Date: Fri, 26 Nov 2004 16:48:38 +0000 (GMT) From: Veneration Subject: Whangaroa Part 3 The standard disclaimer applies. If you don't want to, don't. If you shouldn't, don't. If you do want to, what the hell, go for it. Comments are welcome to veneration2003@yahoo.co.uk. Whangaroa By Veneration Part 3 Chapter 8 Breakfast was the usual casual business. People would appear in dribs and drabs as they awoke and were ready for the day. We could either make our own breakfasts or eat some of the porridge that Mum made. This was one of Mum's regular holiday treats, though why she would think that the horrible tasteless stuff was a treat I could never work out. It was barely tolerable only with lots of brown sugar and if I could get the top milk from an unopened bottle of milk. Some people sat at the table, while others were out on the veranda, enjoying the view and the warm morning air. This morning, however, breakfast was more subdued than normal. Henry was quiet after the previous evening. We had reconciled, but the nickname Rat Boy was still a barrier between us, not forgotten and perhaps not quite forgiven. Also, our friendship had moved to a new level. I knew what I wanted, but then I knew what I was. But Henry, who may not even have decided what he was yet, had to decide whether to retreat to our previous, safer relationship, or to continue with something new and unknown. Larry was subdued after the previous night's confrontation. He had been so involved in his and Iris's game of chase and be chased that he had not dreamt that anyone else would notice what was going on. There was also the unlikely pause in our hostilities to consider, although, to be honest, we didn't fight and weren't very hostile. Our constant low-grade sniping was more for our entertainment than anything else. If I couldn't insult Larry, who could I insult? Anne was subdued as she was still angry with me, and annoyed with Henry for seeing her humiliation, and pissed off with Larry for taking up so much of Iris's time. Did she suspect that Larry and the Snow Queen had been together the previous evening? Very likely. After all, she was a Morrison and therefore not altogether stupid. Iris was as chill as any Snow Queen could be. She had discovered that the adults were suspicious of her involvement with Larry and perhaps she decided that life was getting just a little too complicated and that it would be a good idea to let things cool off for a while. The two little Palmer girls were happy and chatty, and the parents seemed to be completely oblivious to the suffering of their offspring. With their manifest insensitivity, it was just as well that they weren't responsible for anyone's wellbeing. Oh, that's right, they were! I did so love family holidays and the way they brought everyone together. Yeah, right. The adults discussed where the day's sailing destination was going to be. They decided that we were going to the Mokohinau Islands, as the weather conditions were favourable for visiting the islands. This didn't happen very often, so they decided to take the opportunity even though they were far out to sea. It was going to be a long sail, with not very much relaxing on the beach. At least, that was what the fathers decided. And how could the mothers object, we were meant to be on a sailing holiday. The Grouch then spoke to his daughter. "Iris, you will be sailing with us from now on. I have let you impose on Max and Pam for far too long." "Oh, Daaad." What an unattractive whine the Snow Queen had. "The decision is final and there's nothing more to be said about it," Jack replied firmly and that was that. Anne opened her mouth, as if to protest, but realised that there was nothing she could say, so closed it again. Larry looked faintly bewildered, as it unaware that he had anything to do with what was going on. The prospect of spending the day with the Snow Queen didn't do anything for me either. I thought of suggesting a swap with Larry so that I could spend some time with Mummy and Daddy and of course dear little sis, Annie. But what about Henry? Perhaps I could suggest he swap as well. That would be a challenge to organise; it might require calling in the skills of that master manipulator, Studs Manley. TANJ. An offshore breeze was blowing, which meant that we were running before the wind, with spinnakers flying. When a spinnaker is raised there is a lot of adjustment of sheet and guy and spinnaker pole required until the sails are set just right. After that, there is little for the crew to do, but the helmsman has to concentrate on keeping the sail filled. The Grouch stayed on the tiller, as he was one of those men who seemed to think that sailing a yacht was the man's job and that it was the wife's job to be the crew, even if their relative strengths suggested that their roles should be reversed. I wasn't anybody's wife, but that was OK as it meant that I could