This story contains descriptions of sexual acts involving a man, a teenager and two MINOR boys. Such descriptions are an integral part of the story. While the story may appeal to prurient interests, it is intended to have serious literary value. As a friend once said: "Everyone has the right to fantasy. No one has the right to censor an imagination, or dreams."
With that in mind, know that this story is not true, although it is based on fact and some real events! Further, it is not intended to promote illegal acts against minors, but to demonstrate that men and boys can love each other despite the prevalent attitudes of western society. It is my goal to help readers appreciate that love. The sexual acts described in the story are the result of my imagination. I have not performed these acts, and I do not encourage others to perform them with minors. If the subject of man/boy love offends you, if this material is illegal in your place of residence, or if you are under the legal age for such material, do not read further!
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The story is copyrighted under my pseudonym, Ganymede. A copy has been placed in the Nifty archives for your enjoyment. The story cannot be used to derive monetary gain. The story cannot be placed in archives that require payment for access, or printed and distributed in any form that requires payment either directly or indirectly.
Any similarity to individuals, living or dead, is entirely accidental. Reference is also made in context to movies, characters, and actors that have become part of modern western culture. No other implication about the true sexuality of the people mentioned or their private lives is intended.
Now that the preliminaries are out of the way.....
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The surf was a dull roar in the grey gloom of early morning. As the first rays of sun breached the horizon, I stirred awake, barely opening my eyes before closing them again. I was warm and secure and comfortable. Why wake up? It was a whole lot nicer sleeping. The warmth extended from my head all the way down my back to my toes. It was like nestling into a cocoon, a very soft, very warm cocoon. I sighed sleepily, hovering on the edge of a dream, lying perfectly still. There was a nice feeling that flowed through my body. A gentle heat, reassuring, relaxing, soothing. Just a hint of a tickle. Then, soothing again, stroking tenderly, tentatively exploring. Could any feeling be nicer?
I breathed slowly, afraid to move or show any sign of waking in case the feeling went away. The warmth moved around, to my neck and shoulder, to my breast, down my chest, over my belly button, to my upper hip, then down my thigh almost to my knee. The warmth travelled slowly higher along a different path. The warmth lingered where I was already hot. A delicious pressure slid along the most sensitive part of my body, enclosing and comforting. I squeezed into it, barely aware that something was squeezed against me from behind, something big and hot. It was both hard and soft at the same time. As my consciousness formed from sleep, I realised that someone was hugging me from behind. That someone was Bruce. And not only was his body pressed tightly against mine, but one of his hands was cupped over my penis and testicles. It was a nice feeling, a feeling so wonderful that I didn't want it to end. So I stayed very still, unmoving despite how much my body wanted to move in response, and wondering what he would do next.
It was obvious that Bruce thought I was still sound asleep. His hand cautiously moved from cupping my groin to holding my penis between his fingers, then, when I remained asleep, to gently caressing the already very stiff shaft. His fingers felt large, and much stronger than Blaine's fingers. Blaine could just fit my penis in his hand, while his brother had to hold it between his thumb and two fingers. Unlike Blaine, who always wanted to the skin tightly and rub up and down on the hard core underneath, Bruce's fingers glided up and down on the skin, pressing into the underlying flesh only when he reached the tip. It was all I could do not to tremble. That in itself felt noticeably different, but it wasn't enough to account for the strange excitement that I felt. There was a thrill that came from being touched by him, knowing that he wasn't supposed to be doing it, and yet he was.
"Do you want me to stop?" Bruce asked softly.
I froze, then. He knew I was awake. How long had he known? Seconds? Minutes? I swallowed, feeling embarrassed that I had feigned being asleep because I wanted him to keep doing it. I moved my head slightly, still pretending that I was in the process of waking up. His hand continued to hold my penis, the tips of his fingers circling my rigid shaft just below the helmet-head.
“Do you?” he persisted.
"It's okay," I breathed out.
"I thought you'd say that," he said with a slight tremor in his voice. "You know why, don’t you? Your dick is as hard as steel."
It was. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what I was supposed to say. Most mornings when Blaine and I stayed at each other's houses, we played with each other's penises when we woke up. Blaine and I were best friends and in the same class, even if we were a year apart in age. But this was different. Bruce was grown up, in my eyes at least. Grown-ups weren’t supposed to say or do the things that Bruce did.
"It's n-nearly always like that in m-morning," I answered, trying to keep the anxiety from my voice. "B-Blaine's the s-same way," I added, because it was true.
"No shit! Hell, every guy is. When I was your age we used to call it a pee stiffie because it doesn’t go away until you take a morning leak," Bruce remarked. His fingers pulled on the skin, drawing it up towards the head. "It feels nice, doesn't it?" he asked.
His fingers eased down, pulling the skin even tighter from the other direction before he stopped. Any further and I would have complained because it hurt when it was pulled down too far. Then, slowly, his fingers moved up and down. It felt like my penis was being pulled off and then pushed back on. His grip was much stronger than Blaine's. For some reason, it felt nice, even better than when Blaine did it.
"Just okay, huh?"
I giggled and used my abdominal muscles to make my penis even harder. Bruce's fingers instantly squeezed harder in response.
"Yeah, you like it," Bruce observed. His fingers toyed with the skin of my penis. “Your dong is as tight as bongo.” He fiddled with the head, rubbing it between his fingers until I inhaled. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you Bunny?”
“Somehow I’m not surprised. It feels pretty good to me too," he added fondly.
"Y-you should h-have brought your g-girlfriend with you?" I quipped.
"Yeah, right. Like a girl will sleep naked with you and let you do stuff like this," he said.
He began rubbing my penis in a slow up and down motion that was more like a caress than wanking. His fingers moved over the skin rather than trying to move the skin against the hard core inside. It struck me that it was nicer than how Blaine did it. I wanted to sigh. It was all I could do not to do it.
"I’d be lucky if she'd let me play with her tits," Bruce added.
“I d-don't h-have tits.” Talk about making a statement of the obvious.
“No shit! But you have one of these instead,” Bruce hummed in my ear. “And it’s just as much fun. Maybe even more.”
His fingers pulled my penis down between my thighs and then released it so that it snapped back against my lower belly. I giggled again.
“Man, you are so fucking hard.” To prove his point, he did it again.
“D-don't go and b-break the b-bloody thing off,” I pretended to complain.
“No way.” His fingers felt lower, rubbing my testicles. “It took eleven years to get like this. It’s too fucking beautiful.”
He pressed against my back, using his left arm under my neck to hold my chest. His penis lay between my buttocks. It was hot, almost sticky, invasive, but it was a nice feeling too. It also made me feel uncomfortable. Part of me was suddenly frightened.
“Your balls are so tiny. They’re like little marbles or jelly beans or something, Allan.”
His voice was disturbing. I thought of all the 'poofter' jokes I had heard. The last thing any boy wanted was to be considered a poofter by his friends. What if Bruce told someone? What if Blaine saw us? Or Byron? We weren't supposed to tell anyone what happened while we were away, but I knew firsthand how that went. Blaine wasn't supposed to tell anyone what I did with him, and he still told. I wanted Bruce to stop almost as much as I wanted him to continue. His fingers slid back up to fondling my penis. He seemed to concentrate on the tip, right where it was the most sensitive.
"You know, Allan, your skin is as soft as a girl's," Bruce crooned. His nose brushed through my hair. "And you smell so good." He inhaled deeply.
"Y-you're weird," I said with a nervous giggle.
"Yeah, I am,... but so are you." He wriggled his penis against my bottom, forcing it all the way into the crack. Like that, it felt more slippery than sticky. It was a strange sensation, almost like being forced apart by a wedge.
"You like me doing that too, don't you?" he breathed.
I wasn't sure whether I liked it or not. Part of me did, part of me didn't? Mostly, I was confused.
"So soft," he purred, stroking my lower belly before slowly returning the tips of his fingers to my penis. It was beginning to ache. "Your tummy,... it's like touching a girl."
"H-have you d-done it with one, a g-girl I mean?" I asked boldly.
His mouth was very close to my ear. "No way. I'm not even sure I want to,... Maybe I'm a poof." His voice had a teasing lilt to it.
"Y-you have a g-girlfriend. B-Blaine said so!"
"You s-should be d-doing this with her."
"Maybe, but you're more fun than a girl."
"D-don't be d-dumb," I countered.
Shamefully, I shoved his hand away and moved away from him. It felt wet and slimy where his penis had been touching my bottom. I rubbed it off on the sheet without thinking about why his penis leaked piss. Bruce smirked at me when I finally turned back to look at him. I shook my head.
"W-weird! Weird! Weird!" If I repeated the word, my stuttering stopped.
He kept smirking. "At least I don't have to worry about getting you knocked up."
Only then did I become aware of the sound. It was muted but it wasn't coming from all that far away. It was a dull, repetitive thud. It was the sort of sound that a wall makes when you knock something against it. There was a thud every few seconds, then a few thuds close together, then a long silence. It may have lasted a minute before the next thuds came.
"W-what's that?" I asked innocently.
Bruce grinned at me and rolled his eyes. "You really are an innocent bunny, aren't you?" he didn't wait for my answer. "It's the bed," he explained simply.
Of course, he meant the bedroom on the other side of the central fireplace. I looked across the room, vaguely aware that the thudding sound was getting faster. Then, it ceased. Bruce smirked.
"W-what's so f-funny?"
"W-what's causing it?" I demanded.
"What do you think?"
"I d-don't know. If I knew I w-wouldn’t be asking, w-would I?"
He lay back, looking up at the ceiling with his arms locked behind his head. His armpits weren't smooth and hairless like mine or Blaine's. There were even some straggly hairs around his much larger nipples.
"They're having sex. I guess By’s close to finishing," he said simply.
That got my attention, impossible as it seemed to me even after the events of the previous night. I sat up in the bed and gazed across the bedroom. Bruce's hand stroked down my bare back, lightly scratching my vertebrae. It didn't matter how he touched me, it always felt nice.
"I d-don't b-believe you," I finally managed to get out.
"H-how?" I asked before I thought about it.
