keeping with the architecture of that past era. However, twenty-first century practices have been acknowledged and contemporary technologies have been incorporated wherever possible.

The streets have been re-planted with peppercorn trees which, now that they have grown, sway and bow in the wind, seemingly in deference to their old gnarled `grandfather' tree outside the pub, preserved as a landmark in its own right.

The Village, as a whole, figures prominently in architectural, historic, tourist and environmental literature. The population has increased in the past ten years - not rapidly but steadily. The local Council has allowed properties to be subdivided, and local folk have taken advantage of the potential financial gains in selling allotments - not to make themselves rich, but to provide them with a more secure future. Some local inhabitants of the past have moved on; most have stayed and raised more children. New families have taken up residence.

It's a great place to visit, but an even better place to live.

If the `walls have ears', then buildings have tales to tell too.

 

The Pub

Who would have thought that the time-wearied old pub of ten years ago could now look so grand?

The materials chosen by the architect for its restoration are as close to those used in its original construction as were able to be sourced. The brickwork, verandahs, windows and roofing are a living remembrance of the pub's original magnificence. The broad, wooden sidewalk, the narrower original of which disappeared decades ago, has been re-constructed and it presents a magnificent foil to the building itself; so different to the concrete or bluestone strips that we see in our modern cities. Internally, the rooms have been fully refurbished to resort standard (even if not quite to the 5-star rating of their beach-side counterparts) and the pub now enjoys contact with the outside world through the marvel of satellite technology. Energy is essentially solar-generated and the multitude of solar panels is not discernible, as such, from the streetscape, a testimony to the ingenuity of the architect.

Many of the period cottages are rented via the pub, which is still owned and operated by the Smiths. Rental profits from the cottages are shared between their owners, Tom & Will, and the Smiths.

 

Jintabudjaree Station

The homestead on Jintabudjaree Station was classified by the National Trust of Australia some years ago as a place of major historical significance.

Extensive research has revealed that shortly after the American cattleman built it in 1895, he was joined by a former business associate, `Gentleman' James Bowen, the young English nephew of Queensland's first governor, George Bowen.

It was told that the influential James had established many business and political connections in both the USA and Britain, which the American cattleman coveted to exploit, and James was invited by the American cattleman to visit and, perhaps, relocate to this `land of rare opportunity'.

Seeking to curry favour (and, one suspects, potential monetary support) from Congress at home, the American had named his mansion `Cleveland' after Grover Cleveland, the US president at the time.

There is no record of the American making any agreement with the local aborigines to settle on their land. It appears that he simply usurped it, perhaps thinking that it was like a `wild west land grab'.

A decade earlier, the Queensland government had commissioned the building of a landau for Queen Victoria's Golden Jubilee in 1887 with the intention of shipping it back to England as a gift from the people of Queensland. However, the social and political unrest at the time regarding its cost, resulted in it never making the journey, instead, being preserved in stables in Brisbane for Her Majesty's use at some future time, if and when she might visit the colony. Such a voyage never eventuated.

When `Gentleman' James Bowen relocated to Australia, he brought with him a large selection from his uncle George's private library, which the future governor had endowed to his much-regarded nephew. In Brisbane, James also `discovered' the landau, languishing in a warehouse, and that the government of the day was `favourably disposed' to divest itself of the never-used `contraption'. By selling it to the Englishman, it was able to recoup the cost of its construction and avoiding any further expensive upkeep. The library and landau travelled with James out to `Cleveland' (now Jintabudjaree Station).

James discovered that the property contained two areas of geothermal activity; one almost directly above which the mansion had been built; the other being farther west of the homestead. The original aboriginal inhabitants treated both areas with great respect, as a gift from the Great Rainbow Serpent, because it provided them with both hot and cold fresh water. The one below the homestead is utilised today, engineered to provide a free and enduring source of water and thermal energy.

It has been told that the aborigines referred to the two men simply as `bad man' and `good man', the former being the manipulative American, and the latter, `Gentleman' James Bowen (who, it seems, regularly met with them in an attempt to learn their language, and to give them gifts of young calves for food).

It was while `good man', James, was on a trip to England that the `bad man' American accused the aborigines of cattle theft and he slaughtered all but one, and the legend of the curse began. He, himself, was killed by the survivor and, sacrificially, fed down a hole to the Great Rainbow Serpent.

It is rumoured that, on his return to the property, James was confronted by the survivor, a lone aboriginal elder, who, waving his boomerang and spear, shrieked the word `Jintabudjaree' and then disappeared. Young James, `good man' that he was, became the curse's second substitutionary victim (after the American), succumbing to the bite from a poisonous snake that same day.

The landau and the library have never left the property.

Jintabudjaree Station is still owned by Mr Thomas Grant, the local `Schoolie' and unofficial Mayor of The Village, who has lived in it now for almost ten years with his half-brother, local-lad-made-good, William O'Brien. Will comes and goes as his lifestyle as a famous artist permits.

In addition to the main homestead, a set of stables has been built (in the Victorian style) for Will's horses, and is balanced symmetrically and architecturally by another building, his art studio. It contains both a work area and a large gallery. More frequently now, people come from all over the world to watch him at work, and those who commission portraits of themselves may stay in the homestead until its completion, usually two or three days.

The homestead itself has acquired a reputation for its general healing properties, and `experts' believe that this is in some way related to the geothermal activity below, despite not being able to establish any scientific proof to support their theory. Mr Grant permits a small number of people staying at the pub or cottages or from Whispering Gums to spend a few days at Jintabudjaree. He refuses to accept payment from these visitors, telling them that witnessing their regained health is recompense enough. There is a `waiting list'.

However, it is also documented that a small number of visitors, predominantly Queensland residents, have experienced `total healing' from all manner of complaints and medical conditions. Research is still under way to establish the reason for this.

 

Whispering Gums

Ten years ago, as a result of one of the most severe droughts on record, Whispering Gums was sold by its long-term owners, the Camerons.

Nobody could have anticipated that it would be purchased, secretly, by a descendent of its original O'Sullivan-family owners, Helen O'Sullivan, now Helen Andersen, who works the property with husband Jan, and Jan's sons, Karl and Kurt. Jan and Helen have three small children of their own, twin girls and a little boy. The girls attend The Village local school.

 

There are many perspectives on life around The Village, other than those of Tom Grant.

And so, from their own mouths...

 

Helen O'Sullivan, Council Inspector

Ten years ago, when I learned that my grandfather's property, Whispering Gums, was going to be sold, I felt compelled to buy it, having been `relocated' by my parents when I was eleven! My grandfather would have wanted me to be here to look after it, if only out of deference to the work that he had put into the place. You know, it was only because of my involvement, as a Council inspector with the proposed refurbishment of the pub in The Village and the construction of some cottages, that I became aware of the property's availability.

It was also around that time that I met Jan Andersen, a local, who was hired to work on The Village re-development project. We hit it off immediately and I carried out many `official' Council visits to the site, which enabled me to spend `discrete' time with him. I don't think that anyone knew that he and I had begun `seeing each other', until Tom Grant accidentally `sprung' us one day in the early stages. I think that he was more embarrassed than Jan and I were, but he promised to keep our relationship secret.

Despite my deep feelings for Jan, my great fear was that I would be rejected by his sons, Karl and Kurt. However, the opposite proved to be the case and I `clicked' with them too. They are now both handsome young specimens of manhood, hard-working and respectful to their father and me. And they love their twin sisters and little brother that Jan and I have produced together.

I am sure that, on many days, I hear my grandfather's voice whispering approval to me through the gum trees as I sit by the river and read stories to the children.

Tom Grant and Will O'Brien own the cottages in The Village, and those wonderful young men gave a three-bedroom cottage to Jan and me as a wedding present to replace Jan's original little home. I spend my time there four nights each week while the girls are attending school, then come home on weekends. Sometimes Jan comes from Whispering Gums into The Village for an overnight stay, while Karl and Kurt look after the animals. I resigned from the Council when Jan and I discovered that we were expecting our first child, actually, children - the twins.

When Jan found out that he was going to be the father of another `two for the price of one', his first comment was, "Who said lightning never strikes twice in the same place?" We were a little apprehensive about the possibility of `another double' when I found that I was pregnant again, three years later. All singularly good though!

 

Jan Andersen, father of twins Karl and Kurt, manager of `Whispering Gums' station

It was a difficult time for me, living separated from Karl and Kurt's mother, who hated this area of the state and moved back to Brisbane, leaving me to raise the twins alone. However, the first day that I met Helen O'Sullivan I fell for her and knew that I could spend my life with this remarkable woman who exuded as much passion for the land as I did. Having Whispering Gums in common (with her family as previous owners and me as the then manager) just made conversation and getting to know each other easy.

It would be fair to say that we clicked with each other immediately and, following some discrete discussion, I even left the boys asleep and went back across to her room at the pub that very first night. She told me that she had been divorced for a number of years. Our love-making, as I vividly recall, was among the most passionate of my life. That was just the beginning. Helen would often visit Whispering Gums while I was working there, and we were able to `slip away' together for a couple of hours at a time to one of the outlying shearers' quarters. Having lived there as a girl, she easily made friends with the owners and would sometime stay a few days at a time. Lucky me!

Although I knew that I wanted to spend time with her, perhaps even to be with her long-term, I was greatly concerned about what Karl and Kurt would think of me divorcing their mother and introducing a step-mother into their lives. I shouldn't have worried. Helen has such a way with children (and teenagers) that she charmed the two of them almost immediately. As they have grown, she has been more of a mum to them than their own natural mother could ever have been. Helen was, and is, a country girl! She has been a blessing to all of us, and we now boast a family of five, having produced three little ones together, currently aged seven and four.

I remember the day that our secret `got out'. I can `thank' Tom Grant for that! As I recall, I had asked Tom if he could `baby sit' the boys for me while I `showed Helen around Whispering Gums' and that we would be staying overnight. When we got back the next day, Tom looked me in the eye and asked what Helen and I had got up to during the night. The timing was an about-time, perfect opportunity to `come clean'. I `confessed' everything to him first, and he honoured his promise to keep it a secret until Helen and I were ready to announce it to the world. I shared with Helen what I had told him and, somewhat later, I told the boys. From then on, it has all been `clear sailing'.

I could scarcely believe my ears when Helen divulged to me, that I wouldn't need to leave Whispering Gums and find another job because she was now the new owner, and, I remember the glint in her eye when she said that she `wanted to keep me on'.

It was only after that discussion that I summoned the courage to share everything with the boys. We talked about what `divorce' was and how it would impact them. With their blessing, I then proposed to Helen, `officially'. I think that Karl and Kurt were as excited as I was, maybe moreso, for some reason, the way they jumped and yahoo'd all around the house.

They love it out here on the property now. Kurt sometimes goes away for up to a month at a time, and visits his long-time friend, Andy Thompson, who, also, regularly comes to stay with us. Lovely young man! They are both very lucky to have, in each other, such devoted friends. I could not wish for anything better for Kurt, or Andy, who became an Olympic swimmer. Between you and me, and because neither of them has ever shown any interest in girls, I'm convinced that there is a lot more to their relationship than just being `good mates', although they have never actually said so. You should see them together! Their countenances just light up.

 

Karl Andersen, son of Jan, twin of Kurt

I'm now 22 and, apart from my twin, I also have two little sisters and a brother. I think they're wonderful!

It's great being on the farm with my dad and my step-mum, Helen, and I love working with all of the animals. Whispering Gums is such a beautiful place, with the river winding through it. Even though it's been ten years since the great drought broke, we've had subsequent periods of dry and periods of wet.

Dad has implemented a number of initiatives which the owners, before Helen, even refused to consider when Dad shared his ideas with them. These have made the place so much more sustainable. We even run a `farm stay' now for tourists who actually pay to come for up to a week at a time and help us do our work. Go figure!

Dad has taught me to be a farrier because there are many properties with horses in the district. It gives me a private income. I love it most when I get to stay with Will and Tom (it's hard not to still call him `Mr Grant') and to work on their horses. I don't charge them, of course, but Tom is always generous and Will finds other ways to thank me. LOL.

Will and I have grown up as the best of mates and we tell each other `stuff' that nobody else knows about. I think that Mr Grant, Tom, would have been horrified if he realised what I had found out about him and Will back then! But I made a pledge with Will that we would keep each other's secrets, and I will honour that forever. Besides, I always tell Will about any fun that I might have with some of the casual farm hands or young tourists (male and female) whenever Will is away. He's OK with that; actually, I think he looks forward to hearing my stories. One of the first things he always asks me when he comes home is whether I `got lucky', and wants to know all of the details.

I even told Will of the night that I crept into Mr Grant's bed out at Jintabudjaree Station. Do you remember it - the very first night that my brother and I stayed out there with Will and Tom and with Kurt's friend, Andy? I had a nightmare that the Jintabudjaree ghost was after me. I couldn't wake up Will and I thought that the ghost had already killed him so I ran across to Mr Grant's room to be safe. I got into his bed and slid across until I could feel the security of his body next to mine. Eventually, with my heart pounding less, and my brain resuming its normal functioning, I concluded that I must have been dreaming and I wasn't so scared (except of what Mr Grant might say if he woke up and found me in bed with him) so I crept back to Will's room. He had turned on his side and was breathing (thankfully) so I slid in, turned on my side and backed up to his chest. He stirred slightly, snuggled into me and lay his hand over my body. Even now, he says that he doesn't remember it at all!