relax and do nothing. The Snow Queen would sometimes sit in the cockpit and sometimes go down into the cabin, doing I knew not what and cared even less. When I glanced over at Henry, he would be sitting quietly and looking out to sea. Oh, well. The mainland behind us quickly became a featureless row of hills, where even the entrance to Whangaroa Harbour couldn't be distinguished. The Mokohinaus were a cluster of tiny, steep-sided pinnacles ahead of us, and other islands could be seen, north and south along the coast. Little happened during the sail until a pod of dolphins came tearing across the bay to investigate the yacht. They sailed around and under the yacht and just in front of the bow, while Henry, Iris and myself hung entranced over the side. They leapt out of the water, sometimes landing on their backs; they swam along the waves, just under the surface, so that they were travelling along a ridge of water, surrounded on three sides by air; then, bored with the too-slow progress of the yacht, they disappeared again. Henry, Iris and I smiled at each other and even Jack looked pleased. "That was so cool," Henry said happily, then the four of us were back in our private little worlds again. Professor Manley listened to the sound of the dolphins' conversation, which was being detected with underwater microphones and broadcast over a loudspeaker. He had just arrived from Stockholm, where he had received a Nobel prize for deciphering the language of the dolphins and learning how to speak to them. Pepino, the young native island boy that Professor Manley had invited on the boat for the day, came back from hanging over the bow, where he had been admiring the dolphins as they rode the bow wave, and nestled besides the Professor. Studs Manley wrapped an arm around the boy and caressed his brown cheek, which was as smooth as his pert little bottom, as Studs knew very well from the previous night. 'What are they saying, Mister Professor?' asked Pepino. 'They are gossiping about what they had for breakfast, and who is having an affair with who, and about the stud dolphin who isn't getting enough sex and, the way things are going, looks like never having sex for the rest of his life.' Um, no . . . that's not what he said. 'I don't understand them very well,' replied the professor. 'They are speaking a dialect that I'm not familiar with, which is why I am here to study this new population of dolphins.' The Mokohinau Islands were a small cluster of tiny islands with very few places to anchor, none of them sheltered from the weather. There was a lighthouse perched on the largest island and as we sailed past we could see it at the top of a steep grassy slope at the head of a small bay. We sailed past the headland and it was out of sight again. On the seaward side of the main island there was a tiny cove, with a narrow entrance, that was surrounded by steep, high cliffs. There was a tiny beach in a corner of the cove, which would be perfect for skinny dipping, but not under the gaze of adults and females. The bay faced into the prevailing winds and, with the waves that usually rolled in, it was normally not suitable as an anchorage. That day it was sheltered and calm, because of the offshore winds. The Morrison yacht was the first to arrive, proving yet again that the Morrisons were master sailors, and anchored in the bay. The Andersons were next, because of my expert help, and we tied up alongside. Finally the Palmers arrived and they tied up on the other side. Then, with the yachts rafted together, we had lunch. I ate with the rest of my family and sat in the cockpit so that I could watch Henry. When he looked at me, he smiled. After lunch, those who were interested rowed ashore for a quick visit to the beach. "Are you coming for a walk?" I asked Henry. "Yes, sure," he agreed and we climbed up the low ridge that lead from the beach. At the top we could see the rocky coast on the other side of the ridge, with the waves breaking on the shore. The seagulls cried overhead and there was the marine smell usually described as ozone, but which was more likely a mix of seaweed, rotting vegetation and guano, that is, birdshit. I sat on the grass and Henry sat close besides me. "Is everything OK?" I asked him. "Yeah, everything's fine." "Are you OK about last night?" "Oh, yes." Henry smiled at the memory. "Come in your pants often, then, do you?" I asked slyly. Henry punched me on the arm. "Ouch." "Don't be mean," he instructed, "that was embarrassing." "I don't know, I thought it was kinda sexy. But I can make sure that next time you wont come in your pants," I suggested and Henry blushed at the thought of what might happen next time. I put my hand on his, where it rested on the ground between us, and he turned it so that his was holding mine. Then it was time to return to Whangaroa. During our time in the bay, the weather had started to worsen. The