Sometimes the bed squeaked a little bit when Blaine and I masturbated, but it only became noisy when we wrestled. The sound was more like wrestling, except for the way it kept repeating, then stopping. Most of the time there had been a rhythm to it.
Bruce grinned. "Forget about it. It's nothing to do with us," he said pointedly. The sound started again, intensified, faster, noticeably louder. It was impossible to forget about it. "Man, listen to them will you! Poor old Blainey. Two times. Man, after this long is he going to be sore."
"Huh?" I wanted to understand what was happening. Instinct told me it was all part of the mystery of sex. Bruce regarded me patiently. I wanted to know more. "Why w-would h-he be s-sore?" I asked curiously.
"You know what poofters do," Bruce confided.
I stared at him for a few seconds and then shook my head in disbelief. "N-no way! Blaine w-wouldn't d-do that, and neither w-would By!"
Bruce shrugged. "You reckon huh? Listen to them."
I listened. The insistent thudding had become erratic, more of a knocking sound. It was louder, faster, almost frenzied. There was an urgency to it that made me anxious. Maybe Bruce was right after all. Maybe they were having sex. Maybe they were doing what poofters did. I didn't know of anything else that made a sound like that. Of course, I didn’t know what having sex the way that poofters had sex, sounded like. Maybe it was Bruce’s way of making fun of me. And then, just as the thumping reached a peak, it stopped again. Nothing but silence, except the persistent roar of the surf.
"We better get up," Bruce remarked blandly. It was as if nothing had happened. "It's our turn to get breakfast.”
With that, he shoved the sheet away and stood up. His penis was still hard. From where I sat on the bed, it seemed enormous. It reminded me of a horse ready to mate with a mare. It was thick and dark. The word 'engorged' came to mind, because of the purple colour, the way the veins were swollen along the shaft. He raised his eyebrows.
"Pretty fucking big huh?"
I nodded, not looking away but straight at it.
"By's is even bigger, you know."
I nodded awkwardly. Still staring. What did he expect me to say?
"Come on, Bun. Get your arse into gear," Bruce said with a smile. “Forget it and get over it.”
I watched him disappear into the kitchen. I wondered what had really happened in the bedroom. When we came back from the beach the night before, the door had been closed. Blaine was in that room with his uncle. It sounded a bit like they were wrestling. Perhaps they had been having sex the way that Bruce said. It was all very confusing. I followed Bruce into the kitchen to help get breakfast ready.
“Why are y-you m-making a fire?” I asked.
Bruce turned away from laying newspaper and sticks in the fireplace. “Maybe I’m making some fried eggs to go with your sausage.”
He smirked at me. I didn’t get the joke until he pointed at his penis. I smiled back even though it wasn’t funny.
“Of course, it could also be because it’s cold as the dickens in here. Not that you’re frigid or anything.”
It certainly wasn’t that cold, but it was cold enough that he made me shiver as he kept looking at me. The temperature had dropped only slightly during the night. It felt quite comfortable being naked. I came to the logical, if not obvious conclusion that he was going to cook something for breakfast.
“Isn’t there e-electricity?” I asked, thinking of the radio and lights that had been working the previous night.
He shook his head, mockingly. “Well there is and there isn’t see. A few years ago Byron and I put up some poles and ran a wire from a farm that’s back up the track.”
“I d-didn’t see a f-farm.”
“It’s off a ways so you wouldn’t. Next time we go to town I’ll point it out to you. Anyway, there’s only enough power for a couple of plugs and one or two lights, and the pump too when it’s on. The power’s pretty iffy at times, but it’s better than having to use hurricane lamps, which is what we used to do when I first started coming up here.”
“So t-that’s why there’s n-no s-stove,” I observed, looking around the kitchen.
There wasn’t even a real refrigerator, just a small box-like unit like the one that was in the shearer’s shed at Brindajari. I looked back at Bruce. Like me, he was naked. His body tapered from his broad shoulders. He was sun-tanned to a dark brown. Even his bottom was tanned. Muscles rippled just below the surface, revealing the strength that was essential to a surfer. It was hard not to be envious. I felt useless, standing there looking at him.
“B-Bruce, is there s-something I can d-do to help?”
“Hm, yeah, there is mate. Go put the radio on so we can hear the surf report,” he suggested without looking up from what he was doing. “There’s always an hourly beach check on 2-CH on the long weekends.”
I wandered off, idly scratching between my buttocks where it was itchy. The itch started at the top of my buttocks and seemed to get worse the further down it went. My finger followed it, pushing deeper into my crack. It was a bit sticky between my cheeks, not sweaty or clammy, just sticky. That was what was probably causing the itch, I decided, without giving it much thought. If anything, it even felt a bit crusty on the back of my scrotum, like something had dried there. I rubbed until the itch was gone. At least it wasn’t itchy because of the blue dye that covered my scrotum. For a while in the car I had been worried about having some sort of allergic reaction. Now, I was used to seeing that little patch of blue skin under my penis.
The radio was already tuned to 2-CH. After switching it on, I turned the volume up and went back to the kitchen. The smoke was beginning to thicken to the point where opening the front door was the next step.
“You any good at lighting fires, mate?” Bruce asked. “I’m making a pretty daggy job of it.”
“Me?” I smiled. “Yeah, I’m p-pretty g-good at it. I’ll h-have a g-go if you w-want?” I offered hopefully.
“You’re a cub scout or something I suppose?”
“No.” It was something of a sore point with me, because my mother wouldn’t let me join the local troop. Blaine wasn’t a cub scout, but all of my other friends were. “If you m-must know, I’ve b-been making fires s-since I was three or f-four.”
“Trying to burn the house down huh?”
I giggled. “No! I h-have to d-do it all the t-time when we’re at B-Brindajari.”
“No electricity there either eh?”
I could tell that Bruce was teasing me. “Of course t-there is. We m-mostly have fires in w-winter.”
“M-making the fire in the m-morning is m-my job.”
“So you’re not just another pretty face, huh kid?” Bruce teased. He stood up and stepped back.
I couldn’t help but stare. Any boy my age would have been envious of his physique. He towered over me, a full grown man standing before a puny boy. Instinctively, my eyes lowered to the patch of dark curling hair, at the broad shaft of his penis. And, as I gazed at him, he gazed back, his eyes taking in my maleness that was so insignificant compared to his. There was a hint of a smile, not of amusement, but what I took to be acceptance, and even the possibility of something else. It was a reassuring look that I observed, something akin to admiration in that lingering silence. I realised at that instant, in some at although I was still very much a boy, I was still worth some time from Bruce’s day.
“She’ll b-be apples,” I said more confidently than my nervous thoughts warranted. The longer he looked at me the more unsettled I became. “I’ll just t–t-take a minute.”
I took Bruce’s place in front of the fireplace. Like most people who didn’t know what to do, he had laid all of the sticks in the same direction. Carefully, I poked among the smoking remains of his first lighting attempt. All that was needed was to get air to the centre by putting the sticks at different angles. I used a single page of newspaper after making sure that there were some smaller twigs at the bottom of the pile.
“Give m-me a redhead w-will you?”
“Actually I’d rather have a cute little blondie like you,” Bruce shot back. “Just call me Dagwood,” he added for good measure.
He was smirking when I glanced back at him. I shook my head showing disbelief that he could make such a feeble joke. Eventually, he passed me a matchbox. In a few moments, I had a good blaze going.
“How did you do that?” He sounded impressed.
“Yeah right! Abracadabra and there’s instant fire.”
“Let’s just s-say that the smart country b-boy showed the t-town boy h-how it’s done,” I said with amusement.
It wasn’t often that I could make a joke at Bruce’s expense. He took it in good humour.
“How about I’ll teach you a few things if you don’t move your cute little bum out of the way. “
“I’ll have a g-go at making breakky if you w-want me to,” I said cheekily.
He grabbed at me but I moved out of his way, going back until I leaned against the table. My bottom was itching again, worse than it had been before. I didn’t want Bruce see me touching myself there of all places. It felt like it needed to be thoroughly washed, but there was no way I was going outside and stand under a cold-water shower by myself. A morning in the surf would see to it.
“Do you think they w-went b-back to sleep?” I asked distantly. In truth, I badly wanted to talk to Blaine. There were some things that I needed to understand, even though I realised that talking about those things was very unlikely. Whatever he did with Byron was none of my business and he was likely to tell me so.
“Should I tell them y-you’re making b-breakfast.”
“Hm,… I guess we ought to give them a while longer.” He laughed weakly. “You never know how long it’s going to last with By! Besides, mate, there’s no rush to hit the beach, not for a while anyway.”
I had no idea what Bruce was talking about. I wanted to eat breakfast and go down to the beach as quickly as possible.
“What d-do you think happened to those b-blokes last night?”
It was all I could do not to scratch. Maybe if I went back into the sitting room, I could find something in my rucksack to clean myself with. Maybe I should quick trip to the outhouse and wipe myself with some toilet paper. Even the pages of a phonebook would offer some relief.
“Dunno. I figure they probably made it back all right or we would have heard something.”
To take my mind of the persistent need to itch, I gazed out the window. The sun was already well above the horizon. Finally, I saw what had precipitated Bruce’s comment about there being no rush to go surfing. The waves, no longer grey and threatening the way that they had been when I first got up, appeared to me to be much smaller than the previous afternoon.
“Crummy surf!” I observed dejectedly. I had been forward to surfing waves like those of the day before. There was a lot of slop even though there was no wind. “Why’s that?”
“No fucking breeze, is there?”
I looked at the grass on the sand hills. “I d-don’t think so.”
“Most likely the offshore current’s coming in too close,” Bruce explained.
He started cracking eggs and dropping the contents into a blackened frying pan. He hadn’t used anything to oil the pan, no dripping, not even lard. I wondered if I should point it out to him. I didn’t want him to get upset at me, especially now that we were talking like friends.
“Oh. So why’s the c-current make so much d-difference?”
“Boy, you’re full of questions, aren’t you Allan?” Bruce said with a smile that showed he really didn’t mind answering them. “Especially for a smart country boy.”