Will and I still `enjoy each other's company' just as we used to do when we were back in school, but he's not here all of the time. He's famous, you know, and travels to lots of places. Boy, is he handsome! I still get hard just thinking about him in his tight jeans (`fancy pants' I call them) and those body-hugging designer shirts that he buys when he's away.

Will went through a really bad patch a couple of years ago with one of those flirty, `arty-farty types' in the city who really took advantage of his gentle nature. He told me that his Dad, Mr Grant senior, came to his rescue after a friend alerted him to what was happening. He'll probably tell you about it himself.

He doesn't spend as much time away in the city, or travelling, any more, only occasionally, like when he's having an exhibition or has to attend a media event. It's wonderful to see him and Tom together. They are always patting and hugging each other. Once I saw them smooching when they thought that nobody was around. When I mentioned it sometime later to Will, that's when he told me what else they do together and we made our pact. OMG! I asked him to teach me everything, but he said that he couldn't, out of respect for Tom.

But I learned to do stuff from someone else, one of our farm-stay guests! Swedish tourists will always be welcome here! LOL!

Life is good.

 

Kurt Andersen, son of Jan, twin of Karl

It has been ten years since I met Mr Grant. It was just before my brother Karl's and my thirteenth birthday. I remember that first day at the weir when all of us kids had been swimming. At first, I thought that Mr Grant looked scared of us, but he soon relaxed. I really liked him much better than any of our previous teachers. He's been here in The Village ever since. Everybody here loves him. I still can't call him `Tom', like Karl does, even though he says that I should.

One of my fond memories of that year is that Karl, Will and I used to play games in the weir, chasing and tagging each other, then swimming away under water. When there were no girls around, which was most often, we played without any clothes on, and we had fun trying to grab each other between the legs. I especially liked getting hold of Will's, because it was so big and always hard. One day, I had a great shock. I swam up to our `secret spot' below the weir overflow that I had seen Will dive into, and I felt for his legs, then I ran my hands up to give his cock and balls a good scrunch, only I found that it wasn't Will. It was actually Mr Grant, who was sitting next to him. I was so freaked out! I thought that he would beat me up or, even worse, tell my dad. But he didn't. He was really cool about it. Even so, I didn't sleep well that night. I remember that day and moment vividly... often. One day Will showed me a pencil drawing that he did of my face as he remembered it. Holy cow! I looked terrified. And, from memory, I actually was.

However, I remember even better, the day when my brother, Karl, and Will eventually talked Mr Grant into getting his gear off completely and having some fun in the weir with us. He was even more handsome without his clothes (haha) and looked just like a slightly older version of Will. We found out later that year that they were actually brothers. It was so weird, seeing that I'd known Will of all my life. There are times when it's hard to tell them apart, even now. Will is 27 and Mr Grant is 32. I think that Will keeps him young!

My twin brother, Karl, was always Will's favourite, so I spent a lot of time, back then, trying to get Mr Grant to be MY `special friend'. He eventually gave in, and we used to do `stuff' together, especially after school while Karl had Will all to himself at our place. Mr Grant was always scared of us getting caught, but I'm good at keeping my mouth shut - and I've never told my brother what really used to happen, even though he and Will used to ask me of all the time. As far as they know, we just used to jerk off together like he said that they did.

Now, Mr Grant lets many different people come and stay at his house. He says that it's kind of like a health resort. But there are plenty of times when he's there by himself. Sometimes, when Will is away, I go and do some work for Mr Grant on weekends and keep him company. He told me that the old house has a number of secret passages that he had found. You know about the one off the bathroom that Andy and I discovered. Mr Grant had shown us one off the kitchen and he even found one between his bedroom and the one that I usually sleep in when Will is away, the `blue' room. I love to use it at night and sneak in to surprise him. He lets me cuddle up to him and... (Hey - we have our own House Rule!)

Also, I remember the day that I met Andy Thompson, just like it was last week. Wow! I got an instant hard-on just from shaking hands with him and looking into his eyes. Mr Grant was the only one that I told about the weird effect that Andy had on me, and he really helped me to deal with it. He even suggested that Andy and I might like to sleep together in our own room. I never told anyone, but I came twice that night. Andy thought that it was funny, especially when he did it three times (with my help, and it didn't take much effort either - LOL).

Andy and I still see each other many times each year. Sometimes I go and stay with him. He has his own flat on the Gold Coast, but I especially love it when he comes out here, and we get to go horse riding with Mr Grant and Will.

We seem to have so much more freedom when he's here. He usually stays for a month at a time, and he helps Karl and me around the property. Even though Karl and I have our own rooms in the main house, Dad lets Andy and me use the bunk house when he stays so that we can be together and talk. I don't know whether Dad suspects everything that Andy and I do together; he's never said anything but he does grin and wink at us a lot.

I think that my life would be `empty' without Andy. We just understand each other; we like the same things and we even think the same. Sometimes he seems more like my twin than Karl does. Did you know that Andy has represented Australia at the Olympic Games, as a swimmer? He's in training again at the moment. You should see his muscles! I love giving him massages. All over. Naked. Him and me both. Haha. How do you know if you are in love with somebody? Maybe I should ask Will or Mr Grant.

Whenever we have tourists come and stay, I'm the one who organises their time, plays `host' and shows them around. We have horse riding, quad-bike riding, mucking out the stables, feeding the calves, collecting the eggs, mending fences and a whole lot of other chores to do. The people love it. And they pay us!

I've also made friends with the helicopter pilot who brings most of the tourists out here. He's the son of Mr Grant (senior)'s friend who was the last one to die from the Jintabudjaree curse, ten years ago. His name is Danny too, same as his dad. I call him `D2' and he calls me `K2' (because Karl is `K1'). He's a lot of fun, a bit older than Will but younger than our Mr Grant. If he didn't have a `significant' girlfriend, and I didn't have Andy (and Mr Grant), I could seriously be interested in `messing around' with him. Too bad!

He's teaching me all about the helicopter and has even let me fly it sometimes when there's only him and me aboard. He does quite well out of the tourists - bringing them here from Cunnamulla, taking them down to Jintabudjaree to see Will's art studio and Will (if he's there) and also into town to see the restored Village. Sometimes he carries tourists, who have driven to The Village, out here to Whispering Gums, and also to Jintabudjaree. Occasionally, as a special treat for any tourists that might be here at the time, Danny and I let them tag along when we use the helicopter to check out the whereabouts of stray cattle.

I'm really happy here. I have my brother, Karl, my Dad, `Mum' Helen, Tom, Will and, especially, Andy. Andy reckons when he can't swim competitively any more that he might come out here and live with us, with me. Great! I've just got a `woody' thinking about that possibility!

 

Andrew (Andy) Thompson, son of Enid, surfer and body boarder, friend of Tom and Will, and Kurt

Ten years ago, when I was 13, I thought that I was going to die. That bastard (whose name I will never again speak) threw me over the balcony because I wouldn't let him fuck me again and because I kicked him in the balls. But he got what was coming to him. Simon and Luke told me how the police caught him and exactly what other guys did to him in prison. I wish that I had been conscious at the time to hear about it and celebrate with them!

When I woke up in hospital, all I could remember was my friend, Tom, and how he tried to help me, but I didn't let him. I asked Mum every day where my friend Tom was. I wanted to hug him and thank him and to say sorry to him. I couldn't speak properly or walk properly and I was really scared that I was going to stay like that for the rest of my life.

When Mum told me that she was going to a funeral with Tom's mother and that Tom was going to be there, I insisted that I wanted to go too. I had to go! Something told me that I just needed to be out there with him! Mum said `no' because it would be too dangerous while I was still recovering, so I screamed and threw tantrums until she eventually gave in. I had been pretty sure that she would. Haha.

I nearly cried when I first saw Tom again that day at Cunnamulla. I couldn't hobble over to him from the plane fast enough to give him a hug. I stayed with him all that day of the funeral. To let you in on a little secret, I even persuaded him to take me to the toilet and help me get my cock out and put it back in. My broken arm was a good excuse. I hoped that he would hold it longer and do some stuff, like I remembered in the showers at the beach, but he didn't.

Even better than seeing Tom and feeling him hold my cock (even briefly), a miracle happened while I was staying with him at the homestead. I got better. Not actually fully better, but almost fully better. I could talk; I could walk and I felt good. I don't know how that happened; neither does he, but I thank God every day for Tom and that place. My medal from the last Olympics has pride of place in my lounge room and, as I was receiving it, I dedicated it under my breath to Tom and his magical Jintabudjaree Station homestead. Without them I may not have got past the depression either, that the doctors said that I had, let alone achieve what I have since then.

And, if I hadn't gone with mum and Mrs Grant that day, to see Tom again, and hadn't gone to the special meeting to make Tom the owner of Jintabudjaree Station, and got healed, I would never have met Kurt. Hey, I might have muscles, but he's so cut and defined, and has charisma and gets me sex-cited more than anyone else I've ever met! I told Tom that I nearly blew a load in my pants when Kurt and I first shook hands. When I was telling Tom about it in his car, just him and me, I got a hard-on and told Tom that he could feel it, if he wanted to. He seemed reluctant, but eventually he gave in and did it. I imagined for a moment that it could have been Kurt, and I had to get Tom to stop the car and let me out, or I would have spurted in my pants or all over Tom's new car.

The doctors at home could not believe nor comprehend what had happened to me that weekend and the rest of the time that I stayed until the end of term. They couldn't explain the rapid change in my physical ability, my fully-healed arm and ribs, or my speech, or my restored senses of smell and taste. My physiotherapist insisted, however, that I take up swimming because of (a long medical term) `bi-lateral... something-or-other' to help ensure that both sides of my brain recovered equally. It was because of those sessions that I, and everyone else, realised that I was not just good at swimming, but really good - without my body board. I joined a swimming squad and was selected to represent the club, then the state at the National Swim Trials. Amazingly, I got to represent Australia overseas at the Olympics and came home with a bronze medal! Kurt told me that he watched me on the big TV at the pub and that he cried because he was so proud of me. He said that he didn't care, and wasn't embarrassed, because a lot of others who knew him and me were crying too. I love it when he comes to stay with me or I get to go and spend a month with him at Whispering Gums. He still has a magic effect on me!

What else? Oh, yes, my mother. I'm glad that she has met a really nice man and re-married. He's a bit younger than her but that doesn't matter. Even now he still comes to all of my swimming carnivals and trials and taxis me to and from the airport whenever I have to fly off somewhere. He's just like the dad I never had.

I have my own bachelor pad now - I am 24 after all! I am a qualified personal trainer, and that's the work that I do when I'm not swimming competitively, or spending time with Kurt out in the country. I love it out there. And love being with Kurt.

 

Martin (Marty) O'Brien, son of Acacia (`Mum' O'Brien), brother of Anna, Chad (police officer in Big Town) and Sean (ambulance officer in Big Town), former landlord of Tom, cousin of Will, Jake and Jane.

After Tom became the legal owner of historic Jintabudjaree Station, I knew that it would only be a matter of time before he wanted to move out there. Who wouldn't? However, I wasn't sure whether my young cousin, Will, would go too. But, knowing that he and Tom were half-brothers, and after hearing them in bed together at night, I should have guessed that he wouldn't think twice about living with Tom! (I'm sure that when we were young teenagers, my older brother Chad and I never made that much noise while he was showing me simple boy stuff, even down by the river. But, then, Chad and I never went as far as what those two have done!) Anyway, I'm happy for both of them. Will had a hard life as a kid, and Tom is such a great guy - one of a kind. Everyone here loves him and it is still widely believed that he's responsible for somehow bringing an end to that dreadful drought! He's already a legend. We even had a ceremony to officially make him the unofficial `Mayor of The Village'. That was Jacko's idea.

Well, what can I tell you about the past 10 years? The most significant thing has been the restoration of the pub and the construction of a number of period-style `cottages'. The Village is a totally different place now. It's vibrant and amazing, which is due primarily to the skill of the architect, Ashley Cook. He spent many hours out at Tom's place, Jintabudjaree Station and incorporated some of its architectural highlights into his plans.

Ash's plans for the pub were very detailed, all the way down to which bricks, stone and mortar had to be used. The `cottages' were designed in the style of the Victorian-period London terraces that became popular in early Sydney and Melbourne. Originally there was to be only one street but, with Tom's decision not to go ahead in building their big house but to make additions to the Jintabudjaree homestead instead, Ash designed two, much wider streets of terraces. All of those at the southern end of each street, closest to the pub, have two bedrooms. At the farther end, closest to the river, there are some that have three bedrooms. Young peppercorn trees, that almost match the old one outside the pub, were planted down the centre of both streets. They are now about 8 years old and up to roof height. There was some initial concern about them competing with native flora as their seeds are spread by birds, but Ash did the research on them and, hopefully this variety won't become a problem. They won't grow much taller, and we have already witnessed them filling out, as they should continue to do even further. Each street looks amazing; they don't have official names but everyone just calls them `First Street' and `Second Street', as they were designated on Ash's plans.

It was a pleasure back then to work with Ash and Jan and the teams of guys that we gathered from around the district. Ash also brought in some specialist stone masons to assist.