“Yep,” I returned brightly. I turned back so that my bottom was against the table. I rubbed back and forth against the edge, but it didn’t help much. If it didn’t stop soon I was going to have to either scratch or go out to the toilet.
“The headland makes the current swing in real close,” Bruce continued.
“By said last n-night that the size of the w-waves here is partly because of the h-headland.”
“Which affects the current, you see. Mostly it stays offshore a few miles. When it comes in close like now it really makes for a rat shit beach surf. It brings the sharks in too.”
“That sounds like f-fun,” I quipped.
“We don’t bother them and they don’t bother us.”
I relocated myself further along the table. There, I could use the corner of the table to provide a concentrated pressure. I pushed back against it, working the plastic covered corner in between my buttocks. It was large and cool and it offered noticeable relief. I almost sighed.
“What’s wrong with you?”
I glanced up at Bruce. He was staring right at me, smiling. I had been wriggling against the table.
“I got an itch.”
“If you must know, my bum h-hole’s itching like crazy,” I giggled.
His face registered shock, then seemed to change to a mixture of humiliation and amusement. “Sorry about that.”
“Nothing,…” He glanced away. “I mean it’s nothing that a good scratch won’t fix, I bet.” For a moment, he sounded nervous, almost guilty. “If you want me to do it, come here and bend over,” he taunted, picking up a fork.
“No w-way,” I giggled. “Not with that you won’t.”
“How about this?” Bruce suggested.
He held out a finger, crooking it and beckoning to me. I shook my head, finding it increasingly difficult not to laugh at his antics. For a seventeen-year-old, sometimes he acted like a boy of about my age. I ignored him even though the thought of him rubbing my bottom with his finger was disconcerting to me. I found myself wondering if he would really do it. When I didn’t respond either way, Bruce lowered his hand. It would have been funny to see what he would have done had I said ‘yes’.
“Hey, I love this s-song,” I announced.
The Beach Boys’ song, ‘Little Saint Nick’, blasted out of the radio in the next room. Christmas was just around the corner and in the excitement of going surfing, I had all but forgotten about it. Perhaps it didn’t feel like Christmas because there weren’t any decorations to be seen.
What followed next took both of us by surprise. Bruce sang along with the radio. He didn’t know the words so he sang only one or two lines of the opening verse before he stopped, but it was all that it took. Under any other circumstances, I would never have sung in front of him, at least not by myself. It was different if Blaine and I were clowning around in the car. That morning, my intuition said to sing, and I did.
I picked up the song where Bruce left off. I followed the Beach Boys lead, but further up the scale. I used my full treble range, hitting notes higher and longer than the background sounds. When the song returned to the chorus, Bruce came in with baritone support. I did the ‘Run run reindeer’ part at the top of my range, not quite a soprano. He stopped and listened to me sing until the next chorus. That time, he exaggerated his voice, not mocking me, but trying hard to imitate the Beach Boys. We sounded great. All too soon, the song ended. We both looked at each other and laughed. I had not stammered a single time.
“Yeah!” Byron applauded from the open door to the bedroom. “Now it even sounds like Christmas. You know, Bruce, if he surfs like he sings, we’ll have a state champ on our hands in no time.”
Bruce laughed. “Man, you’re awesome, Allan. I never would have guessed you had a voice like that.”
I shrugged self-consciously, realising that he meant what he said. I knew my voice was good. It was good enough for me to sing the only solo performed by the school choir at the Christmas recital. I was still applauded even though most people couldn’t understand the Latin words.
“You want to sing some more, boy-o?” Byron asked.
The next song on the radio was already playing. It was an Elvis tune, and definitely not one of my favourites. I shook my head bashfully. I moved back against the table, watching Byron continue breaking eggs. Byron yawned sleepily. He had put on a tee-shirt, or perhaps he hadn’t taken off the one that he wore the night before. I could see the end of his penis dangling below the frayed hem. It wasn’t hard, but it still appeared to be longer than the last time I saw it, making no sense at all. It was shiny too, as if something was glistening on it.
“So, how did you make out last night mate?” Byron asked Bruce.
“Okay,” Bruce replied vaguely.
“We went for a run,” I chimed in.
Byron winked at me, then turned back to Bruce. “You were gone so long I thought you might have been,…” He looked at me again for a moment, smiling slightly. It wasn’t my imagination that he licked his lips. “…having a bit of hanky panky out there in the dark, eh?”
Bruce shook his head slightly. Then, he noticed the bits of egg shell in the bottom of the frying pan. He poked at them with his finger.
“We wrestled for a while too,” I added. That had been fun. In fact, I was looking forward to doing it again. I didn’t even mind that Bruce had pushed me down on the sand and held me there for so long.
“Yeah,” Bruce said. “Like a couple of pigs in mud we were. Starkers and all too.”
“Hm. Fun huh?”
“It was until some guys came along,” I interjected.
“Two yobs in a ‘drover,” Bruce explained. He smirked at me. “They thought Allan was a sheila, By.”
“A sheila huh?” Byron chuckled. “Man, they must have been blind too, if they could see that long skinny dick of Cuddlepie’s sticking out.”
Another wink at me. I was getting used to his comments about my private parts. My ‘dick’ wasn’t that long, but it still me feel proud.
“Well, mate, you’re not in the home stretch yet, but it sure sounds like you made a good start,” Byron added with a smile first to me, then to Bruce.
“Where’s Blaine?” I asked.
“Lazy slob. He’s still in bed,” Byron yawned and stretched. “Man, I’m zonked. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Too much of a good thing, huh?” Bruce smirked at Bruce. “I know what you mean.”
“Ha, you too, huh? I thought I heard you two messing around in here.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” I said.
“You slept like a log, Bun,” Bruce laughed. “I’d have to light a cannon under your bum to wake you.”
Byron laughed. “Good one, Bruce. So when’s breakky going to be ready? I could eat a horse and chase after the jockey,” he added wryly.
“Yeah, and if he’s a boy I know what you’d do to him when you caught him,” Bruce laughed. “How’s Blainey doing?”
“Okay, considering. He’s probably catching a few more winks because I woke him up early.” Byron regarded me fondly. “You get over last night okay mate?”
I nodded weakly. We both understood what he intended. He wanted to know if I was still bothered by what I had seen him doing to Blaine. I doubted whether I would ever ‘get over’ it.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Byron said quietly. “I know he’s your best friend and all, Allan.”
“It’s okay,” I replied. I tried to sound as if I meant it. Now that Bruce and I were friends, it didn’t seem to matter as much. Bruce nodded encouragingly, as if he understood what I was feeling.
“Shit happens, you know what I mean? See, I’m a bit of a non-conformer,” Byron continued. “Sometimes things get a bit out of hand. You know I wouldn’t do anything that Blaine didn’t want me to do, don’t you?”
“I guess,” I said reluctantly.
“You know what a non-conformer is?” It sounded as if he was trying to change the subject.
“Someone who doesn’t follow the rules?”
“Yeah, that’s me. See, I love Blaine a whole lot, Allan. Maybe I love him more than an uncle should,…” he paused. “And see Blainey and I have this special relationship because of it. So, um,… well we,… The fact is, mate,…. Well, we do things some people might not understand.”
He stopped to see how I was doing. I shrugged. I wasn’t about to make anything easy for him, especially when I didn’t understand what he was talking about. Byron chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully.
“How to put this? Um,… the thing is, see, Blaine’s starting to go through puberty. You know what that means?”
I nodded again, wondering what puberty had to do with it. Puberty was all about getting a bigger penis and testicles and having hair start to grow around it. Blaine’s penis and testicles weren’t that big, and the few hairs that had appeared were barely noticeable. It also meant making semen.
“He can spunk,” I offered shyly.
Byron laughed. “Yeah, that’s true. Making spunk is an important part of it all right. The thing is, when that happens a boy starts getting urges, see,” he continued, much to Bruce’s amusement.
Bruce snickered loudly. “That’s the understatement of the year. Man, all he wants to do is get off.”
smiled. “Yeah, well,… I reckon that’s true for
most guys his age. I seem to remember you were the same way. The
thing is, Allan,… see Blainey’s at the age when he wants
to have sex,… Not only with you,…”
I shrugged and looked away.
“Allan, I want you to understand. I don’t want to spoil things between the two of you. He and I have talked about you quite a bit. You know that, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for my answer. “Wanking with another boy is fun all right, but there’s other things Blaine wants to do as well,…”
I thought about what Blaine and I had done the night before we left Sydney. For the first time, we had done more than just masturbate each other. Then, I had been both excited and frightened by it. Now, little more than a day later, the fear was gone and there was only the thrill left. The memory was so strong that I could almost taste his penis in my mouth. And after what Blaine had done to me in the car, I was more than ready to repeat the experience. Byron regarded me patiently, his expression reassuring. I felt like I was being overpowered.
“With you?” I murmured.
“Yeah. Do you mind? You’ll still be best friends with him.”
“I guess not.”
Byron nodded supportively. “You’re a smart kid, Allan. I knew you’d understand.” A few moments of silence followed. “Strewth! Look at the fucking surf,” he said.
He walked closer to me, gazing out the window. He rubbed the bristles on his chin. I turned around to look at the waves with him. There were very few waves of any size.
“It’s pretty bad,” I agreed.
“Bad? It’s flatter than a fucking board.” His hand dropped down and patted my bottom a couple of times. Once would have been enough. On the last pat, his hand cupped my cheek and held it for a moment or two. “Hey, Bruce, the biggest wave out there is about the size of Allan’s bum.”
I laughed and pulled away, going over to help Bruce with the cooking. It was time to tell him to use some oil in the frying pan. I also needed time to think. During that momentary touch, it seemed like something had stirred inside me. It was exciting in its way, in the same way that I had felt a thrill when Bruce touched my bottom. There was another feeling that was also worrying me. It was undeniable, unnerving, and anything but understandable. I saw it in their eyes whenever they looked at me. For some reason both Byron and Bruce found me interesting, not scrutinising me because I was different in some way, but interesting in another way. It was anything but reassuring.
Byron followed me across the room with his eyes. “You know Bruce, he might sound like a girl when he sings, but he’s all boy where it counts.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” was Bruce’s smug reply. “It’s close to being a handful. Nudge, nudge!”
Byron picked up where Bruce left off. “Wink, wink, say no more, or maybe I ought to say wank, wank, say no more.”
They both laughed. I didn’t like how they were talking about me. It was as if I wasn’t even there, but at least Bruce hadn’t told him about what we had done before getting out of bed. My body, well one part of my body, tingled just thinking about how he had touched me. I found an unopened tin of lard and carried it to where Bruce had placed the frying pan. It was as obvious as I could make it without telling him outright that he was about to ruin the eggs. He examined the label.
“You’re joking! You are, right?” he said with surprise.
I didn’t understand why he thought I was joking. I didn’t want to stammer. I took a deep breath. “For the eggs,” I said seriously.
He gave me a strange look. “Yeah, right.” Then, after thinking about it, he smiled. “Yeah, I guess I need something for the eggs, don’t I?”
Byron laughed. “Don’t be jumping to conclusions, mate. There’s a reason why they say patience is a virtue. It’s way too soon for anything like that.”
“Sorry, I guess I was thinking of some one else.”
Both of them laughed. It frustrated me not to know what they found so amusing.
It was nine feet long and almost two feet wide. It was cream coloured until the accumulation of wax turned the top of the board to grey-brown. There were dents and chips that had been repaired, only to be damaged again. On the nose, there were spider cracks in the fibreglass sheathing where the surfboard had bounced off the rocks. It looked like a beginner’s board. It was a beginner’s board. Still, there was something about it to be proud of as I carried it down to the beach. It was a lot heavier than my new surfboard, but it was also older and much thicker. I put it down on the sand. The waves at high tide had eroded the sand to leave a drop that was deep enough to accommodate the tail fins. I stretched my arms over my head, dangling my board-shorts by the cord. I was quickly getting so used to being naked that wearing the shorts surfing was going to feel strange.
Blaine put his surfboard down next to mine. He swung his shorts around like a propeller before tossing them onto the board.
“Bruce would have carried it for you, you know Allan,” he remarked. His surfboard, my new board too, were about half the weight of the long board that I carried to the beach.
We hadn’t spoken more than a few words since he came out of the bedroom. Neither of us were sulking. It was simply that sometimes it was difficult to talk, especially about the things we needed to talk about.
know. If I’m using it then I can carry it myself” I
sounded petulant. I softened my tone. “It’s not that
heavy, you know.”
”It’s pretty daggy to look at, but it does okay,” Blaine continued blandly. Suddenly, he was almost apologetic. “It doesn’t matter if you dong it up some more. I used it last year when I was up here,” he added. He pointed to one of the larger dents without showing any remorse. “That’s one of mine. I stuck it on the rocks,” he added, gesturing towards the headland. “The last thing you want to do is wrack your new board.”
I pushed my foot through the sand, feeling the warmth between my toes, vaguely wondering why Bruce had formed my initials in the sand the night before. Deliberately, I formed a ‘B’. I didn’t know Bruce’s middle name, not even his initial, yet he had known my middle initial. So, I started work on the “M”, only half finishing it before I stopped. ‘B M’ could have been Blaine’s initials, or Byron’s, or even Dr. McIntyre’s. Did they all have the same middle initial too?
It was still early and already it was getting hot. It was going to be a very hot day. The suntan oil that I’d put on while I waited for Blaine and Byron to clean the kitchen was all that stood between me and a painful sunburn. My grandmother was right when she said I should be careful about spending too much time in the sun.
“You’re still pretty pissed at me, aren’t you?”
I glanced up at Blaine, feeling uncomfortable. “Wouldn’t you be?”
He hadn’t expected me to say that. He didn’t say anything.
“Hell, Blaine, we’re supposed to be best friends, remember?” I prompted, hoping he would take the initiative and apologise because I didn’t want to be the bad guy.
“You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?” I demanded.
He avoided my eyes. Instead of answering, he wandered over to his surfboard and used his foot to toss his shorts up. He caught them, turning away from me to put them on as if there was something to be ashamed about in putting clothes on in front of me. Then, he took a piece of board wax out of the pocket of his board shorts and knelt down in the sand. He began to rub it onto the surface, scraping across the layer that was already there. I squatted down next to him, vaguely aware of his beautifully tanned body. My penis felt strange in the warm sun. I enjoyed being exposed even though Blaine didn’t give me a second glance.
Blaine was still my best friend, no matter what happened. In a way, he was more than that. He was the only person other than my mother who I really cared about.
“I tried to tell you, okay. I really did, Allie,” Blaine muttered.
He ground the wax back and forth over an area where the fibreglass was showing through. He clenched the wax so tightly that his knuckles were white. I didn’t know what to say.
“I tried. You know I tried,” Blaine said bitterly. He breathed out suddenly. “If I tell you something,… you have to promise not to laugh,… or anything.” He stopped waxing.
“Okay, I promise.” It sounded hollow.
“I,…” He breathed in, then out again. What ever he was about to say seemed to be taking a lot of thought. “Allie,… I love him, okay.”
“Byron?” He was the logical choice. He was the only choice.
Blaine nodded nervously.
“So what? Big deal. He’s your uncle.”
“It’s not like that.” He shook his head quickly. “You don’t understand.”
“Okay,… let me spell it out for you. I l-o-v-e him, Allie”
“He’s your uncle, Blaine. So what?” I repeated.
“Allie, I do it with him,…!”
“Geez. Do I have to spell everything out for you, Allie? My dad really should have taken you to that sex-ed talk at school instead of me. Okay,… I guess,… Here goes. By and I,…we do stuff, okay?….”
The silence was fragile, yet neither of us could break it. ‘Stuff’ was how we usually referred to our sex games. It included everything we had ever done together. ‘Stuff’ was also another way of saying ‘fuck’, usually in the context of ‘stuff you’. My consciousness was exhausted, drained, not fully grasping what Blaine was telling me, yet understanding enough that I was lost for words. Perhaps the best thing that could have happened was that I didn’t say anything.
“You beach bums ready to do some surfing?” Byron called out from further up the beach.
Both Blaine and I turned around abruptly. They weren’t all that far up the beach that they would have missed much of what we were talking about. Like us, Byron and Bruce were both wearing board shorts, Hawaiian patterned. Blaine and I shared a meaningful look. We both appreciated that then was not the right time to talk about it. Hurriedly, I bend down and put on my shorts.
“Too right,” Blaine answered for both of us, since I was busy. “Allie was just telling me that he wanted Bruce to teach him the basics.”
“Aw that’s so sweet,” Bruce teased. “Hey, I’ll teach you okay. Actually, I wouldn’t mind teaching you more than the basics. Nudge. Nudge.”
“I didn’t say that!” I rebuked.
“Okay, get over it, Allan. They’re just baiting you. I decide who’s teaching who what around here. Right now, I am. Let’s start with the basics,” Byron began. He tossed a new block of board wax to Blaine. “Hey goofy, you can do mine too when you’re done with yours. You don’t mind, do you Blainey?”
He gestured to me to get up. Standing before me, he sized me up. He smiled, which made me feel better.
“You’re small, but you’re built nice. That’s good. Yeah, I think I see some real good muscles in the making from the look of you.” He nodded. “And I already know you’re quick on your feet. So, let’s see how quick you really are. Lie down on your board, Allan. When I say go, you get up and go.”
I already knew how to get up on a surfboard and keep my balance, more or less, but I still did what he said. I started by lying face down on the old surfboard with my feet curled in and my arms draped over the sides the same way they would be if I was waiting for a wave, having paddled to the right position. Then, I waited.
The trick was to get up fast and smoothly once the wave formed, coming into something of a crouching position to keep my centre of gravity low, while balancing myself. Getting up was the easy part. As soon as I was on my feet, Byron pushed at the board so I had to instantly adjust my position. My right foot was in front, my arms out to the sides, body turned, hips skewed. I looked clumsy, a bit gawky, but least I hadn’t fallen face first into the sand.
Byron glanced at Bruce but said nothing other than, “Do it again, mate.”
I dropped down onto the board and resumed the ‘waiting for a wave’ position.
I performed the same movement as before. This time, Byron pushed hard at the board twice, making it rock. If the tail fins had not been hanging over the eroded edge of sand they might have broken off.
“Not bad at all. So we know you can stand up with a bit of luck,” he said approvingly. “I want you to practice doing that for a while. Let’s say,…hm, fifty times.” He smiled. “No, make it a hundred. Each one’s got to be faster and smoother than the last, got it?”
He left me doing it while he walked down to the water. He stared out to sea, then scanned from one side to the other. I jumped up, down, then up again. Over and over. It didn’t take long before I was tired. I tried to make each one better than the last, but it was hopeless. Still, I kept doing it, watching Byron’s back and not at all sure whether I wanted him to turn around or not. Bruce and Blaine ignored me. They kept waxing the surfboards. I had reached the grand total of eighty six when Byron turned abruptly and walked back.
“That’s enough for now, boy-o.”
My legs were trembling from the effort. I breathed deeply. My heart was pounding inside my chest. I stood where I was, still crouching, hoping for some sign of approval.
“Get off mate and let a pro have a go,” Byron gestured.
He took my place, lying face down on the board. Watching him get up and into position was like watching Midget Farrelly at the world championships. It was lightening fast, and it was smooth. I must have looked clumsy by comparison.
“How did you do that?” I asked in awe.
He smiled. “That’s how you’ll do it by the time you leave here, assuming you do everything I tell you. Practice it every chance you get from now on. You’ve got good muscles and reflexes, Allan. Start using them. Think of your whole body as one big spring. Everything has to work together. See how the board jumped?”
The board had moved forward by more than a foot, until the fins were sticking a few inches into the sand, instead of overhanging the edge where they had been before Byron got up.
“That’s the most important part. It’s because of forward momentum,” Byron said quietly. “It kicks you right into the wave. Without it, all you’ve got behind you is paddle power. Only one in a thousand surfers know how to get up properly. You’re a spring from now on, a skinny spring for sure mate, but you still have lots of power. All it takes is a little co-ordination.”