One of the local guys on my team ended up marrying my sister. Long story! The pair of them initially lived on his family's property about half-way to Big Town. Then they moved back to my old place, when I moved out, so that they could be close to Mum (who's getting on in years) but without being too close to her, if you know what I mean! They were happy to have my dogs remain down there with them.

Tom is an amazingly generous guy. He gave one of the 3-bedroom terraces to Jan and Helen as a wedding present. It's the one at the river end of First Street, closest to the school, almost where Jan's old house used to be. Helen usually drives in from Whispering Gums with the children on Monday morning so that her oldest two can go to the school. She stays in the house and then drives back out after school on Friday.

During the week, apart from looking after her little 4-year old `Benny' (Benjamin actually), Helen organises the groups to go out to the property and to Tom's place by helicopter. She sometimes helps Julie Smith at the pub or drives up to Thunungara Station to assist Di and Jake with the place and with Uncle Reg.

Ash and I worked so well together that we joined forces to set up a business, `Cook and O'Brien, Heritage Restorations'. Ash does the research and designs and I supervise the work projects on site, all over the state, and even in Sydney and Melbourne. We both travel a lot together and when we are back here (where our `office' is) we live side by side.

Designing and setting up the business office was an `arrangement of convenience' with Tom and Will's blessing. They granted us exclusive use of two adjoining terraces at the (most private) river end of Second Street.

Ash designed them like this – the office, and `his' place, is right at the end. The downstairs looks like, and functions as, an architect's office, with a couple of drafting tables, filing cabinets, etc. with copies of plans and photos of our work displayed on the walls. His `living quarters' are upstairs. `My' place is the one adjacent to it, and entry is directly to the open-plan living/dining/kitchen area; the modest kitchen matching those of the other cottages. However, upstairs, Ash's place and my place merge into one, with the assistance of a retractable, faux-brick, wall, where all of the other cottages have a double-brick common wall. Very few people, apart from our closest friends, have ever been up there. When we had to show Mum and the rest of my family though the places, the retractable wall was closed. Altogether, there are three large bedrooms, even though Ash and I really only need, and use, one. LOL. Yep, we are more than partners in business! For over 9 years now!

During the daytime, we always use the front doors to move between the cottages, telling people that we work together in the office, and eat together at `my place'. Even to this day, most people haven't `connected the dots'.

When Tom and Will decided to move out to Jintabudjaree Station, there were plenty of opportunities during the constructions for Ash and me to get to know each other. He `bunked' down at my old place so that rooms at the hotel could be left available for the workers who couldn't travel back and forth to their home each day due to distance. At least that's the reason we gave everyone. Haha. House Rules rule!

I remember the first night that Ash and I were able to spend alone at my old place. Of course, the dress code was `shirtless' and `everything-else-less', totally au naturel! We couldn't keep our hands off one another. Our `little bit of fun' before dinner turned into an orgy to rival the best of Tom and Will's merrymaking sessions. No protein was wasted in the process and dinner reverted to being a midnight snack. After all, we needed to consume some carbohydrates for energy!

I re-visited `him' and `her' in Big Town a couple of times, but soon realised that Ash could provide every sensual experience that I would ever need. And, in addition to that, his sense of humour has me in stitches. Why not spend the rest of my life with him as my partner? Between you and me, I think that Tom and Will were jealous, initially. But we regularly get invited to dinner out at their place, and you should hear Ash and Will trade stories and humorous insults. Tom and I ache from laughter once they get going! Oh, yes, we occasionally have a bit of other fun, all together, which usually commences with Will's favourite get-your-gear-off card game. But, there are limits that we place upon ourselves. Hey! We're not totally depraved!

 

Ashley (Ash) Cook, architect, engaged by Bill Grant for the restoration of the pub and the construction of cottages in The Village.

Not a day goes by that I don't rejoice at the phone call that I took from Bill Grant, 10 years ago, asking me if I was interested in running a project for him `out west'. I had done some work for him previously but he seemed particularly enthusiastic about this specific `opportunity'.

He provided me with Google Earth photographs of the property and a full brief about what I should design. Only when I had finished the preliminary drawings did Bill introduce me to the owners, his two sons by different mothers who, he had pre-alerted me, were `an item' and would be sharing the separation of sheets in the master bedroom. Maybe that's why Bill chose me for the job, knowing that I was gay and would probably be sympathetic to their needs. I must say that I was amused by the interplay between the two boys, once they realised that I knew about them and I had dropped them a hint about my own preference. As I recall it, Tom patted me on the back, just at the top of my buttocks, and kept his hand there, which was followed by Will kicking him in the ankle. There were other times when I observed the same playful behaviour from them, apparently vying for my attention, and warning the other one off. Hilarious!

As it transpired, young Tom fell into some wealth of his own, in the form of a very large property with a beautiful, historic homestead. Bill reckons that, based on his library alone, Tom could now be even richer than him (on paper)! But, the result of all that was that the plans for the big house in town were scrapped and I started over. There were extensions to the homestead to be drawn by adding stables and a studio for Will, the restoration plans for the pub, and two streets of English-style terraces.

The field of weeds between the `First Street' of terraces, and the school, just part of the land owned by Tom and Will, became a beautifully-landscaped `village green', opposite the pub, with water drawn from below the weir to maintain it. The rest of their property in town, the western end, is used as a community recreation area and everything is proudly maintained by the locals.

The only thing that remains `out of place' today in the neat little Village is the old church. We still haven't found the right people to authorise any work to be done on it. I did, however, organise to replace the fence and plant some trees, and the locals now keep the grass cut. The dilapidated chapel is almost a tourist attraction in its own right – a true indication of the ravages of time and neglect.

Marty was supposed to supervise the work on the big house and Jan on the terraces, so then, with his part of the original plan `shelved', Marty worked closely with me and the specialist craftsmen, on the restoration instead. With local volunteers as labourers, in addition to Marty's team of three paid workers, we made excellent progress.

With Tom and Will moving out to Jintabudjaree Station, Marty suggested that I stay at his place. We told people that it would leave more accommodation available at the pub for workers and, besides, Marty and I could compare notes and plan for the next day's work. Actually, after the night of the dinner with everyone at the pub and with Marty `taking me home' with him, I was expectantly excited about him and me sharing an otherwise-vacant house together.

I remember the first night alone together. I don't know whether he planned to seduce me or if I was going to have to seduce him. Either way, I don't think that there would have been much resistance. However, after that particularly dusty day he suggested that we shower before dinner. With me near the living area, he stood in the hallway and alluringly stripped off all of his clothes, tossing them through his bedroom door one piece at a time, then he headed for the bathroom. He walked past me with his manhood fattening noticeably with each step. When he reached the bathroom door he turned and asked with a smirk, "Well, are you coming, or not?" So much for the instantly-unnecessary scenario that I had been hatching in my mind to `get him'!

When I reached the bathroom door, Marty was adjusting the water temperature, slightly bent over the bath. I stripped off and moved to stand alongside him and simply asked, "Need a hand with anything?"

Hands on hips, he turned to face me, displaying his fully-hard erection. He looked down at it and then looking up into my eyes replied, "What do you reckon?" He stepped into the bath, allowed the shower to wet him all over and then handed me the soap. I wet my hands, got them really sudsy and then started rubbing his chest and abdomen, then caressed his lower bits. His moan of pleasure was a real turn-on (as if I wasn't more than half there already). "Get in here!" he growled, and he did to me what I had been doing for him. We washed every square centimetre of each other's body, neck to knee, front and back, soft and hard (not that much of him was soft - every taut muscle of his body was a delight for my excited fingers).

I quickly became over-stimulated and warned him of what I could tell was about to happen. He nudged me out of the direct stream of water, dropped to one knee and took it all in his mouth. Even when I finished unloading, I was still stiff. Massaging his big balls with one hand, I held his rod in my mouth with the other and sucked and licked it until I had his load of cream down my throat as well. Even when we rinsed and dried off, we were both still at full mast. "Dinner can wait a while," Marty declared, grabbing some clean towels as we headed for the bedroom. Three hours later we had both been fondled, frotted, jacked, sucked and fucked to the point of exhaustion. And we used up Marty's total supply of condoms, too.

"I told you once before that I thought I was going to like it here," I said, lying beside him and reminding him of that morning when Tom and Will found Marty and me in bed together and the `four-play' that followed. I added, "Well, we've had the liquid protein, what else have you got in this place? I'm starved."

That was the beginning of a fantastic regular ritual that ended up with us discussing with each other whether we would like our new `friendship' to continue well into the future. So positive was Marty about it that I altered the layout of two of the terraces so that we could live together, with one entrance seeming to the outside world as a separate office-come-residence for me, the other one being `Marty's place' as Tom and Will had already offered it to him. That Will is a sharp cookie! He spotted our `friendship' for what it really was almost immediately.

Our restoration business was originally set up purely as a convenience, to deflect people's suspicions about us spending so much time together. However, it has actually turned out to be very profitable. After the publicity that we received regarding the pub and The Village, everyone who could afford it wanted us to project manage the repairs and restoration of their old properties. I think that it is a status symbol for them to brag that their work has been done by `Cook and O'Brien'. We even have some ongoing government contracts to systematically analyse the needs for each of their heritage-listed properties, and they have given us grants to assist private owners whose properties are listed on the national heritage register.

Marty and I travel extensively. Sometimes I am away scoping out a project before coming back to draw up the plans and submissions for contracts and grants. Sometimes Marty is away supervising the work. However, I relish the times when we are away together. And even moreso when we are back here together!

Tom and Will are definitely our best friends and confidants.

Ten years ago, I could never have imagined me living in `the middle of nowhere' and being this happy. Life is great!

 

Julie Smith, licensee of The Village pub

I can't believe the transformation of the pub that Tom, his father and the architect, Ashley Cook, have managed to achieve. I think that it looks even grander than all of the photographs of the original. We have solar panels built into the roof, which largely powers our electricity and hot water. Even the storage batteries are concealed. The architect is a genius! Marty and Jan and their teams all worked extremely hard to ensure that the smallest details were done according to the architect's plans.

One unexpected upside to the work was that Marty's sister, Anna, found herself a boyfriend whom she has since married. What a great day that was. You should have seen Acacia - she was in her element! Tom hosted the wedding out at Jintabudjaree Station and my husband and I did the catering. Any tourists in town that day were also invited.

Before the restoration here was completed, Tom's father also arranged for the installation of satellite TV, which the locals from 200km around come to watch. That's great for business!

We also manage the letting of the cottages that they built opposite the pub, on the land that Will O'Brien and Tom own. We employ Jane O'Brien (Reg and Di's daughter) to look after all of the house keeping – both pub and cottages. She's great with the guests and she has a real eye for detail. We receive many messages of congratulations on the standard that she maintains, both by mail and on social media.

We get lots of tourists out here now, which is great for the local economy. They come to look at the restored pub and Victorian-style cottages (they have a choice of which to stay in), go out to Jintabudjaree Station to see Will work and to purchase some of his paintings and drawings. There is also a regular helicopter service between here (in The Village), Jintabudjaree, Whispering Gums and Cunnamulla. Young Danny, the pilot, is very popular with the locals and tourists alike. I adore his girlfriend whose father is a publican in Cunnamulla, so she knows her stuff and, when she's here, usually pitches in to give us a hand if things are really busy.

Tom still likes his lime juice and mineral water over crushed ice. Jacko nick-named it a `Peter Pan', after a comment that Tom made many years ago about not being ready for a man's drink yet. Once each year, on the anniversary of Tom becoming the owner of Jintabudjaree Station, everybody toasts The Mayor with a Peter Pan. It has become a popular drink, especially in summer.

 

Jane O'Brien, daughter of Reg and Di, sister of Jake

I still have my boyfriend who lives and works in Big Town. We've been `going steady' since I left school and I wonder when he's finally going to `pop the question'. I've been pretty busy since the pub was restored and the cottages built. My job is to be in charge of the housekeeping - everything about the rooms - décor, cleanliness, services and overall hospitality. I love my work and I meet some amazing people, not just from around Australia but from overseas too.

My Dad had a stroke a few years back so Mum, Jake and I all look after him. Maybe that's why my boyfriend is so hesitant. I haven't had a lot of spare time to be alone with him, but he does come out to Thunungara fairly regularly when I'm not working. Mum and Dad both like him and he and Jake get on well, too.

 

Jake O'Brien, son of Reg and Di, brother of Jane, cousin and school friend of Will

Hi. If you're wondering whether I have a girlfriend or not, the answer is `no'. Since Dad had his stroke, I've been taking care of the property. The animals keep me pretty busy, so does looking after Dad. Mum doesn't hear too well and Jane spends a lot of her time working at the pub. Mum feeds Dad and I bathe him and help him go to the toilet. I think he likes it most when he sits in his rocking chair on the verandah and I read to him, or when I tell him what everyone in The Village is doing. He nods and hums a lot but doesn't speak much.

My old school friends are terrific. Will always comes out to help with the work when he's back here from his travels and commitments, and he sometimes brings either Karl or Kurt with him. They are all so supportive! When Will is here by himself I love to get away with him for a while. We ride the motor bikes up to one of our favourite spots along the river, talk a lot about what's happening in our lives, and usually end up having a bit of relaxing `private fun', like we used to back in our school days. Even though I'm 24, I just don't have time for a girlfriend at the moment. Anyway, I know that I'm not gay, and that fun stuff I can do myself, or I can let my buddy Will give me a hand. LOL.

 

Reg O'Brien, brother of Acacia, husband of Di, uncle of Marty and Will, father of Jane and Jake

I don't get around too well these days. Having a stroke has been extremely humbling, with other people pitching in to do just about everything for me, even bathe me, dress me and take me to the toilet. But they take it in their stride and I have learned to get over my embarrassment and am so thankful for them - especially my son, Jake. He's amazing - he takes after his mother!

I remember the day that it happened. It was a family gathering at Acacia's for Anna's birthday. I remember feeling uncoordinated and unbalanced. I attempted to walk but fell over. Somebody said, "Hey, Uncle Reg, you should lay off the booze!" My nephew, Sean, knowing that I had only been drinking water, and, after checking my face and arms, concluded that I was having a stroke. Thank God, he was there. He had driven out in the ambulance with Chad and had everything at hand that he needed. I must have blacked out, because when I woke up, I was in the hospital in Big Town and stayed there for a couple of months.

I love my wife, my children and my friends, but some days, when I feel really low, I would just be happy to die, and relieve them of the burden of looking after me.

 

Anna O'Brien, sister of Marty, daughter of Acacia

I'm married. I finally got myself a man! I thought that the day would never come. In the end, it all happened so quickly. Marty brought three guys on his work team, from the restoration, home for lunch. One of them told me that he'd met me out at Jintabudjaree Station and had been thinking about me ever since. I recognised him. Then he started coming for lunch or dinner a lot and we used to go for long walks. He was a great kisser. Still is! One night he asked me to marry him, after he had spoken to Mum. Of course, I accepted! I was tempted to use one of my cousin Will's favourite expressions, `Hell Yeah!' but I restrained myself.

I'm 28 and my husband is 30. We live in Marty's old place, and Mum and I have done it up really nicely! Marty moved all of his stuff up to one of the cottages that Tom and Will let him use, in the cottage next door to his business partner. I like it over here. It's private, away from Mum, and she can't hear us having fun. We decided to wait for a number of years, but at the moment we are trying for a baby. Every night. My husband doesn't complain!

 

Acacia (`Mum') O'Brien, mother of Marty, Chad, Sean and Anna, aunt of Will

Finally! One of my children got married. I don't know what's wrong with the boys, but Anna found herself a handsome young man who was working on the restoration of the pub with Marty. Marty brought a few of them home for lunch one day and Anna was like a kid in a toy store. Anyway, this particular one of them reminded her that he had met her previously, out at Jintabudjaree Station the day the Tom became the official owner. They hit it off and he became a regular visitor. One night, after dinner, he asked if he could speak with me privately. I was a little worried, but he came straight out and asked me if I would consent to him marrying Anna. What a gentleman! I think I hugged him so hard that he was winded, and I heard something crack. We both laughed. I insisted that they let me tell everybody.

And the wedding was amazing. Tom let us use his big house for the wedding and its enormous hall for a sit-down celebration dinner. Julie Smith and her husband and their team did an incredible job with the food, and they even brought out a truckload of trestle tables and chairs from the pub. And the wedding made the local paper in Big Town, photographs and all.

I offered them to live in the cottage out the back of my house, but Marty suggested something else, which they preferred. He told them that they could have his place when he moved into one of the cottages up in The Village, because Tom (bless him!) had offered one to him, rent free, in appreciation for all of the work that Marty had put in. And that was in addition to what he had been paid!

I can't wait to be a grandmother. A little bird tells me that it shouldn't be too far off!

 

Simon, Gold Coast resident, tenement neighbour of Luke and Andy, surfing friend of Tom and Will

My friend Luke and I met up with Tom and Will a few times during school term breaks in the Gold Coast when we weren't away on holidays ourselves. We all had some good jerk-off and oral sessions together but it became obvious that there would be no lasting relationships beyond a bit of occasional and brief pleasure.

When Luke's parents bought a house up the coast and moved away, that heralded the end of any fun that the two of us would have with the boys from the bush, especially since I had decided to join the army. However, I do get my share of pleasure in the barracks, but that's something that none of us guys ever talk about.

We know that our young mate, Andy Thompson, and a younger guy from Tom and Will's little Village, Kurt, became best mates and whenever he came to town, we hardly saw Andy at all.

After Andy's miraculous recovery from his injuries of 10 years ago, he went on to become a famous swimmer and even won a medal at the Olympics. Andy started `going bush' in the `off season' for a month or two at a time. Still does, apparently. When we asked him what he did out there, he would only tell us about his friend's property, the horses, the bikes and the tourists. He was always a randy little devil and I suspect that there was a lot more going on, but we could never get out of him what he got up to between sunset and sunrise! Andy just used to touch his nose and say, `House Rule!' Like life in the barracks, I suppose.

All of us still keep in touch on Facebook but we rarely bump into each other.

 

Rocco Verdi, nephew of restauranteur, Giuseppe, cousin of Tony, friend of Will

Tony and I never did get to visit Tom and Will's school, but they have kept in touch with us every week as they promised, and we catch up whenever they are `in town'.

Regarding the bullying, it was Tom's suggestion that Tony and I try for a while not `hanging out together' at school and to keep our distance, but to always stay within sight of one another, with our phone cameras at the ready to capture video of any harassment that the school continually denied was actually happening. Tony told me not to worry about him and that he could endure a few bruises if it meant that we could put a stop to the hoodlum activity. He was so brave.

Tom was right. In the very first week, without me as his `bodyguard', Tony was accosted on at least a dozen occasions by a variety of the thugs. I caught it all on camera. At the end of the week, after speaking with Tom and Will, Tony and I went to see the Principal. Tony was sporting a black eye. We made our accusations. Those whom we named were called to the office to explain and, as usual, had their contrary stories well-rehearsed, throwing the onus for everything back onto us.

It was only when the Principal threatened to expel Tony and me for continually lying and trouble-making that I produced the videos. I told him that I had already shared them with friends `in education circles' (aka Tom) and was going to post them on social media, exposing not only the bullies, but the school's indifference to their actions, plus the possibility of potential legal action. The Principal called in the Deputy to see the videos and they both seemed to become very flustered.

Then, when I called them, Uncle Giuseppe and my dad, who had been waiting outside the school in their car, came in and presented the principal with a legal order for the school to make available every bullying complaint that we had ever made, together with records of the subsequent actions that they had taken. Well, did that ever release the wild cat amongst the apathetic, sedentary pigeons! Yes, there were expulsions, but they weren't us. And there were a couple of sudden, unexpected staff transfers by teachers to whom we had made direct complaints and by whom we had basically been told to `piss off, you queers'.

As it turns out, Tony and I weren't the gang's only victims and we were suddenly heralded as heroes among our newly-acquired school mates for helping to rid the school of the vermin.

Despite doing reasonably well in my final exams, I had no idea what I wanted to do after school. Uncle Giuseppe offered to `teach me the restaurant business', considering that his only son, Tony, had other interests that he wanted to pursue. Today I am one of the three managers that Zio Giuseppe employs. He says that I should be able to run my own place in another year or two and that all I would need to do is find is an excellent Italian chef, like him.

 

Tony Verdi, son of restauranteur, Giuseppe, cousin of Rocco, friend of Tom

Tom changed my life. I thank him always for rescuing me and Rocco from the bullying that we were enduring. It got worse before it got better especially when, while still at school, I took up dancing seriously and won a couple of state and national school eisteddfods. After leaving school I was offered a scholarship to work with a national ballet group. I even made it to understudy for the principal, performing on a number of occasions and receiving great applause for my performances.

I am thrilled that I was able to return the `rescue' favour for Will, but I'll let him tell you about that. Dreadful episode!

Unfortunately, during one energetic rehearsal, I stepped on some electrical cable that had been left at the back of the stage; I fell and I broke my ankle - badly. End of dancing career, although they did suggest that they would `look after me' if I took up choreography. Not my passion!

Reluctantly, I went back to work with my papa, in the restaurant. He tells me that I have the makings of a fine chef and is teaching me what he knows, including a few `secret family recipes'. He couldn't quite understand why I was so keen to master cannolis, but Rocco knows! We see Tom and Will a couple of times each year when they come back to the Gold Coast, and they always appreciate our cannolis. And cream.

 

("Horse Boy") Sam, son of the motel owners between The Village and the Gold Coast, older brother of Mikey

It's a few years since I've seen Will from The Village and his brother, Tom. They used to always stop in at the motel on their way to and from the Gold Coast. Will and I used to love playing games together - both computer and `private' ones. I couldn't wait as the date of their next stay would approach. I was so excited. Will was the only person who really understood my needs, and he loved to play with me and I always looked forward to playing with him.

Unfortunately, all of that changed when they sadly told us on one trip that, in future, they would be flying instead of driving. I was devastated. So was Mikey, who used to love `hanging around' Will's older brother, Tom, who had also been Will's teacher. I never quite understood why Mikey liked him so much. Perhaps he just missed having our dad around and took to Tom as a substitute. Tom was very patient with him and used to read to him and play board games with him, taught him chess and he was one person whom Mikey could always beat at computer games. He loved beating Tom because he had no chance against me or Dad!

We visited Will and Tom once. They had mentioned a couple of times that we were welcome to come and see the school. It was just before Christmas the year that we first met them. Dad was home for two weeks and said that he would look after the place for one night if we left early on the Friday morning and were back again by late Saturday because there was only one booking for the Friday night. Mum drove us out there and we went straight to the school.

It was before lunchtime and Tom introduced Mikey and me to all of his students. We had brought some of our home-schooling work to do while we sat in the classroom with the others. However, we didn't get much done because everyone was interested in hearing about what we liked to do and about our motel. Tom allowed us all to talk a lot.

Tom had arranged for the nice lady at the hotel, Mrs Smith, to bring us over some lunch. Mikey and I ate our food quickly and then went to join in the games with everyone in the playground. Mum went back to the hotel with Mrs Smith who said that she would show Mum all around because it was in the final stages of being renovated. Mum and she have become good friends and ring each other all the time now. She comes to visit us each year at the motel.

It was funny just after lunch when I needed to go to the toilet. Will showed me where it was. We were both hanging out starting to take a pee and I remember getting a bit hard just being next to him and looking at him. All of a sudden, the three older boys in the school appeared, the twins and another one, and said that they needed to pee as well. (I think that they just wanted to have a good look at my big cock because I was aware that they had all been checking me out from the moment we arrived.) When he saw it, one of the twins said it was the biggest one he'd ever seen, except on a horse, and asked if he could feel it. Then, of course they all wanted to do it! To be fair, they said, they would all let me feel theirs too. When the three of them left with Will, I had to stay a bit longer until it went down. I have trouble hiding mine because it's so big. Will told me to wash my face and arms with cold water. That helped.

During the afternoon Mikey and I did some of our work, but we also sang songs with everyone, listened while the biggest girl, Jake's sister, read everyone a story and then we walked to the weir and talked about the local birds, some of which I'd never seen before.

We all stayed at Tom's big house that night. Mum had her own room (nearly everything in it was pink). Mikey and I shared the `green' one next to hers. When I was sure that Mikey was asleep, I sneaked over to Will's room. He was very happy to see me! He even had some towels ready for what he called my `fountain'. It was a couple of hours of my life that I will never forget!

These days, I work with my dad in the mines. I drive one of the big loaders. The job pays really well, and it takes all the pressure off the finances of the motel which still just manages to pay its way. Mum said that she wanted to keep the motel even though there were not a lot of customers on a regular basis.

Mikey helps Mum run the motel and now he does most of the maintenance. Dad said that if he and I are both home when it coincides with a school holiday time, then Mikey and I can go and spend three or four days with Will and Tom and he will stay with mum to look after the motel. He's arranged it with Tom, but it just depends on our work rosters and the school terms. We are both really dying to seeing them again. Mikey and I will take turns driving. Hey, the handsome little squirt has turned 21 already. Where does the time go?

 

Jacko, local farm hand

I knew that if I sucked up to him long enough, the soft-hearted Tom would give me a job. Most people wouldn't like it but I enjoy looking after the horses and even don't mind mucking out their stables. Besides, Tom lets me keep my own mare here as well and he won't let me pay him for her feed. When the stables were built, they included a small, but very comfortable, living quarters for me at the far end. Tom has entrusted me with the care of the landau and on special occasions I add a team of four of Will's prize horses to show it off. That's one of the best parts of the job deal.

I was a little disappointed that I wasn't able to convert Tom to a real man's drink, but, hey, I've actually developed a taste for lime juice and mineral water over crushed ice. Refreshing rather than intoxicating. Who would have thought? It has become a local joke, and I even named it the `Peter Pan' after Tom. My mates at the pub always pretend to gag when they see me drinking `that stuff'.

Sometime after Tom offered me a job, we went horse riding together one day and, about an hour's ride west of here, we came across a series of below-ground caves full of aboriginal paintings. One of them contained a pool with a hot spring; warm enough to enjoy like a relaxing bath but not hot enough to cook us. We still go out there occasionally together.

Bathing naked in hot spring water is better than swimming in the cold Village weir. Yeah, Tom's seen my `magic wand' and I've seen his, and, after performing some initial magic back then, we manage to keep our hands to ourselves these days. Well, most times. Except, maybe, when Will has been away for an extended period and Tom invites me to remember that I am `his hired hand'. LOL.