I tried again and again. The best I could manage was not to send the board backwards. Finally, Byron told me to stop and wax up my board. I made a promise to myself to keep trying until I could do it. If Byron could do it, so could I. I wondered if Blaine could do it. It stood to reason that Bruce was able to do it because he came third at the Junior Championships at Narrabeen. I waxed my board while Byron, Bruce and Blaine headed into the surf. I watched them forlornly, wondering whether I would ever be more than a mediocre surfer. They hadn’t told me to follow them out. Once the surfboard was covered with a fresh layer of wax, I went back to practising getting up.
After catching two or three outer waves, Bruce paddled back over the channel. He picked a nice wave and rode it nearly all the way in. I watched him enviously. He had style, lots of style. I wanted to be like Bruce almost more that I could stand.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” he shouted to me.
I picked up my overweight board and hurried to where he stood. He gave me a bored look that said he was tired of waiting. I grinned at him. The bored look vanished and he grinned back.
“That last ride you h-had was cool,” I said.
“No need to shit me, Bun. We both know it was just okay. Are you getting By’s move down yet?”
“No. H-how do you do it?”
“I show you latter. Let’s go do some waves, Bunno.”
‘Bunno’ was yet another name twist. I really didn’t mind. Any name was worth it just to be talking to him. We walked our boards out to waist deep water.
“Remember what By said in the car, about surfing and sex being a lot alike?” Bruce began.
“Yeah.” I giggled. “To d-do it properly, you n-need someone to teach you h-how.”
“You got it,” Bruce agreed with a ready grin. “What else?”
“And they b-both take a lot of practice,” I replied. There was a curious pleasure from talking about sex with Bruce, a buzz inside me that made me want to keep giggling.
“Man, I’m impressed. You got it right again.” He turned his head towards me, still paddling. “So,… you want me to teach you?”
A wave caused us to break off the conversation. I came over the swell and resumed paddling next to Bruce. The sun was scorching my back. I was one very happy boy. I’d need to out on more suntan oil when we stopped for lunch, if not sooner, but at least the water was cool.
“Which one, Bruce?” I called out without thinking.
Bruce laughed. “Hm,… you decide.”
“If it’s s-sex stuff, are you g-going to find me a g-girl to practice with?”
“Nope. It’ll be just you and me, mate.”
I giggled. Despite the water that sloshed underneath me, I could still feel it, that familiar tightening warmth behind my board shorts, growing and pushing between my lower belly and the fibreglass. I pushed against the board and enjoyed the feeling, not wondering or worrying about why it had happened. I shook my head mockingly, suggesting that he was crazy to say things like that. He laughed and paddled his board closer.
“Remember what we said yesterday? Guys can do it just as good as girls, maybe even better once they realise it’s no big deal,” he confided.
“Yeah, right,” I sneered.
“I’m not bulling you, Allan. That’s why By has sex with Blainey. It’s a hell of a lot better than screwing some dumb beach sheila.”
“What’s h-he do with B-Blaine?” I blurted out. I had to know. I couldn’t stand not knowing.
“You really don’t know?”
“No. I d-don’t know.” I could feel my uneasiness begin to increase. Why did talking with Bruce have that effect on me. “You s-said they d-do stuff, b-but,… well, what d-do they d-do?”
“What do you think they do?”
Another wave came past. It was mostly slop.
“Well?” Bruce prompted.
I had hoped to avoid answering. “I g-guess,… they s-suck each other’s,…y-you know,…,” I offered.
Bruce smiled. So, that was part of it. I took a deep breath, phrasing the words in my mind before saying them.
“Last n-night,” I took a deep breath. “Um, well, you saw w-when they w-were on the couch?”
Again, I took my time answering. If I thought about it enough, I could almost stop myself from stuttering.
“I saw,… well it looked like,… Maybe I’m wrong, so d-don’t laugh okay, but I think By had his finger, um,… you know….”
“No, I don’t know.” Bruce was going to make me say it.
“I think his f-finger was in B-Blaine’s b-bum hole.”
Bruce laughed. “Yeah, it was. I wondered if you noticed that.”
“I bet you thought that was pretty gross, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” I admitted sheepishly.
“Do you think Blaine liked it?”
I had given it a lot of thought, but I thought about it again. “I guess. H-he kind of acted like h-he did,” I said uncertainly.
“You probably won’t believe this, but it actually feels pretty good,” Bruce said with a knowing smile. “Especially when a guy’s wanking you off at the same time. You ought to get Blainey to show you what it’s like.”
“No w-way am I d-doing that to him.”
“That’s entirely up to you. However, it’s one of the reasons why he does stuff with By,” Bruce said. “See Allan, an older guy knows exactly what to do you make you feel good.”
“What else d-do they d-do?” I blurted out. I had to know.
Our time to talk was rapidly running out. Only a few more yards remained until we crossed the channel. Then, we would have to deal with real breakers, small though they were that morning compared to the day before.
“Hm,… Okay, I guess you might as find out from me as by watching them carrying on, although I expect you pretty much know what poofters do by now, don’t you?” was Bruce’s seemingly calm response.
He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The seed had been planted and my over-active mind went to work on it.
The effect on me was anything but calming. I looked at him in shock. It wasn’t the answer that I expected, if I expected any answer at all. Blaine wouldn’t do that! Yet, even as I resisted it, instinct told me otherwise. I thought about Blaine’s little rounded bottom and the wrinkled opening in the centre that I had seen only one time. It probably wasn’t that much different to my own. Tiny was an appropriate description for both of us. And then, on top of everything else, I thought about Byron’s huge penis. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand how something that large could fit inside something so small, or why a person would even want to try.
“I learned a long time ago not to worry about something that’s none of my business,” Bruce went on. “You can waste your whole life worrying about things that don’t involve you. Trust me, it’s a lot more fun taking life as it comes. Me, I going out for the best ride of the day,” he finished decisively.
Beyond the channel, the waves were much larger than they appeared from the beach. I rode wave after wave, practising the getting up technique that Byron had demonstrated. Bruce gave me pointer after pointer. It was a matter of ‘do it like this’ and ‘don’t do it like that.’
I watched and listened and tried to learn. A few times I caught glimpses of Byron and Blaine surfing further out and closer to the headland. The waves were larger there. For the time being I was happy where I was, but that didn’t stop me from being envious of Blaine. Byron was teaching him everything that I wanted so desperately to learn, and not just about surfing. My only problem was sex, especially the thing that poofters did. It was constantly in my mind.
I surfed and thought about it while I waited for a wave. In a way, I suppose it made sense that Byron’s penis could fit inside Blaine. If his turds were like mine, and there was no reason why they would not be, that little hole could stretch a long way sometimes. If something that could big could come out, it only was logical that something equally large could go in.
When we stopped for lunch, I was as tired as I had ever been. Those few hours changed me. I had more fun than I had ever had before. I was learning how to surf and the feeling was nothing short of exhilarating. And Bruce and I were steadily become closer, close enough that when he paddled up to my board and tousled my wet tangled hair and said it was time to take a break, I felt wonderful all over. I didn’t mind stopping. We caught the same wave to the shore, placed our boards where they wouldn’t be washed away, and walked up to the shack. Lunch, consisting of sardine and tomato sandwiches and lukewarm Fanta that had not made it into the fridge, was waiting for us on the deck. Between the four of us we finished a loaf of bread, three tomatoes, and two cans of oily sardines. Since there was nothing to clean up afterwards except the empty drink bottles and tin cans, after covering ourselves with an extra layer of suntan oil, Blaine and wandered off to explore the sand dunes, leaving our board shorts hanging on the railing to dry out. We both wanted some time alone, or rather together.
“Bruce said you did great,” Blaine said after we’d gone about a hundred yards from the house.
I looked at him, taking in his lean brown body. I liked looking at him, yet after a quick glance at me, Blaine turned away.
“Yeah, well I didn’t drown and the board’s still in one piece, but I reckon that’s hardly what you’d call great.”
We laughed. Blaine shook his head disparagingly. “You’re much better than you think you are, Allan.”
“By thinks I’m terrible.”
“No he doesn’t! Where did you get that idea? He told me you,… Actually, I’m not supposed to tell you,” he smirked.
“Tell me, Blainey.”
“Um,…” Blaine hesitated deliberately. His eyes sparkled with merriment. “He said,…”
“Out with it, boofhead.” I pretended to threaten him. I backed off quickly. “We’re best friends, remember?”
“He made me promise, see Allie.”
“Since when has that stopped you,” I said, without intending sarcasm.
Blaine rolled his eyes. “You’re still pissed about that, huh?”
“No. Not really. It’s no big deal.”
We both laughed because I had parroted it the same way we did at school when we had to repeat something back to the teacher. Both of us had it down to a fine art.
“You’re so funny,… You want to know something else, Allan,” Blaine said quietly. “I’m glad we’re best friends.”
“Me too.” I meant it.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he said humbly. “I did try,…”
“To tell me,” I finished. “I really don’t care. It wasn't that bad, you know.”
I ran down the side of the sand dune, flailing my arms at Blaine. He side stepped, and I continued past him, pretending to crash into the next dune. He walked over to me, shaking his head. I glanced up at him, taking in his nakedness, his penis dangling down, his full dark scrotum. It struck me that it was a part of his body that was very enjoyable to look at. It was beautiful. Suddenly, I realised that I was looking too long. I quickly looked away.
“Allan, you know,… you’re really a no-hoper at times.”
“Yep.” I rolled over and began to dig, pretending I was some sort of animal. It made him laugh as I sent sand flying between my legs and over my shoulders.
“What are you supposed to be?” he demanded.
I thought about saying a ‘dingo’. “I’m looking for gold if you must know.”
“Tell me if you find some.” Blaine stood to the side and watched, waiting until I grew tired. “Man-oh-man, you’re one weird kid.”
“Yep, weird, that’s me.” I stopped and looked over my shoulder. It was now or never. My eyes were always being drawn to him. Without thinking, I added, “I’m not the only weird one around here, am I?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You ought to know. You’re the one who’s doing sex stuff with his uncle.” I tried to keep my voice even, toneless, conciliatory. I didn’t want him to know what I was thinking.