I feel privileged to be one of only very few people who know of the caves' existence. Tom doesn't want any `outsiders' to know about them and has sworn me, Will, one of the Andersen twins and his Olympic swimmer friend to secrecy, or else he'll invoke some curse on us. I'll bet that he could too, after all, he did bring an end to the big drought 10 years ago.

I know about him and Will, and he's the only person I've ever told about some of my `mates' in Big Town. Mutual trust and discretion! Tom's a great boss, and I'm delighted to call him my friend.

 

William Grant (Snr), world-renowned photographer, known affectionately to many as `Uncle Bill', father of both William O'Brien and Thomas Grant by different mothers.

I'm proud of my two boys.

My eldest, Thomas, is well respected in The Village where he is still the sole school teacher. The people there even made him the unofficial `Mayor' when, 10 years ago, most attributed to him the end of a long drought.

That was the same year that he became the legal owner of that magnificent Victorian-period homestead on `Jintabudjaree Station' through some quirk of fate that I still find difficult to believe or even comprehend. Part of the homestead included a library of documents and first/second edition books that are rare and extremely valuable. Nobody can understand how they remain so well preserved. Thomas has insisted that nothing may leave the library because he won't part with any of the house's original items, but he did allow some historians and university researchers to come and photograph all of the documents to display whichever they wanted at the State Museum in Brisbane.

Speaking of being well-preserved, I think that Thomas and my second son, Will, hardly look too much older than they did 10 years ago. Amazing! It must be that clean Jintabudjaree air in Thomas's lungs that is keeping him young. If anything, Will, who has spent a large amount of time travelling, now looks as mature as Thomas. Anyone who doesn't know them well could easily mistake them for identical twins, and many do.

Will, the surprise of my life, is the most amazing artist with a unique talent. Do you remember when I introduced him to Monika, the Director of the City Art Gallery? She thought I was joking when I first told her how good he was, until she saw his work for herself, especially Will's ability to capture the inner soul of people in his drawings and paintings.

Monika organised an exhibition of his work in her gallery and invited a `who's who' of art critics, none of whom could believe that the incredibly realistic landscapes, horses and portraits were all done by the same artist. They fawned over his portraits and spent a lot of time extolling the virtues and skills of this `previously unknown master'. Then, they were absolutely astounded when, later during the opening, Monika finally `unveiled' the artist, aged 17. The disbelievers were placated when Will, handed a pencil and paper by one of them, promptly produced a drawing that perfectly captured his scepticism, much to everyone's amusement and applause.

From that day onwards, he has been greatly sought after throughout the country and has even been invited to exhibit in some of the most notable galleries in France, England and the United States. During each of his exhibitions, he has made it a custom to paint a portrait of either the gallery's director or one of its patrons. On the closing day, the portrait is auctioned and the proceeds are split between Will and the gallery. The value of the successful bids has increased rapidly in recent years. He has also picked up quite a number of private commissions as a result. He is in great demand.

One of the proudest moments of my life was when the director of the Tate Gallery in London, whom I had met on a number of previous occasions, asked if she could organise a father and son showing - his paintings and my photographs. It almost coincided with Will's 20th birthday and, to celebrate, Thomas flew over and joined us. It pains me to say, purely from an egotistical point of view, that Will's work, today, is even more highly prized than my photographs!

Needless to say, he has met a multitude of people - famous (including movie and sports stars), influential (the rich, politicians, nobility and royalty) and artistic (from the creative, visual and performing arts). Many of these people had a great effect on him, either as paying commissions, or by way of introductions, or supportingly stroking his ego and encouraging his `gift'. There are too many for me to detail but one in particular, I should tell you, nearly brought about Will's demise.

His name was Gregor and he was introduced to Will following one of the Brisbane shows in which my friend Giuseppe Verdi's son, Tony, was dancing. Will was invited, since he was `in town' at the time. I had to decline Tony's invitation because of a prior commitment, and Rocco, to Will's disappointment, was left `at home' to run the restaurant.

At the after-party, the charismatic Gregor, a principal dancer, swept Will off his feet with his charm, humour and flattery. I imagine that his physical appearance (by all accounts handsome facial features, slim and with classically-defined musculature) stirred something deep within Will as well. They became instant friends and spent a lot of time together when it didn't interfere with either of their professional commitments. They were often seen around town, arm-over-shoulder, and at parties, and I believe that Will started staying for a night or two, then regularly, at Gregor's place instead of in hotel accommodation. It was Tony who first alerted his father that he thought something was wrong. Of course, Giuseppe rang me straight away.

It came about like this: Tony said that he rarely went to the Saturday night after-show cast parties, but had relented on this particular occasion because it was also to celebrate his first major supporting role. After he arrived, he noticed that Gregor seemed already well on the way to being under the influence of something, and that Will (whom he had not seen for a few weeks) was not the normal, coherent and happy self that Tony remembered, appearing gaunt with the beginning of dark circles under his eyes. When Tony questioned them, Will said he was `just having fun' and Gregor told him that Will had had `a few too many' and that he would take him home to his place to sleep it off. They left soon afterwards, with Gregor supporting Will as they managed to find their way out.

Concerned and suspicious because he had never seen Will drink alcohol, or in such poor physical condition, Tony followed them, and rang Rocco from his car to tell him what was happening and the direction in which they were all heading. Rocco headed off and Tony confirmed the address after the cars stopped. When he arrived a few minutes later, with noises coming from inside, Rocco knocked, then banged, on Gregor's door. Nobody answered.

Fearing that something injurious to Will was occurring, with one hefty shoulder charge against the door, Rocco was in, only to find them naked, Gregor on top of Will on the day bed, `pounding his arse' (as Rocco so un-delicately expressed it). Noticeably, it was without a condom, which he knew that Will always insisted on using (except with Tom). Rocco was so incensed that his friend was being abused, he pulled Gregor off him and punched him in the face before his feet even touched the ground.

Will appeared to be barely conscious. Rocco rang for an ambulance and Tony called his father who rang me. I immediately excused myself from my engagement and contacted my friend, Angela Grayson, Assistant Commissioner of Police, who had local officers there within minutes. I arrived at Gregor's just as the officers were putting Will into the ambulance. I travelled with him to the hospital, held his hand and talked to his near-lifeless body while one of the medical officers worked on him. We came so close to losing him! I cried. I will be forever in Tony's debt for saving Will's life.

I didn't tell Thomas the details when I rang him, but said that Will was in trouble and that I had arranged for young Daniel, Danny's son, to pick him up at home in the helicopter and take him to Cunnamulla where a Lear jet would be waiting to get him to Brisbane as quickly as possible. Thomas was beside himself with grief, but I didn't tell him all of the details. I just said that Will had been taken to hospital and needed his brother's support.

When I met him at Brisbane airport, Thomas was a mess, worried sick and imagining the worst, as you do. On the way to the hospital, I explained everything to him, just as Tony conveyed it to me, and as I have just told you. Thomas and I both waited by his bedside until Will regained consciousness. I'm sure that Will and Thomas may reveal more to you about that.

The police uncovered a stash of drugs in one of Gregor's bathroom drawers. Despite the fact that Will was in no condition even to be aware of what was happening, Gregor claimed that the sex was consensual. He was subsequently charged with drug possession, trafficking and administering an illicit drug to gain sexual advantage, and rape. Angela saw to it that Will's name never emerged in the press and that all records of the case were `secured from general access'. Gregor `disappeared', which gave Tony his big break on the stage.

While the work teams were re-developing The Village, I made sure that I took lots of photographs, and I am pleased that I was able to sponsor the venture. It has not only put The Village (back) on the map, it has provided employment opportunities for many of the locals both in construction and in tourism. Young Daniel has benefited from charter helicopter services, Jan Andersen's family has created a working farm-stay business, the pub does a roaring trade and Will sells some of his art works, but keeps the best ones for showing in galleries world-wide.

Acacia loves it when I visit the boys, and she loves cooking for me at her place, followed by our own `after-party'.

 

William O'Brien Jnr (Will), previously `Little Willie', half-brother of Tom, son of Bill Grant and Lilly O'Brien

Hey guys! What has everyone else told you? Let me add my thoughts of the past 10 years.

Last year of School

My last year of school was a life-changing one. I turned 17, got my driver's licence, had a lot of fun with my friends, lost my virginity, met my dad, `got discovered' for my art work and ventured `out into the world'. Eventful, eh?

And, on top of all that, I discovered that I had a brother! OMG! Not just some illegitimate urchin (that would be more like me), but, by some incredible power within the universe, my brother was none other than the new school teacher! To this day we still debate, during times of friendly rivalry, as to whose prayer (for a brother) God answered - his or mine!

I remember the day that I first saw Tom. All of us kids were playing in the weir. When Jane announced that she thought that the new schoolie had arrived, everyone dashed off to meet him, except for me and Jake, who got out and hid up a tree. I chose to hide in the space behind the waterfall of the weir. After a long while I slipped out, close to the bank farthest from the school, and stuck just the top of my head out of the water to see what was going on.

I couldn't believe what I saw. The new schoolie looked like me, except that he was older, of course, and better dressed than I ever was. All I could do was stare. Then his eyes locked onto mine. For some reason, perhaps in shock, I stood up, open-mouthed, and just gawked at him. Then, when I realised that I was having one of those sudden, unwelcome, teenage erections, I turned and dived underneath again, with my heart thumping. What had I just seen? This couldn't be the schoolie, I thought. Somebody's playing a joke on us, especially on me.

I don't remember how long I hid behind there with the image of the new schoolie person running through my mind, over and over. Was he real? Did he really look like me? How come? Did I just imagine it? Jake popped up in the water next to me and said that he had to go because his dad was here.

Eventually, when I plucked up the nerve to emerge again, everyone was gone. Still dripping, I walked across to the school. I knew the schoolie was inside because a car which I'd never seen before, was still there. I crept as quietly as I could to the door and looked in. I knocked and he said, "Come in". When he came to meet me, and told me that his name was `Mr Grant', I shook his extended hand and told him my name was `Little Willie', which is what I had been called, and answered to, all of my life.

Neither of us let go of our grip and just stared at each other, sizing each other up. I could tell that he was as puzzled as I was. What raced through my one-track mind was whether any other part of him was like me, not just our faces, blue eyes and hair. We could pass for brothers, sort of like Karl and Kurt.

Then his eyes dropped away from mine to the lower part of my body. He stared at that too for a while. When I looked down to check what he was gazing at, I could see that my wet shorts didn't disguise much at all, and my dark curly pubes and chunky cock were very obvious in my tight, wet, near-transparent shorts. Was he like me down there too? Did he like guys too? Would he like me? OMG! What if? I couldn't help but grin at the possibility.

Just after that he told me that he couldn't call me `Little Willie' ("for obvious reasons" he said, clearly checking out my still-conspicuous cock and balls again), and that he would prefer `Will'. It hit home that I actually had met a person who would not simply call me `Little Willie' because everyone else did, but `Will' instead. I instantly thought that he and I might, in some way, become friends. I somehow knew then that he must be just like me! I could feel it. I was so thrilled. I didn't know what to say. I simply continued grinning. But, then, just as suddenly, I realised that none of this could ever be possible because he was the schoolie, my school teacher, and I was just a dumb, big-dicked, fatherless school kid who liked guys instead of girls. I was so overcome, knowing that my momentary joy was actually a ridiculous delusion, that I began to cry. How embarrassing! I couldn't face him, crying, so I just ran.

However, as fate would have it, when I moved to Marty's (where Tom was staying) to get away from my drunken mother, that heralded the beginning of a lot of fun with Tom, getting to know him and finally `getting lucky' with him, which led to us sharing our beds (in reality, his bed mostly) and our bodies.

Then, so much happened so quickly; like how I met my dad, William Grant, who wasn't the demon that my mother (I don't want to talk about her!) had said that he was. He was (and is) a kind and generous man, an extremely talented photographer, and world-famous. Tom brought us together. Then, through Dad, I met Monika, Director of the Brisbane City Art Gallery and the rest, as they say, is history. But more about that in a minute.

I had so much fun with lots of guys during that first school holiday after Tom invited me to stay with him at his parents' home. Let's see, there was `horse-boy' Sam at the motel, the guys at the beach (Luke and I took a real liking to one another), Rocco Verdi (Tony's cousin) and, of course, Jarrod at the games shop. Tom and I `went all the way' for the first time in his bedroom. It's a wonder that I didn't wear the skin off my cock during those two weeks! Oh, and back here in The Village, how could I forget Karl! After I taught him to masturbate, we jerked each other around for a long time, and we probably would have the opportunity to do a lot more if Tom had shown some genuine interest in Kurt and had kept him away from Karl and me for more than about fifteen minutes at a time!

That year went all too fast, and I suddenly found that my school days were over. Anyway, by the end of the year, I had an exciting and prosperous career. I'm coming to that!

The visit by Sam, Mikey and their mother

Before I forget (how could I?), let me tell you about Sam and Mikey's visit. Tom and I stayed at their motel every time we travelled back and forth for the holidays. Sam and I loved playing with each other and we usually ended up in the shower with Sam thrusting his giant tool between my legs, as he loved to do. I loved the feel of it too, pressing and emerging from under my balls, lifting them each time he pushed! My spurt and his fountain were always the best ending to our fun. One time we actually spurted at exactly the same time. What a fantastic feeling and experience that was!