Blaine smiled weakly. “I guess that makes me weird, huh?”
“Well doesn’t it?”
“I guess. How much did Bruce tell you?”
I flopped onto my back and stared up at the sky, at Blaine as he loomed over me. I couldn’t see his face against the glare.
“I sort of figured it out for myself,” I said defensively. “So, Blaine, what do you do with him?” It was the last thing I intended to come out with. It was the one thing that I really wanted to know about.
Blaine regarded me uncertainly. “Just stuff… You know.”
“Stuff like what?”
“You can probably figure that out too,” he replied with more than a touch of sarcasm.
I thought about it. “I saw him put his finger in your bum. He didn't didn't he?”
Blaine regarded me, awkwardly shifting feet. He nodded ambiguously.
“I guess he’s does other stuff back there too.”
“Yeah, I suppose you could say that.” Blaine stared directly at me, as if he could see through me. He licked his lips. “Are you going to tell on me, Allan?”
“Why would I do that?”
I shrugged. It wasn’t the time to be judgmental. “Bruce doesn’t care and he’s your big brother. Why should I care? I don’t,….” But I did care.
“You know what other stuff means, right?”
We had never been closer than during those few seconds while Blaine waited for me to answer. He dropped down onto the sand next to me, hugging his knees close to his chest. I tried to find the words I wanted, to find a nice way of putting it. There wasn’t.
“He puts his dick in your bum,” I said flatly.
Blaine wasn’t surprised. He nodded slightly. “It’s not how you think, Allan,” he said after a while. “It isn’t disgusting or anything like that.”
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
“Not really.” He hesitated. “Well, sort of,… I mean,… at first, it sort of hurts a bit, but then it stretches inside and,… When you push down it slides in all the way.”
I stared at him in disbelief. It sounded a lot like what I had imagined it to be. It was just like going to the toilet.
He smiled weakly. He took his time answering. “After a while it stops hurting all together, Allan…. It feels really nice,… sort of full like, that’s when it’s all the way inside you,… then,… when it pulls back you feel weak all over,… sort of empty like,...”
“Then what?” I prodded in my relentless search for knowledge.
“Sometimes it feels so good it hurts,” he admitted, not reluctantly.
I wanted to know more. I was scared and thrilled by the very idea of it. Scared because I knew that I was supposed to reject anything to do with the anus. Only poofters did things like that, stuck their fingers and penises into other people’s anuses. And it was obvious that Byron wasn’t a poofter. I’d seen a few poofters at Kings Cross in Sydney. Sometimes they walked the streets like the prostitutes, dressed in fancy clothes and swaggering like they had too much to drink, and trying to pickup up American servicemen who were on R and R. Everyone knew that poofters had high pitched voices and waved their hands around like girls. They didn’t wear board shorts and ride surfboards, or live in beach shacks. Guiltily, I turned away from looking at Blaine. Again, I had been staring at his body. His shoulders were square and well-muscled. There were little ripples of brown skin at his belly where he was bending forward.
“You know something? I like it a lot, but sometimes I think By likes doing it even more than I do,” he said almost to himself.
“Stop what?” Blaine asked uncertainly.
“You’re making him sound,… like a poofter or something,” I said bitterly.
“Yeah, that’s right. He doesn’t like guys, Blaine taunted.
“See, so he’s not a poof then,” I exclaimed.
“Except he likes boys instead.” Blaine smirked crudely. He seemed to enjoy saying it. “You know what that makes him?”
“He’s not a perv either,” I countered quickly.
“I didn’t say he was,” Blaine answered evenly.
“Then what are you trying to say?” I demanded.
“Nothing. He’s a bit weird, that’s all.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone, Blaine,” I said carelessly.
“Do you think I’m a poof or something, Allan?”
“Of course not! I know By’s not one either.”
I wanted desperately to change the subject. Even then, I was worried what Blaine would think if I kept talking about it. I clambered up from my sprawled position in the sand. I kept going on my hands and knees until I reached the top of the next sand dune. I stood up and mimicked Byron scanning the ocean for likely waves.
“I see a wave with my name on it,” I called back to Blaine who was still in the hollow between the dunes. “It’s humongous!”
He laughed and scrambled up to join me. We stood side by side, gazing out to the ocean and the long lines of breakers that came ashore in graceful curving lines. There was no sign of my ‘humongous’ wave. From a distance, one couldn’t even begin to appreciate the tremendous power in the waves. They looked almost benign.
“By said you’re a much better surfer than Bruce when he started,” Blaine confided. “Me too for that matter.”
We watched his brother and uncle leave the shack and walk to where the surf boards where lying on the beach. They were wearing their board shorts again, so it seemed as if we were going to surf again.
“Bruce is great,” I said, trying to express how I felt inside.
Already, he had spent hours teaching me how to surf. He even talked to me like I wasn’t a kid. I wanted to be like Bruce, to be built like he was, to be able to surf like he did, to know what he knew.
“He likes you, Allan,” Blaine said quietly. “Really.”
“You told me that already, remember. Before we left Sydney. I like him too. So what?”
Blaine giggled. “Um,... Allan, he likes you.” He emphasised the word ‘like’ even more.
I still didn’t get it. “Okay, so?”
Blaine shook his head. “For one of the smartest kids at school you can be a real lame-brain. Do I have to spell it out for you? L. I. K. E. As in like? Don’t you get it?”
The expression on my face clearly said that I really did not ‘get it’.
“As in dating and stuff.”
I was still confused. He took a deep breath.
“You’re thick. What if I told you he wants to do stuff with you?” Blaine said quietly.
I tensed, pretending not to have heard him. Stuff? Bruce wanted to have sex with me? I was a boy. He had a girlfriend. It didn't make sense. I stared at the beach, to where Bruce was spreading out a towel. Slowly, I turned to Blaine.
“Why? I mean,… It doesn’t make any sense,…. and he’s not a poofter, and,… well,…” I ran out of steam, as my grandmother would say. My mouth stayed open. I was lost for words.
Blaine smirked. He shrugged. “I told you before. He thinks you’re really cute.”
“ You’re making it up, Blaine.”
He stepped back a pace and looked me over. “He’s right. You are cute and you have a really nice body too. He said that as well, you know.”
“Geez. I’m not. Stop saying I'm cute. It makes me sound like I’m a girl, or something…”
“That’s got nothing to do with it.”
Blaine sounded strangely confident, as if he knew what he was talking about. I, on the other hand, was as confused as I could be. I waited for him to elaborate.
“You're a real dopey bugger sometimes, Allan. Part of why he likes you is because you are so good looking, okay, but sometimes older guys just like younger guys,” he added authoritatively.
He kept smirking while I frowned, searching for the word that boys used when they wanted to denigrate someone without going all the way and calling them a 'poofter'. In the end, Blaine provided the word that I didn't want to say.
“Weird? Well, it may be weird, but it’s also true, Allan.”
“Get off,” I retorted.
“I know it’s sort of like saying someone’s a perv, I know that, okay, but it's true.” He inhaled. “Byron says it’s why he likes me. Because I’m a boy.”
He paused, letting it sink in. Part of me didn't want to hear any more, yet I waited and listened. “
“You know something else, Allan? At that sex-ed talk I went to with Dad, when they said that some men go after young boys so we had to be careful going into public loos and stuff?”
“Huh?” I barely remembered Blaine telling me.
“Only it's not always like that. See, my dad told me that doesn’t always mean they’re bad men,” he added quickly. “There are men who just like boys. They don't want to hurt them. They really aren't pervs.”
“By’s not a perv. I know that,” I agreed.
Everyone knew that perverts were dirty old men who loitered around public toilets waiting for unsuspecting boys. They didn’t spend their time teaching boys how to surf.
“Yeah, maybe, but you want to know something else? By says what turns him on hasn’t got tits. I've heard him say it a couple of times now.”
“He's got a girlfriend, hasn't he?”
“Yeah, once, but it was a long time ago.”
Blaine stretched his arms over his head. His armpits were smooth deep hollows.
“You know what he really likes more than anything?” Blaine asked slyly.
I shrugged. I expected Blaine to say surfing.
“Boys like us.”
“I shook my head, not really believing because even then I didn't understand. Still, I found myself wanting to believe.
“He's always saying things like I’m cute, and I turn him on like I wouldn’t believe.”
Again I glanced at him. What he said struck a chord within me. Blaine was very good looking at any time but with his tousled hair and sun freckles, he was entrancing.
“You are cute, Blaine,” I murmured.
“Maybe, a bit,... but nothing like you are. Even Mum says you’re really good looking.”
I did not comment on that. What could I say? We ambled back the shack, put on our shorts and then headed off the beach to where to our surfboards were waiting. We spread our towels out on the sand side by side. Putting on our shorts was a waste of time because by the time we arrived Bruce and Byron had taken their board shorts off again. It seemed that surfing had been postponed for a while. Blaine gave me a grin and did the same, dropping his board shorts where he stood. It had the effect of leaving me as the only person with anything on.
“Now that's what I call a bum, mate. It's worth showing off,” Byron said to Blaine. He licked his lips and made a smooching sound.
Blaine answered with a shake of his head.
“Just remember I don't want showing your bum to anyone else.”
Bruce snickered and said something under his breath that I didn't hear. Byron laughed and after a moment, lazily turned onto his side to face me. He was going to watch while I removed my board shorts. Since he watched Blaine while he undressed, it seemed reasonable that he would watch me as well. Even without Blaine's explanation in the sand dunes, by then I was beginning to realise that Byron enjoyed seeing us naked. Undaunted, I pulled my shorts mid way down my thighs, turned around and wriggled my bare bottom directly at him. He kept staring. When my shorts reached my knees, he wolf-whistled. I wasn’t even surprised. It seemed almost expected after my little performance. I stood there, my shorts bunched at my ankles, not entirely comfortable in my nudity, feeling hot. With Byron's eyes locked on my bare body it was as if I was glowing in the searing heat of the sun.