Tom, bless him, always managed to keep young Mikey entertained and distracted long enough for Sam and me to have our fun. Mikey loved it the first time that he beat Tom at chess! As I suspected, Tom confessed to me that he had let Mikey win.

I even let Mikey (`pony boy', as Tom and I nick-named him because he was `horse-boy' Sam's little brother) come down and wake me up each morning, whenever we were there, by `tickling' me (you know what that means!) just like he did the first time. I pretended to be asleep and when I would suddenly wake up and grab him, he was so excited that he squealed with delight and (perhaps) mock concern, especially when I convinced him that I was about to throw him, fully clothed, into the shower. I used to lift him with one arm across his chest and the other between his legs from behind, which gave me a `convenient' and playful feel of his boy gear, which was most often hard. He seemed to relish that game too. I could tell by the end of the term three holiday that our `pony boy' Mikey (who was `twelve and eleven twelfths' as he reminded us then) was already growing into a bit of a young donkey! At least, part of him was. LOL.

Anyway, on our way back home on that third holiday break, Tom again extended an invitation to them to come and visit The Village because, by then, we were well settled into our 4-bedroom house with visitor accommodation available. Their mother said that she would organise it and bring them out, only they couldn't stay more than a day or two, and it would have to be when their father was home to look after the motel.

`The planets all aligned' for the boys just a couple of weeks before the Christmas holidays. Tom had been in contact with their mother who was going to bring Sam and Mikey down on the second Friday in December, but they would have to be home by the Saturday night. So that would give us Friday afternoon and night with them and all of Saturday morning.

They arrived late Friday morning and Tom introduced their mother to Julie Smith who brought lunch over for them, Tom and me. When their mother went with Julie to look at the pub, Sam and Mikey joined in with our lunchtime games, including everyone's favourite, soccer, where all the kids play on two evenly-balanced teams. Mikey was on my side and Sam was on Jake's. Karl and Kurt were always on opposite sides with the little kids evenly allocated. It was a rule that everyone had to get a kick at goal so we used to take turns, by age.

When Sam asked where to take a pee, I said that I needed to go too and showed him the toilet. We stood next to each other at the longish urinal, hung out, and started to let fly, looking down at each other's hoses. "Bit of fun tonight?" I asked Sam. He grinned but became more concerned at his growing stiffness especially because, almost predictably, Karl, Kurt and Jake came in. "I had to go too," Karl said, standing up close next to Sam and immediately checking him out. "Me too," Kurt added. "And me," Jake smirked. I could tell from the small amount that they peed, and by their erections, that they were more interested in Sam's hard-to-disguise, horse-sized tool than in relieving their bladders.

It was plucky Karl who was the first to succumb to the temptation and ask Sam if he could feel it. Sam agreed and Karl let him feel his too. Of course, Kurt and Jake both had a turn. The three of them left, grinning, with their shirts hanging out to cover and disguise their excitements. Poor Sam! There was no way that he could hide his, so I told him that washing his face and hands in the cold water would help and that he should come out only when he was comfortable. He thanked me and I don't know where he tucked it but, when he finally re-joined the game, it wasn't obvious.

Five minutes later, when Mikey said he needed to go, Karl and Kurt went again. I knew why, and it wasn't to pee! Sam came over to me and said, "The little squirt's grown a lot since you saw him last. He's as big now as those two are, from what I saw of them, or maybe even bigger." Then he asked me, "Hey, actually, have you ever seen Mikey's dick? It's a nice one. He'll be thirteen soon. He's around the age that I was when mine went absolutely crazy and just kept on growing. I didn't think it was ever going to stop!"

Well, that probably accounts for why the three of them took so long in there. I asked no questions!

At the end of the day, Tom, Sam, Mikey and I all walked over to the pub for afternoon tea. I discovered that Tom and I aren't the only ones who like custard tarts! Julie even presented us with some dinner to take home. At least, by then, we had the ability to re-heat our food without having to use firewood.

I gave the boys a tour of the house, while Tom escorted their mother around. She was envious of the kitchen. After dinner, we all had coffee (or a chocolate milk shake) and dessert in the lounge room. Mikey and Tom played chess. Sam and I stuck to our electronic games. I actually won some! The boys' mother took a great interest in some of the albums and historic magazines that Tom had placed on the coffee table.

Tom had organised for the boys to have the room between their mother's `pink' room and the bathroom on the southern side while I took the `blue' room next to Tom's on the northern side. We all went to our own rooms once people started dropping hints about being tired. The boys were a bit antsy but their mother was actually really `beat' after driving the long distance.

I lay in bed waiting for Sam to `visit' as we had previously arranged. He finally opened my door then closed it again. "I had to wait for Mikey to drop off and then make sure he was out to it," he almost apologised. That was the first time that he and I had been in bed together. Previously we had played with each other on the motel bed and had fun in the shower, but to be able to be fully naked between the sheets was a thrill for me, as I know it was for him. Tickling, frotting, jerking and sucking, and Sam's couple of fountains ensured that the towels needed a good wash by the end of a couple of hours. And I had to spray lot of deodorant after Sam went back to his room.

On the Saturday morning Sam's mother couldn't help herself and made excellent use of the big kitchen. I could smell breakfast cooking when I woke by being tickled by Mikey. I opened one eye. He was alone. I jumped out of bed, grabbed him and picked him up (like I usually did) and was able to confirm Sam's assertion of his little brother's nether-region growth. We didn't make it to the bathroom shower. LOL. I `wrestled' him to my bed, while he kept a firm grip on my cock, laughing "tickle, tickle". I tickled him too, until he exploded. Lots of subdued moaning rather than overt squealing! More wetness for the towels from another family fountain. And more deodorant.

It's going to be very interesting when the two of them (now adults) drive back out here for a few days later this year. I can't help but wonder whether Mikey is as big as his `horse boy' brother now. And what will Tom say if Sam and Mikey both want to play `tickle' with me? I wonder, could I ever persuade Tom to keep Mikey busy while I play with Sam again?

The extension to Jintabudjaree station

You all know the story of how Tom came to own this place, Jintabudjaree Station. Even before that, he and I had decided that we couldn't live apart, and Tom had plans drawn up for a big house in The Village. But, when he became the owner of Jintabudjaree, we decided to live here instead. The architect who had been engaged by my dad to draw up plans for the restoration of the pub also designed an art studio and gallery for me here, out the back. The plans balanced the location of the studio with stables that were to be added on the other side of the house. I love my horses. Ash made sure that the stables were down-wind of my studio and not the other way around. Smart guy. Not just a cute arse! LOL.

Here, today, I still draw and paint. People come from all over the world to watch me and talk to me, and many of them pay me to paint their portraits. I like to have those people stay for a few days while I get to know them better so that I can paint them as they really are; not just as they appear at first glance. My dad is amazed at my skills. I tell him that I must have inherited them from him and thank him every time that he mentions it. He loves that!

First exhibition

I recall vividly the first time that Monika wanted me to display my paintings and drawings. I didn't think that my work was such a big deal at the time; it was only what I had loved doing for years. However, everybody kept telling me how good it was, so I began to believe it. Anyway, Monika invited me to send her a whole range of my work - horses, landscapes and people. Dad helped Tom and me to pick out a number of them - `early' ones and `later' ones, then he took them to her for me so that they didn't get lost or damaged on the way. I know that he enjoyed any opportunity to meet and spend time with her. LOL

When Tom and I met Dad at the Gold Coast he took us to the exhibition. We arrived about two hours after everyone else, as Monika had requested. When I walked in, I was amazed at what I saw. At first glance, I didn't even recognise the paintings and drawings as my own. My pictures were hung on various walls with a light above each one to highlight it. Monika had spread the portraits and the horses among the landscapes. I had thought that she might have grouped them but she said later that it was better for people who had a particular interest to walk around and see all of the others as well. It also prevented people from `bunching up' in any particular area.

Monika greeted us and then, after making sure that we had something to eat and drink, rang a little bell and called for silence. She made a wonderful speech, thanked everyone for coming and hoped that they appreciated the works that they had been viewing and discussing. There were comments floating around about the skill of `the artist' in his or her ability to work with such a variety of subjects, and in different media. To that point Monika had obviously revealed very little about `the master' of the artwork. All they had to go on were two different signatures, `LW' and `WOBG'. I heard her assure them that they were by the same artist and that the `LW' signature was what he used in his `early period'.

Monika motioned to me. Dad and I walked and stood a little behind her and to one side. "That's Bill Grant," somebody was heard to say, then added aloud, "Don't tell me you've traded your camera for brushes and pencils, Bill!"

I should have guessed that many of these people would be familiar with Dad because of his photographs. One particular remark came, "Who's the kid, Bill? Have you taken on an assistant? What, getting too old to read your own light meter?" There were a few sniggers but most ignored the semi-inebriate's comment.

Monika overlooked him and simply said, "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you my latest, and most talented discovery in decades, perhaps ever, the artist of all the works that you see displayed today, Mr William O'Brien-Grant," and she motioned to me to stand alongside her. There were a few seconds of absolute silence and then some polite applause. The same drunk guy piped up, "What's this, Monika? Are you pulling our leg? It's not April Fool's Day, you know! You've just wasted two hours of my time!" I felt my temperature rise, my lips tighten and the hair on my neck bristle, like it did when my mother used to drink or when she `entertained' a guy.

Monika obviously knew how to handle people like him. She ignored him. Then she said, "Ladies and gentlemen, let me assure you that Mr William O'Brien-Grant IS the artist. I will invite him to speak and then you may ask him some questions." She smiled at me. This was unexpected. I looked to Dad for reassurance and he nodded.

I remember, heart thumping and hair still bristling, taking a deep breath, then I said, "Thank you Monika for this opportunity, and thank you ladies and gentlemen for coming to look at my work. I would like to hear all of your comments later, and I'm happy to answer any questions that you might have."

Then I looked at the drunk, squarely in the eyes, and said (not in my sweetest voice), "And thank you, sir, for availing yourself so freely of Monika's liquid refreshments. I can tell that your two hours have not been wasted at all."

I swallowed hard, suddenly pondering that I had opened my mouth and just insulted one of those people to whom I should be most grateful for possibly promoting my work. However, instead of any reprimand from those present, the room erupted into laughter and spontaneous applause.

"I don't fucking believe it!" the guy shot back, much to everyone's overt disapproval. Now I could see that Dad was getting a little agitated too. The guy continued, "If you're the artist, why don't you prove it. He's a pencil and paper. Let's see you draw me."

There was a sudden hush in the room, but I readily accepted the challenge. It took me only around ten minutes to capture his squinty eyes, the sneer of his mouth and the nastiness of his attitude. "What is your name, sir?" I asked, to which he replied haughtily, as if I should have recognised him, "I'm Frank Osborne!"

I smiled and wrote in bold letters under his pencil sketch, `F.O.', happily thinking to myself of an appropriate ribald rendition of those letters. I signed it `WOBG' and displayed it to everyone, at which there were raucous hoots and whistles, before I handed it to him. I think that I answered a barrage of questions for nearly another hour before Dad `rescued' me (or was it them? LOL). We thanked Monika and left. Dad kept commenting all of the way back to my hotel on how well I had put that widely-despised bore in his place. He said that that action alone had instantly won me a multitude of supporters, apart from their fascination with my artistic talent.

Travelling with Dad

During the next couple of years, I had the opportunity to travel around with Dad. When that happened, he always booked us separate hotel rooms. Despite his assertions that he wanted to afford me `my space', I suspect that it was more for his benefit than mine, so that he could smuggle in some female acquaintance and have some fun in private.

However, there was one occasion when the reservations had somehow been `screwed up' and the embarrassed hotel manager, knowing who we were, offered us his best suite instead, gratis - two bedrooms, one bathroom, large living area and even a kitchen. I remember that, years before, Dad and I were supposed to share a room at The Village pub the day that Andy, Mrs T and Aunty Susan came to town with him after his friend's funeral, but, because I hardly saw him, I believe that he changed his mind about spending the night with his son, and slept somewhere else.

What was even more memorable than simply sharing the suite with my Dad was that I actually got to see his body naked for the first time. I'd be lying if I told you that I hadn't wondered about it, multiple times, before then. We needed to get ready to go to an exhibition of his work and both of us required a shower because of the heat and humidity during the day.

"You go first," he told me, and he said, "when you're done, just leave the shower running and let me know."

So, I showered and when I stepped out, I called, "I'm finished! The shower's free," expecting him to wait until I emerged. However, while I was still drying my nakedness, he walked in with a towel around his waist. I was still a little plumped up from the hot water, but hanging quite freely.

His face flushed a little with embarrassment and he apologised, "Sorry, son. I thought you that said you were finished in here."

What could I say? Other than, "That's OK. I guess you were destined to see your son in his birthday suit one day."

Having mucked around with so many guys in the past, being seen naked didn't faze me at all, even if it was my Dad. I'm sure that Karl and Kurt's dad had seen them without their clothes plenty of times. I almost felt an element of `closure', being naked in the presence of my father. Dad shrugged, took his towel from around his waist and hung it behind the door, then tested the water temperature with his hand. I couldn't help but look at his body, all of it, even though he was my Dad.