“Hey, throw Cuddlepie the oil when you're done perving on him, will you Bruce? We don't want him getting sunburned on his bum, do we?” Byron said deviously.
Bruce laughed loudly. I hadn’t noticed him watching me, but he had been. His head was supported by the crook of his arm, enabling him to look under his shoulder.
“No way. Especially when it’s such a beautiful little bum. Maybe I should put the oil on him. What do you reckon, By?”
“Great idea! I think I’ll do Blainey too once you’re done with him.”
Bruce produced the bottle of amber coloured oil. He leered at me wand started to sit up.
“Hey, Bruce. Make sure you put it everywhere, and I do mean everywhere.” Byron chuckled. “You’ll be surprised where the sun can get, mate. Places you'd never imagine,” he said to me with a smirk. “
“Guess what colour your little blue balls are going to be when they get sunburned?” Bruce badgered .
I backed away as Bruce came to his knees. His expression was very disconcerting, part grin, part taunting.
“I can d-do it myself,” I said determinedly.
“After what we did this morning in bed, and all the time I spent teaching you how to surf, and I can't even put some suntan oil on you?” Bruce teased, pretending to be hurt.
“Ah, I thought something was up between you two. So tell me what happened this morning?” Byron demanded.
Bruce smiled knowingly. “You want me to tell him, Bun?” he asked me.
Of course, I knew that he was going to tell, no matter what I said. There was no point in saying anything. Still, I glared at him as hard as I could.
“I wanked him, By. Man, he fucking loved it.”
Blaine made eye contact with me and burst into giggles. I was embarrassed. There wasn’t anything funny about it.
“Did not! He barely touched it,” I admitted with surprising ease. Only a day early, I would not have been able to say it.
“Did too,” Bruce retorted. “His dick was as hard as a fucking rock.”
“I'm not surprised. Remember what I told you,” Byron said.
“So did you get him off?” Blaine asked his brother amid a flurry of giggles. “All the way?”
Bruce shook his head. “No such fucking luck, but I would have in another minute or two.”
He darted forward and managed to grab my hand before I could jump back. He pulled me to him and dragged me down onto the beach towel. I struggled for a few seconds, but there wasn’t any point in resisting. I lay face down as Bruce squirted hot oil in a wavering line down my back. He began to rub it in using both of his hands in long gliding movements from my shoulders almost to my bottom. He stopped only an inch or two short on every pass. His thumbs worked over my spine, his fingers digging into my ribs as his hands swept down, then into the soft underside, forcing into the sides of my belly. When he came to my hips, his hands stopped, circling both thumbs and pressing into the beginning of my crack for a moment before they began to move higher again. It was incredibly relaxing, so much so that I almost dozed off in the hot sun. Back and forth, massaging my neck, working his fingers into and around my collar bones and over my shoulder blades. So slippery. I sighed. Then, Bruce’s hands flowed down my back.
This time he didn’t stop at my hips. His hands continued down until each hand cupped a cheek. I felt his hands rotating, kneading, bringing his thumbs into my crack until I felt my buttocks being parted. The oil was there too, giving a hot, slick, sensuous pleasure unlike anything I had ever known. His fingers squeezed into my cheeks, giving his thumbs even more leverage, pulling my cheeks wide open. I felt so wonderful that I was unable to stop him.
“His bum is so fucking smooth,” Bruce said distantly.
His hands grasped my oily flesh, manipulating as if testing its resilience. His thumbs inched along my crack and finally brushed against my anus. I tensed immediately. Yet, despite that strange violation of my privacy, I did nothing to stop him. His thumbs rubbed back and forth over it, one at a time, not pushing in, but smearing the greasy film and providing stimulation so that my opening began to loosen.
“Is he having fun yet?” Byron asked calmly.
“I can’t tell,” Bruce said huskily.
“You are that’s for sure.”
“Shut up Blaine.”
Then, one of Bruce’s thumbs probed into my anus. Not far, but far enough that I felt the thickness of it. His thumbnail scratched the surface. It felt strange.
“Man, he’s so fucking tiny.”
“Don’t fart-arse around. Stick it in and see if he likes it,” Blaine shot back.
“Feels real good, doesn’t it Allan?” Byron asked calmly.
I barely nodded. Bruce’s fingers were fondling my cheeks, his thumbs slowly stroking across my anus, pushing, pulling at the wrinkled opening. I began to wonder what it would feel like if one of his thumbs actually managed to find its way inside my bottom. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much as I expected. Maybe it would even feel nice.
“Move your legs further apart, Bun,” Bruce instructed softly.
I obeyed. Instantly, I regretted doing it. Bruce’s hands glided greasily from my bottom onto my thighs. One hand remained, caressing behind my knee, the other hand leaving. More oil dribbled onto my legs, some onto Bruce’s hands. Then, both hands returned to spread the suntan oil around and over the backs of my thighs and legs.
“Yeah,… oh man,…Yeah. I think he’s getting a stiff,” Bruce mumbled. “It sure fucking feels like it.”
After a few more passes over my legs, his right hand continued up the inside of my thighs, going further and further until the tips of his fingers reached my scrotum. His fingers fondled the loose folds of blue-dyed skin, tugging lightly, gently manipulating my testicles, finally poking against the hard core of my penis.
“Yeah, he is,” Bruce added. He sounded happy. “Okay, time to turn over any get your tummy done, Bunny.”
By then, I was beyond caring what he said or did. However, there was no doubt in my mind I liked what Bruce was doing. Part of me didn't like him talking about me, the rest of me said 'enjoy it'. I could feel it, stiff and stretched out, pressing into the beach towel. My entire body was deliciously, tantalisingly sensitive, and very hot. Instinctively, I accepted that Bruce was going to touch my private parts as well, right there in front of Byron and Blaine. I also knew that I wasn’t going to stop him from doing so. I rolled over onto my back and closed my eyes to blot out the blinding sun. Still, I could feel their eyes on me, all looking at the hard thin spike that stuck up from between my thighs.
“Will you look at that?” Byron taunted. “He’s at full mast and there’s not a sheila to be seen. It must be because of us. Maybe he likes guys. What do you reckon? Maybe he’s turned on by being around his mates?”
I ignored him even though what he said made me sound like a poofter. I heard Blaine giggling. Maybe he agreed. I didn’t know what I was. Maybe I was. Maybe I wasn't going to get married and have kids of my own. All I knew was that I enjoyed the attention, and having Bruce’s hands on my body. I felt more of the hot oil squirting over my lower belly, pooling in my belly button, then continuing up to my chest.
“Make sure you rub it in properly,” Byron joked. “I’d hate for him to get sunburned on his dick.”
“Yeah, ditto on that. Man, is he stiff.”
“So I see. Don’t forget his cute little nuts.”
“I won't.” Bruce laughed. “Hey, Allan, what’s your mum going to say when we take you home with a sun-tanned dick?”
“She’s not going to know,” I said adamantly.
Of course, after spending so many afternoons at Callan Creek without my clothes on I knew there was nothing to be ashamed about . MY mother saw me in the bath tub sometimes so she was aware of what I was doing even if she didn't comment. So what if I sunbathed in the nude a few times? However, the last thing I would ever tell anyone was that Bruce put suntan oil on me and I got an erection because of it.
“How about your grandmother?” Blaine asked boldly.
“Geez! Get real! Like she's ever going to see my dick,” I scoffed.
I opened my eyes and looked along my body, at where Bruce’s slippery hands were rubbing the oil into my skin. He still hadn’t touched my penis, although he was steadily coming closer and closer to it as he worked his way down my flanks. My penis was pointing parallel to my lower belly, straight and hard and defying gravity. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the strange sensations that coursed through my body. It was like an insistent tickle, yet it was unable to provoke a giggle. My body seemed to be on fire. My nipples became hard points. My heart was beating quickly. I needed more, much more. I made my penis jump up and down to get his attention to the place where I wanted it. What was happening to me? I wanted him to touch me there, in the one place where he wasn’t supposed to touch me.
He was playing a game with me and both of us knew it. His hands came very close to my privates, sometimes so close that his fingertips grazed my pubis, only a hair’s breadth from where my penis joined to my body, so close that I thought I could feel the heat from his fingers, but not actually touching it. When his fingers came up from my thighs, they reached outward to my scrotum, making a feather-light contact, but never more than that. I made my very stiff penis flex again, then, several times in a row. On the last time, I kept it there, straining outward. I was doing my very best to encourage him. Bruce grinned and raised his eyebrows meaningfully. It was now or never and both of us knew it. I relaxed slowly, and hoped he got my message.
Then, holding my gaze, his hand swiped across my penis, giving it a momentary grasp, a friendly squeeze, before moving on again. It returned quickly, lingering just long enough to squeeze it. In that instant something happened that made me feel good all over. Suddenly, I wanted him to do it one more time, then again after that. I breathed out, not believing the sensation. It was very different to the way that Blaine touched my penis. I felt his superior strength. It throbbed mercilessly. Despite that gentle clasping hand, I recognised the same barely restrained power when we were on the beach with him lying over me, when I had given in to him so easily. I longed for his hand to return, to take hold of my penis, to hold it even tighter, because it definitely wanted to be held by the lanky teenager who knelt beside me. Instead, his hands moved down my legs to my feet.
“Okay. It looks like you’re done, Bunno.”
It took a couple of seconds before I realised that Bruce had stopped applying the suntan oil to me. I opened my eyes again. He sat back on his haunches, his impressive erection like a crimson swollen club between his bronzed legs. Vaguely, I realised that his hardness was because of me, that he’d enjoyed putting the oil on me as much as I had. His expression was bashful, awkwardly avoiding me. I wanted to ask him why he had stopped, why he hadn’t continued, why he hadn’t done what I wanted him to do. Without saying a word, he tossed the bottle of oil to Bruce and turned away from me, lying down on his towel. By then, Blaine had relocated himself next to Byron. I sat up, pretending that I really didn’t mind that Bruce hadn’t continued, yet feeling as if I had been abandoned.
“Surf’s looking a bit better,” I observed. I hugged my knees to my chest and noticed that my arms were covered with goose flesh.