"Have you ever seen one this big?" he asked, facing me and grinning knowingly at my focus on his manhood.

"Yes," I replied simply, adding no further comment, but continuing to dry myself. I was thinking of Sam. However, two things crossed my mind immediately - firstly, my mother was actually correct about one thing and secondly, it was evident that I was still the `Little Willie'.

"Who?" he asked, surprised. "Not Thomas?" This caught me off guard but told me two more things. One, that he thought he was the biggest donkey around and, two, that he had never seen Tom's - at least in its adult form.

"No," I replied, smirking. "In that department, I'm the big brother."

"Well, I'm glad that you inherited more from me than just your artistic talent," he replied, stepping into the shower.

The Tate Gallery exhibition

Then there was my first trip to London. The director of the Tate Gallery had arranged for an exhibition of Dad's and my work at the same time. She thought that a father and son showing would be unique. I don't know if Dad had negotiated the dates or not, but it was during the Australian school holidays, so Tom got to come over too.

On that occasion, I was so glad that there was no confusion over his room and ours. As a bonus, Tom and I also had our own private, blond, trim, handsome `steward'. (I still haven't worked out why the Americans call them `bellhops'. Do they actually hop when someone rings a bell?) He brought our room service order up to us before Tom and I had even dressed. We were in our underwear when `the cutie', as Tom and I referred to him behind his back later, arrived. It was immediately obvious what his orientation was when he couldn't take his eyes off us. It wasn't just the apparent `twin' thing. He didn't say anything while he served the food, but continued to focus much lower than our faces, and the growing tube down the inside leg of his tight black uniform trousers `sealed the deal', as far as I was concerned. He was either wearing boxers or no underwear at all. He looked about 15 but he assured us, when I asked, that people had to be `over 18' to be employed there.

To cut a long story short, without much persuasion needed, Tom and I ended up with him in our bed after he was off duty. He was so good with the lights out that we invited him on three consecutive nights. I certainly `hopped' when he rang my bell! It was a great early twentieth birthday celebration for me. We tipped him well when we left. I don't think that Dad ever found out.

The exhibition was a huge success, and I've made a point of staying at the same hotel the two other times that I've been in London, with Tom's knowledge and blessing, and the `bellhop' even provides the essential protection and flavoured lube. Great service! Ding! Dong!

Life at Jintabudjaree

It was fairly Spartan when Tom and I first moved into the homestead. There wasn't even a refrigerator, and we relied on what the Smiths lent us from the pub. Needless to say, we bought our own generator and used it until Ash designed some solar panels to fit in. Almost the entire roof areas of my studio and the stables now generate our electricity.

And, Ash solved the mystery of the water, discovering that the house was actually built on top of a spring which force-feeds the water into a series of just-below-ground cisterns which, apart from inhibiting leaks, stores the water and gives us the water pressure to run showers, etc. Ash said that he'd never seen anything like it and that one engineer back then certainly knew his stuff! When we first had showers here, the water was warm, heated by the hot sun on the thin layer of earth covering the last tank. That's now been hooked up with the solar panels so that we can have quite hot ones.

Tom discovered another passage (a sliding panel actually) between his bedroom and the adjacent one, the `blue' one, which became `my' room. This meant that whenever we had people staying Tom and I could slip into each other's room without being seen.

The visitors were given the `pink' and `green' rooms on the south side, with their own bathroom. We tried not to be noisy during our love-making if there was anyone else here; unless, of course, it was Marty and Ash. Whenever they came to stay, we all agreed to leave our doors open. It was fun to listen to them going at it, and it was often joked about over breakfast as to who heard what the other two were doing through the night. They still visit. We still leave our doors open. Breakfast discussions are still a time of much merriment.

Karl

I can vividly remember the day that I spilled the beans to young Karl on what Tom and I had been doing. It was a Saturday morning. Karl had Helen's permission to stay with us at Jintabudjaree over the weekend as a reward for having worked extra hard with some tourists every weekend during the previous month, and that Kurt would be the one `on duty' at home this weekend instead.

Tom had gone into Big Town. We were alone and it was one of those mornings when we just took the rare opportunity to play with each other, like we used to do after school when I was still a student. Up until then he and I had only jerked each other off, but, on that particular day, with nobody else around within coo-ee of the place, I just felt like giving him a bit more, so he ended up getting his first blow job. He had just jerked me off first that time, but I hadn't finished him off yet. He just lay there on my bed, thick erection straight up in anticipation of his turn. The conversation went something like this:

"Want me to try something different?" I asked him.

"Like what?" he replied, grinning, but with obvious suspicion about what I had in mind.

"Just lie back and enjoy it," I told him. I continued to stroke him up and down, like I usually did, until his body relaxed. He closed his eyes and I licked him from his balls to the tip of his cock, which shuddered. I did this a couple of times and then just took him into my mouth and sucked. I massaged the sensitive spot below his head with my tongue. At first, he just groaned in ecstasy.

Then he lifted his head off the bed to look, or to check if what he felt was really happening. "What the hell...?" He began.

I pushed him back down and repeated, "Just relax and enjoy it." He took another look then lay back and took a couple of deep breaths. I knew when he was about to blow. (Hey you don't jerk a guy off three times a week for a couple of years and not be able to tell when he's about to shoot his stuff! Apart from his stomach and leg muscles tensing, he used to make little gurgling noises in his throat.)

"You better watch out!" he told me. "You know what's gonna happen!"

I ignored him and, after re-positioning myself a little, took him right down my throat and began to hum. I knew that the vibrations would drive him over the edge. He screamed as he blew, then I backed off, cleaning him on the way.

"So how was that?" I said as nonchalantly as I could muster, although I was pretty excited about doing that to him for the first time.

"Fuck!" he panted looking up at me from the bed. "How long have you known how to do that?"

"A while!" I replied.

"Bastard! And you never showed me! So, who have you been practising on?" he demanded.

I suddenly realised that I may already have said too much, but, hey! This was Karl! I thought that if he and I could to do this for each other, then it would certainly help make the most of the precious little time that we were spending together, since I was travelling more and he was mostly up on the farm, Whispering Gums. And I could certainly have fun teaching him to do it to me.

I said, "I'll bet you can't guess!" There was a pause while he contemplated the possibilities. Before he spoke, I added, "But, you have to swear that if you do guess correctly, you will never tell another soul! Or I'll kill you if HE doesn't!" He nodded in agreement, still thinking.

"Swear!" I said, or I'll never do it again. Then I lay my body on his, and I held his arms at the wrists, so that he was pinned and unable to move, not that he would have wanted to, with our cocks pressed hard against each other's. "AND," I said, in his face, "you will tell me, forever, everything that you ever get up to with those visitors of yours." He had previously made mention of the sexy tourists that had worked with him up on the farm, and I wondered what he did with them, and, based on a couple of his comments, whether females were included.

Regaining his breath, he said, "If I promise to tell you stuff, then you have to swear too, not to tell anyone else - especially not my brother Kurt, or your brother Tom, or anyone! Deal?"

Little did I realise that, in the following years, he would have so much to tell me!

"Deal!" I said. "Now swear."

"You first!" he told me, smirking.

I said to him, "Karl Andersen, I swear that anything you ever tell me about what you do with other people will never cross my lips. I promise not to tell anything to anyone."

"OK," he replied. "Will O'Brien, and I swear, too, that I will never tell a living soul anything that you tell me about what you do with other people. I promise and swear."

Then I did something really weird. I licked the tip of his nose, as if it was some pagan way to `seal the deal'. However, I had totally underestimated his strength. He replaced my grip with his own, and rolled over, until he was on top of me, and he licked my nose, before I even realised what was happening. "I'd much rather do something else to you, like what you did to me before!" he said. "I've always wanted to try that, but Kurt won't let me do it to him."

There was a moment of silence and I repeated my earlier remark, "Guess who, then!"

"So, you must have practised on my brother, Kurt. That's why he didn't want me to do it, because you're so good!" He looked down on my face.

"Nope," I said. "Never have." I knew that it was a lie.

He paused. "Jake, then."

"Nope." True!

He had to think. "Hmm. Who's left? ... Not your cousin, Marty?"

"Nope. Strike three!" Another lie. I should have stopped there, but was enjoying my little game too much.

He had a blank expression on his face as though his mental list of potential bedfellows had just been erased. "There's nobody else," he said. Then I could see the wheels turn, one final crank. "Wait. Not... No; it wouldn't be him!" I raised and lowered my eyebrows and grinned. "No, that's not possible!" he said, seriously. I grinned more. "You don't mean to tell me that you and, ... and, Mr Grant, have been doing that?"

"And more!" I smirked. I knew the instant that the words left my mouth that I'd really stuffed up this time, and that keeping the remainder a secret would be impossible.

"What more?" he replied, in almost a reflex reaction to my words, without even considering what he was asking.

"Come on, Karl," I said to him. "You've seen enough animals doing it to know what else there is!"

He thought, then let out, "Fuck!" It was more an expression of shock than an answer to his own question.

"Right!" I replied.

"But, that's what males and females do. Not guys. I've seen you two smooching, but that?"

"Really?" I questioned him. "Haven't you ever seen a ram try to mount another one? Or two stallions? Or two bulls?"

His wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression told me that the answer was in the affirmative, but that he was trying to process the implication. So, I added, "What makes you think that two guys couldn't give it a go?"

"I've seen pictures," he replied, "but I thought that they were just pretending. Do you mean that two guys actually ... can do it?" I nodded. "What, up the arse?" I nodded again. "What, you and Mr Grant have done that?"

Three nods were enough. "Yes," I replied. "Now, you have sworn that you will never repeat that to a living soul!"

"Doesn't it stink? I wouldn't want my cock in anyone's shit!"

I explained to him about enemas and condoms and how great it feels. When he asked me whether Tom put his in me or I put mine in him, I simply answered "Yes!"

"You've got such a big cock. Doesn't it hurt him? And I've seen his. How does he get that into your little arse hole?" He laughed at his own words.

And so, the conversation went on; me sharing much more than I ever intended, and him telling me about his dreams about both male and female tourists, and having to relieve himself the way I had taught him way back when he was thirteen.

"Teach me?" he said. It was half command and half plea.

I never did.

That honour went, not long after, to a young but, apparently `very experienced', Swedish teenager who was staying at the farm. The boy, while they were out together in one of the shearers' cottages, said that he admired Karl's `great body' and that he wanted Karl to fuck him. Karl replied that he didn't know how. The boy produced the condoms and showed him. Karl said that he got `very lucky, very often' that week!

To this day I don't know how good Karl is at it. It's almost like a mutual respect for each other that we don't do it.

I sometimes go up to Thunungara and help Jake. He has a lot to do up there, now that he has to look after his dad, following Reg's stroke. Jake and I had been playing around long before I taught Karl stuff, so we get on very well. He's told me that he's not gay, but is still happy for him and me to `give each other a hand' from time to time when he can get away from the house.

We usually head up the river on our motor bikes for an hour or so. Nobody asks any questions, and I've made sure that I've never told him about me and Tom, beyond the fact that we live together as brothers. He's never asked me.

He supposed, one time, that I might find a girlfriend while I was away travelling. He doesn't know me as well as I thought that he might, probably thinking that guys just do stuff for fun until they find the right girl!

Local exhibitions and media events in Brisbane

I suppose that you've already heard about Gregor from somebody. Looking back, I'm not sure how I allowed things to get to that stage. It began innocently enough one night when I was away from home, in Brisbane, and Mr Verdi invited me to a performance in which his son, Tony, was dancing. (Tony and Tom had become good friends.) Because he was Tony's father, Mr Verdi was allowed `backstage' after the performance, and Tony had obtained permission for me to accompany him.

I had never seen Tony dance professionally before, and I was enthralled at his graceful performance, gliding around on the balls of his feet, probably hoping not to show too much of the balls in his tights.

When we were alone, I complimented Tony and then whispered to him, "Who was the male principal? He looked `hot'."

He smiled and said, "Be careful! There are stories about him!" He didn't explain but introduced me to him, at my request.

I enthusiastically complimented Gregor on his performance and his muscles. He had seen my work, and there was an immediate mutual admiration. He admired the horses. Loved the portraits. I offered to do his, if he wanted me to. He looked me up and down and said, "You can do me any time."

You know what I'm like with double meanings. Plenty of practice with Tom, and with Marty. However, I took the bait.

One warm afternoon at his place, I did his portrait, a body pose, which he requested be fully naked. More bait. I took it. He said, "Now that I've got my gear off, you must be feeling uncomfortable, being so over-dressed. Why don't you take off a few bits?" With each piece that I removed he applauded. The shoes, the shirt, the singlet. He stared at my pants and I finally succumbed and removed them too. He applauded again, stared at my CKs and waited. "That's enough," I told him, laughing. "If I remove any more, I won't be able to concentrate on painting."

How he seduced me into mutual masturbation and sucking I don't remember. It just seemed a natural progression, after having done it with so many other guys in my life. He asked if I wanted to do more and I said `No'. I had learned where to draw the line.

Everything short of the limit that I had set became the `normal' fun that we shared together; after rehearsals, after a show, after an exhibition, after dinner at a restaurant, or just any afternoon when we were both in the mood. I was a long way from home and from Tom, and Gregor was charming, funny, experienced and gentle.

I would sometimes travel to Brisbane even when there was no artistic event and I started seeing him every spare moment that we could be together. He taught me a few things that I would try out on Tom, who asked where I had learned that. I told him "Santa Claus". Maybe it should have been the `tooth fairy'. Gregor was very masculine and yet had a very gentle nature about him, almost feminine. Does that even make sense? Amazingly masculine body, with superbly defined muscles, and yet ... I don't know - not effeminate - just soft.

We made each other's body tingle with excitement and he told me on multiple occasions that he wanted me `totally'. I knew exactly what he meant, but my answer was always `No'. I knew where to stop. I'd gone all the way with Jarryd from the Games Shop, but that was with condoms, and with Tom. If I could deny Karl that pleasure, I certainly wasn't going to give in to Gregor. (There was fun with the bellhop, but that had been with Tom, who actually encouraged me to enjoy him when I was away from home!)

Gregor's constant requests to `go all the way' were polite but persistent and my responses were unyielding and adamant. There was an increasing number of times when I could tell that he was frustrated at my `No', but his reactions were controlled and I never saw him angry.

During times when I stayed at his place, he would often have visitors who came and went within a few minutes. They would hand him some money and he would give them something in return. I never saw, or knew, what it was. How naïve I still was back then!

I remember staring in the mirror one morning, after I'd been with him for a whole week, and thinking that I was looking really thin in the face, but I wasn't sure why. It just seemed to have crept up on me.

And I remember the night, at the end of that week, when I was invited to a ballet performance plus the after-party. Gregor was dancing principal, as usual. Tony was performing his first really important supporting role. Mr Verdi asked that I be there and told me that he had invited Dad, but he was busy. I was looking forward to seeing Rocco again, but, unfortunately, he was busy too - running the restaurant for Mr Verdi.

Both Tony and Gregor were wonderful. I could have watched their muscular bodies do jumps and spins around the stage for hours. Gregor graciously enlightened me that they were `ballons' and `pirouettes'. Tony told me to go on ahead to the party with Gregor and that he would catch up with me shortly. He firstly wanted to spend some time chatting about the performance with his father who was anxious to get back to the restaurant.

Gregor had got me a couple of drinks. He knew that I preferred not to drink alcohol. They were just like lemonade but with a funny taste. I thought that they were just a different brand, like Tony and Rocco had at their Villa. He introduced me to all of the cast. I started to feel strange. That was about the time that Tony arrived and asked me what I had been drinking. I replied that it was only lemonade and that I was having a good time. Then I told Gregor that I was feeling really sick and he offered to take me home and he told Tony that he would look after me.

Gregor helping me undress for bed was the last thing that I remember clearly until I woke up in hospital with Tom holding my hand and Dad on the other side of me. They both looked as though they had been crying. It was only afterwards that I understood why. They did some tests and told me that I was `all clear'.

My strength quickly recovered when I returned to Jintabudjaree. I could almost feel the health flowing back into and through my body. This house is amazing. I experienced the miraculous restoration that others feel when they come here; what Andy and Mrs Thompson felt; what Aunty Susan felt.

Tom was wonderful. He remarked on how my countenance had changed, but didn't blame me for what had happened. He said that it was a blessing just to hear Marty and me trading insults again, and to hear Ash and me laughing at each other over breakfast. He just told me that he loved me and that he was glad to `have me back' from whatever dark place I had been in. I burst into tears when he said that. He just held me and let me blubber all over his shoulder. I love him so much!

Life now

After that episode with Gregor, I decided to spend as much time as I could at home, even turning down opportunities to appear at exhibitions. I initially limited them to two per year. I think all that did was to make gallery directors even more keen to have me present at their particular event. Tom and Dad helped me choose which ones to attend.

Apart from rural landscapes I also began to draw and paint cityscapes. I discovered that I could even give them their own personalities - from depressed to vibrant. I didn't know that I could do that. It just seemed to happen. Monika was thrilled. Gallery directors pleaded with me and almost begged that they be allowed to exhibit more of my work.

I painted two pictures of Gregor rehearsing. It was cathartic. In one he was the charismatic and athletic beauty that I first saw, almost angelic. The other portrayed him as the devil that he became, or was all along, perhaps, - still athletic but discernibly scheming and conniving to satisfy his own lusts.

One canvas was almost a mirror image of the other. Apart from that obvious difference, I made other, more subtle, changes. I painted the second one in slightly more muted tones. And Dad was the first one to notice that the small pictures on the wall in the background were different - in the first it was my picture of The Village weir. In the second I substituted a city building in a laneway outside the dance rehearsal hall. The first painting Gregor's handsome, soft bulge. The second displayed an erection in his tights; I originally thought that I would increase his stiffness by about 25% to indicate the magnitude of his evil. However, upon reflection, and as a final act of my revenge, I reduced his actual size by a similar percentage!

Both paintings were propped against one of my studio walls for months. Tom said that it was painful for him to look at them. He told me that he could see, in the first one, what had attracted me, but that he hated the person in the second one, and wanted to kill him. That was so unlike Tom's loving, caring nature, and I realised then that I couldn't keep them because the second one might have the potential to spawn a dark side in Tom. I offered them to Monika, who knew the story but she thought that showing them in any gallery would not be a good idea. What happened had not been reported in the media but Gregor was a celebrated identity who had suddenly `disappeared'. There would be too many questions if my paintings ended up on public display.

In the end, I gave them, with his concurrence, to Tony. He said that they would always be a reminder to him of how something so good could deteriorate into something so bad, with the wrong life choices. Having broken his ankle and terminated his dancing career, he appreciated them even more. I have offered to paint one of him at his best, and told him that he must visit us at Jintabudjaree and that perhaps his ankle will be healed. He is willing, but sceptical.

There are days now when I feel like a kid again. Not a little kid, but just like the year that I first met Tom. That was the beginning of a positive change in my life (despite the Gregor `thing'). Even though Karl and Jake and I are all 10 years older, we still manage to reproduce our teenage fun - sometimes in the weir (with Tom and Kurt) but, most often, in private.

Ash and Marty are terrific! I love having them around. We seem to have no inhibitions when they are here, especially since the dress code is, well, basic... the most basic. LOL. And, even though we stay with our own partners there have been a couple of occasions when the four of us have playfully wrestled together. Lots of massage oil adds to the fun!

At the end of the year, we are expecting a visit from Sam and Mikey. Who knows what will happen then!

 

Thomas (Tom) Grant, school teacher appointed to The Village school, half-brother of Will O'Brien, son of Bill Grant

I'm sitting on my upstairs verandah ready to watch the early spring dawn turn into sunrise. This is, perhaps, my favourite time of the day. My earliest memory of this countryside waking up was the day that I went jogging and ran into the man-eater, Anna. The sunrise was heart-stopping; my encounter with her was too, but for the totally opposite reason.

I take another sip of coffee and place my favourite, oversized `souvenir' mug that Will brought me back from New York onto the decking beside me. I pull the blanket more tightly around my body and I wait.

A strip of sky across the eastern horizon has, from the black of night, become a discernible dark grey.

Dormant in the house behind me are William O'Brien-Grant, artist extraordinaire (in my bed), and `Cook & O'Brien, Heritage Restorations' in the green room. All three must be totally spent after the activities of last night! What I didn't participate in, I heard.

The dark grey turns a shade lighter and extends upwards and across a broad stretch of the horizon.

Marty insists on cooking breakfast for all of us whenever he and Ash stay here. Sometimes he surprises us, but this morning he has promised scrambled eggs with sliced mushrooms and herbs, crispy bacon, sausages and a couple of his `Marty-made' hash browns, all served with buttered, thick toast, courtesy of his most recent visit to the bakery in Big Town. What a combination! My mouth is watering. I flush the saliva away with another mouthful of coffee and stare towards the horizon.

The horizontally extensive light grey now has a peach-coloured tinge to it, and the blackness above it has been forced to rapidly retreat.

The morning after Marty and Ash `paired up', I have to admit that I was a little jealous - well, maybe not just a little. It was true that Will and I had each other, but there was something alluring about Ash. When Dad first introduced us, I immediately fancied him as my `number 2' guy. I loved his cute, tight backside from the moment that I first laid eyes on it. I knew that Will was `on to me'. He kicked me in the ankle. Who was he kidding? The lust in his eyes was as strong as mine. I kicked him back.

However, I cannot deny Marty his amazing partner; they have been together now for many years. Their antics in bed, when they are here, seem only to be matched by those of Will and myself. If they become too noisy, Will and I turn up our own volume, just to tease them. Occasionally, but not often, the four of us play together, almost without inhibition. There is only one thing that we don't do - that which is especially reserved for our own partners in our own beds, after `brushing our teeth'. Yes, we still use that term and I remember fondly inventing it as a secret code for Will and me to clean ourselves in preparation for a full-on penetrative session, bareback.

The peach is becoming quite orange now; brightest at the spot at which I know the sun will soon emerge. The gradation from that to the navy blue which has totally replaced the blackness, is indescribably beautiful.

I feel hands on my shoulders. They slip inside the blanket and begin to massage my shoulders. "Good morning, Sunshine," I whisper to Will. "Don't stop. That feels wonderful."

"Just repaying a bit of pleasure for last night's marathon," he replies. "You were amazing. You get better with age; Dad would say, `like a good wine', but I think, like a well-worn saddle."

"I've got a saddle for you right here," I tell him, patting my lap. "And it's not worn out at all!"

"Hey, it must be somewhat worn," he jokes, "especially after last night."

I open the blanket and Will eases his bare backside onto my naked front-side. He leans his weight back onto my chest. I enfold us both in my ample covering, and hug him tightly. He purrs, and rubs his cheek against my own. My right hand, inside the blanket, rests first on his abdomen and finds its own way naturally between his legs then completely enfolds his manhood, which is as familiar to me as my own. There is no attempt to arouse him. I just enjoy the pleasure of holding his body. My cock and his buttocks have this understanding - when it's not inside him, it prefers to lodge in the crack between his cheeks, except, today it is pointing down instead of upwards. He contracts each cheek alternately, ensuring that everything down there is in its proper place. He turns his face to me and kisses me on the cheek. "Love you," he whispers into my ear.

The sky above the broader horizon has turned into a light grey-blue, with a centralised deep orange glow. The bright blue all the way above it heralds another fine day. I'm just waiting for the sun. This is the best bit - like the anticipation just before an ejaculation. It won't be long now!

"Love you too, handsome devil!" I tell him back.

There is a pause. "Do you really?" he asks, rubbing his face against mine again.

I'm taken by complete surprise. "What do you mean, do I really? Of course I do. Why would you even ask me such a question?"

"Because of what I did with Gregor," he says, placing one hand over my right hand.

"That was years ago!" I tell him. "I thought that we had put that well and truly behind us."

"I'm just so, so, sorry that it happened," he tells me, and he emits a single, deep sob.

"Hey, we agreed to chalk that up to experience, remember? Just a youthful folly!" I try to encourage him out of his mood. I add, "Besides, I saw the first portrait that you painted of him. He was beautiful, wasn't he?"

"Very," Will responds, after a reflective moment. "And it wasn't just his body. He was great company when I didn't have you with me. He was good at making me laugh and forget the formality of the exhibitions and media conferences." Will is quiet for a moment, then says, "Please don't hold it against me, Tom. I couldn't stand it if you ever doubted my love for you.

"OK. But, there's just one small thing that I will forever hold against you," I reply.

"What's that?" he asks, with a sudden perplexed tone. I don't reply but thrust my hips upwards. "Hey, that's not so small," he jokes. We both laugh.

There is a brilliant flash of white/yellow light at the horizon. It rises rapidly to reveal an orange/red disc, suddenly too bright to observe any further.

The laughing conversation between two kookaburras echoes from the distant river gums.

"Pair of noisy love birds!" Marty remarks, strolling naked onto the verandah, accompanied by the world's cutest backside.

"They're not love birds, Marty," Will chastises.

"I wasn't referring to the kookaburras!" Marty hurls back in a most jovial tone. It takes a moment for his meaning to sink in.

"Yeah," Ash contributes. "You two were in fine voice last night!"

Ash walks to the railing and takes in the panorama. "Beautiful!" he utters.

"Exactly what I was thinking," Marty replies, looking at, and then covering Ash's backside with his own body. He wraps his arms around Ash who leans back into him.

Will eases himself off my lap and stands next to them. He turns to look at me. It's not an idle glance. It's a hint; more of a directive. I stand up, move to also cover his body with mine and I share the blanket with `Cook & O'Brien' so that it covers four pairs of shoulders.

"I told you that I was going to love it out here," Ash sighs.

 

The End

 

[Author: Thank you all for continuing reading my Schoolie fantasy through to the end. It took me three years to write and another seven months to `re-write'. I have appreciated your emails, feedback and even suggestions. Not to mention the occasional pic of somebody that reminded you of one of the characters. The plot and the majority of characters will live on in my Kurt series, if you decide that you want to follow their lives and `adventures'. I pray that you will keep healthy and stay young, regardless of how many times you celebrate the anniversary of your 21^st birthday! Sincerely, Rob in Sydney, Australia.]

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/kurt-series/

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If you haven't said 'hello' at all, please take a couple of minutes to email me.

rob.zz@hotmail.com

I will reply to everyone. Please be patient.

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