No one responded. Byron was attending to Blaine, rubbing oil into his back. Both brothers lay face down on their towels, side by side. Blaine’s bottom already looked darker than earlier in the day. Feeling lonely, I watched Byron’s hands come closer to my best friend’s bottom, then finally clasped both cheeks. He held them apart, looking down. From the way that his hands stayed there, it seemed as if Byron owned that part of Blaine’s body, that he had a perfect right to touch him there. I swallowed. It was still hard to believe. I had so many questions, too many questions. I didn’t want to watch, yet I could not look away. Unlike Bruce, who had taken his time before his fingers made contact with my bottom, Byron had wasted no time at all. Now, with me looking on, he openly, shamelessly fondled Blaine there, rubbing his fingers along Blaine’s crack, pulling the cheeks apart so that he could see what he was doing. He squirted more oil than he needed into the gap.
“Go easy, okay,” I heard Blaine say quietly.
“Sore huh?” Byron asked.
Blaine nodded slightly. “Yeah, a bit.”
Bruce snickered. “I wonder why. So how’s he looking back there?”
“Okay considering. Actually, I probably went too far. It’s a bit puffy, mate.”
“It feels swollen,” Blaine admitted.
“Sorry about that. I reckon we’ll go easy on it tonight.”
“Like that'll fucking happen,” Bruce sneered.
“I'll be careful. I don’t want to wear him out, that's for sure. So Blainey, what about you know what?” Byron asked mysteriously.
“Um? Oh, that. We talked about it By.”
“Ah. So I take it he knows?”
“Yeah. More or less.”
“Hm, okay. So how did he take it?” Byron asked pointedly.
I lay back on my towel and tried my best to ignore them. I rolled onto my front and hooked my arm over my head to cover my ears. I could hear them whispering, Blaine giggling, Byron teasing him, playing their game, hands slapping against oily skin, more giggling, muffled voices.
“Don’t waste your time thinking about them,” Bruce said gently. He moved closer to me, close enough that he could touch me if he wanted to. He was still lying face down on his towel.
“I’m n-not,” I asserted.
A moment later his nearest hand brushed along my side. I shrugged, and pushed him away, and promptly regretted doing it. To make amends, I turned my head towards him. Bruce was now lying on his side. His penis was still hard. I stared at it. The top of it was like a mushroom, broadly flared. Bruce met my eyes when I looked up again. He took hold of his penis. It was so large that two inches or more protruded beyond his fist. His hand went up, then down, pulling the skin tight so that the head grew bigger, darker, and shiny., like a fat juicy plum. I stared down, not believing that he was going to masturbate in front of me. He thumped it against the towel.
“Bad boy! Geez, I’m sorry Bunny. I don’t know why he can’t behave when you’re around.”
I smiled. “I think he n-needs his g-girlfriend,” I stammered. I hated when I stammered. It was almost always when I was talking with Bruce, when he looked at me and smiled as if he knew something that I didn’t.
He shook his penis, also shaking his head. Then, his fingers pressed on the head, causing the slit to open and close.
“Girlfriend?Gross! Who wants a girlfriend! Don’t make me chunder.” He used a falsetto voice like Tiny Tim singing ‘Tip toe through the tulips’. It was supposed to be his penis talking instead of him.
I giggled. Why was I so nervous for? “D-d-doesn’t he like girls very much?”
“Girls? Fucking hell! No way man. The last thing he wants is to get into some stupid fanny.”
“W-what does h-he like then?” I asked, trying to be bolder.
“No cruddy girls, that’s for sure.” Bruce grinned, still using the Tiny Tim voice. It became funnier the longer he did it. “He’s a bad boy.”
“Why?” I managed to say between giggles.
Bruce responded by raising his eyebrows. I giggled, barely aware of the reason why I happy, yet accepting that it had more to do with Bruce liking me than with what he was doing with his penis.
“He wants to be friends with you, I think,” Bruce added slyly.
“Does h-he like m-me?” I asked quietly.
Even as the words left my mouth, I grasped the importance of my question. I was talking about ‘like’ the same way that Blaine talked about 'like', as in ‘L-I-K-E’, as in ‘dating and stuff’. As in sexually attractive. That was what Blaine had been telling me on the sand dune. Instantly, a peculiar thrill passed through me. Bruce liked me!
Bruce made the head of his penis nod slowly. His eyes slowly lifted up to meet mine. He looked slightly worried. I licked my lips. Beyond Bruce’s shoulder, I could see Byron kneeling over Blaine. Blaine was looking up at him, not saying a word. His smirk was more than enough.
“Why?” I asked nervously.
“Hm,… Bruce says it’s because you’re not some cruddy girl,” came the hesitant quavering reply.
“Oh?” It confirmed what I already knew from Blaine and my own observations.
“I think he likes you a lot. He’s pretty weird, you know.”
I froze, not really believing that Bruce had just told me that he liked me a lot. And there was that word. 'Weird'. It wasn't what I wanted to hear. Suddenly, my confidence drained away“
“So,… um,.... do you like him?” Bruce abandoned the falsetto voice.
Byron was still kneeling above Blaine, moving up and down. He seemed to be hovering along Blaine’s body, pushing at him. I couldn’t see anything else because Bruce was in the way. It was very hot and beads of sweat covered Byron’s back. Whatever he was doing, it looked like hard work. However, it also must have been fun because he was grinning down at Blaine. It took a few seconds before it clicked. Surely not? Not on the beach? Not in front of me and Bruce? Slowly, I nodded, tensing up inside, feeling something like panic because I was certain they were having sex only a few feet away from me. Worse, I knew I had to answer Bruce’s question.
“Yeah.” I took a deep breath. I wasn’t at all sure where the conversation was going. “H-he’s okay I g-guess,” I added.
“So you like him, huh? Hm,… A little bit, or a lot?”
I tried to shrug it off and ignore him, but the rush inside me was very demanding. Beside me, Blaine was making little grunting sounds as if the air was being repeatedly forced out of him. I felt a tremble run through me. What was happening to me? Liking someone a lot wasn’t something that I had ever really thought about, yet I appreciated the significance of saying it. I had to respond. I had to say something.
“I’m n-not a poofter,” I said arrogantly.
It wasn't what I wanted to say. Immediately, I could see the hurt in Bruce’s eyes. I came so close to telling him my innermost thoughts and then I failed him by chickening out at the last moment. I was too scared to say ‘a lot’, because I did like him a lot. The problem was that boys weren’t supposed to like other boys a lot.
“You want to hit the waves for a while?” Bruce asked quietly.
Already, he was pulling on his board shorts. I followed, very aware that I was already used to not having anything on. The beach was so deserted that we could have gone naked for the entire day, but it made no sense to get a board rash just for the sake of not wearing shorts.
When I stood up I could see that Blaine and Byron weren’t having sex, not really. Sure, Byron was slowly rubbing his penis against Blaine's belly, and his hands were rhythmically stroking over my best friend's greasy shining chest, but I knew enough to realise that whatever they were doing, it certainly wasn’t sex. Perhaps it was enough to qualify as ‘stuff’.
Then, as I started to pick up my surfboard, I saw more. There was a splattering of spots along Blaine’s body, stretching from his belly button up to his shoulders. It wasn’t the right colour for anything that made sense to me, because it wasn't sun tan oil. My next thought was that it was pee. There was too much of it to be sweat, too milky to be saliva.
I stared, not really understanding, yet even in my innocence, I still appreciated that it had come from Byron’s distended penis. Indeed, it wasn’t the first semen that I had seen. Sometimes, a ram left semen on a sheep’s back after they had finished mounting. And then, it clicked again. It was just as Blaine’s hands lifted away from where he had been holding Byron’s penis. They were streaked with the same fluid, thick strands of it, just like the semen a ram left behind. I gulped, not believing, yet accepting that was what it was. Byron’s semen was on Blaine’s body. For a frantic moment or two, I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t his. That it was Blaine’s, but it wasn’t. It had to be Byron’s because there was so much of it.
Byron turned, glancing up at me as I stood there staring down at Blaine’s glistening belly. He seemed to appreciate my confusion, taking delight in the fact that my attention was riveted. Without saying a word, his hands slid along Blaine’s oiled torso, smearing the droplets into the sweaty, slippery film that covered his skin. Blaine’s eyes were closed to block out the sun, and he didn’t move a muscle, yet he was very much awake. He groaned as Byron’s hands moved up and down his lean brown body.
“Come on, Allan. You want to catch some waves or what?” Bruce said from beside me.
I backed away, half carrying, half dragging the oversized (for me) surfboard. My mind was in utter turmoil. Had I really seen what I thought I saw? We were at the water's edge before Bruce spoke.
“Hey, did you see them? By’s spunk was fucking all over him”
I nodded guardedly.
“There was fucking spunk everywhere,“ Bruce joked. “It was even on his face.”
I wanted to say he was wrong, but he wasn’t. There was even a droplet of it on Blaine’s cheek. “B-Bruce,… y-y-you d-d-don’t c-care?” I spluttered.
“Care? Why should I care?”
“B-because,…” I shook my head.
As Blaine’s brother, he was supposed to care. I dropped the surfboard into the water and held it steady with my foot while I attached the leash to my ankle.
“You think Blaine doesn’t enjoy it?” Bruce asked as he attached his leash.
I shook my head again.
“He does, you know,” Bruce said assertively. We started walking into the surf. “If By made him do it, or he didn't like doing it, I’d stop him.”
“But,… I g-guess I d-don’t understand.”
“It’s no big deal, Bunny,” Bruce said patiently.
“But,… He p-put spunk all over B-Blaine.”
“Yeah. And your point is?” Bruce said sarcastically. “It’d be different if he could get hurt by it. It’s just spunk. When you think about it, it really doesn’t matter where it goes because he can’t get pregnant. Besides, from the look on Blaine’s face. I reckon some of it was his anyway.”
He laughed, pushing his surfboard into a wave and following through by jumping up. I watched him, jealous of his skill, the ease with which he took everything in his stride. Nothing seemed to bother him. The wave almost washed me off my feet. I hurried to catch up.