wind had changed direction and become stronger. The waves had increased in size and whitecaps appeared as the waves broke and the spray was blown away by the wind. The yacht rolled and pitched as it crashed through the waves, spray burst over the cabin and into the cockpit. The Snow Queen very quickly disappeared below into the cabin. Henry huddled against the limited shelter of the cabin looking wet and miserable and, though I hesitated to admit it, rather like a drowned rat. We were not hard on the wind, but were sailing with eased sheets, which made for fast sailing but was hard work for the helmsman. The Grouch was constantly having to work the tiller, pulling it towards him and pushing it away as the waves tried to throw the yacht off course. After an hour of this, he was starting to look tired. "Jack, do you want a spell on the helm?" "Thanks, Morrie, I appreciate it," he said gratefully as he gave control of the tiller to me. I regretted my offer within just a few minutes as I was constantly having to work the tiller to keep the yacht on course. It would threaten to escape my control whenever there was a stronger gust of wind as the yacht staggered up a wave. The sailing was exhilarating, but exhausting and Jack and I took one hour turns on the helm. Henry was not nearly strong enough to sail the yacht under those conditions. We eventually returned to the shelter of Whangaroa Harbour. The journey had been tiring and not the sort of sailing I enjoyed, but the achievement was satisfying. Jack clapped me on the shoulder as we trudged up the beach, "Good work, Morrie." Larry grinned as he walked with us. "That was wicked." Chapter 9 Later that evening I sat on the veranda outside the boys' bunkroom. The wind had died away a little and the bay was sheltered by the surrounding hills, so it was calm and peaceful where I sat. I could hear the small wavelets breaking on the beach and see the ghostly shapes of the three yachts anchored in the bay beyond. There was a murmur of voices from the communal living area and the lonely cry of morepork from the hills behind the bach. All was peaceful, until Larry appeared and crashed on the sofa besides me with a groan. I looked over him as he stared gloomily ahead. "I'm pleased you're having such a fun-filled holiday, then," I commented. "What?" Larry puzzled for a moment about what I was getting at. "Oh, yeah. The holiday's OK, like today was cool. It's just that, well," he glanced over at me, "sometimes it's Iris." "Now I don't want to hear you say anything against Iris, you know I'm a big fan of hers." "Yeah, yeah, I know you don't like Iris, but she's OK when you get to know her." Well, that was a matter of opinion. I could put the Snow Queen down some more, but that was old hat and I was curious about where the conversation might lead. "I thought that you and the Sn . . . , um, Iris got on pretty well. If there's a problem it must because she's not friendly enough, or too friendly perhaps?" Larry snorted. "Hah. Not friendly enough." "Oh? So you're not getting enough of it, then?" Larry hesitated, wondering about how honest he should be, as that would leave him open to my ridicule. But the impulse to share his grievance got too much. "I'm not getting any," he complained. The perfect opening for a put down. How could I possibly miss the chance to poke a bit of fun at my little brother? Except that, well, I was on holiday. I suppose I could make nice, just once. I briefly rested my hand on Larry's arm in sympathy. "You must want to do it with Iris pretty badly, eh?" "I suppose so, I mean, yes of course. What boy doesn't want to get it on with a girl?" I could think of one, probably two, not a hundred miles from here. "I get so horny," Larry continued. "I gotta get some sex soon, and Iris is friendly and I thought she was interested and that we might, you know. We snog some, but then she freezes when I try to go to the next stage. Like, . . . well, you don't need to know the details." "God, no," I shuddered, "my imagination is more than enough." Larry looked over at me. "So what do you do about it? You know, with boys?" My heart skipped a beat and I felt a sudden chill. Larry couldn't possibly mean what that sounded like. "Ah, what do you mean?" "Sex, of course, dickhead. You are gay aren't you?" Shit. He did mean what it sounded like. "Er, why do you say that?" "Well, you're not interested in girls." "That doesn't mean anything," I quickly replied. Perhaps I might get out of this. "Yeah, but you always check out all the boys, I've seen you." Oops, busted. And I thought I was being so subtle that no-one would notice. "Oh. How long have you known?" "Always." "So you knew when you were a one-year old baby?" Larry grinned. "Prob'ly. Nah, I must have been about 11-12 when I realised." "And that's why you stopped liking me about then." "No, it wasn't and no I didn't!" Larry was indignant. "I'm not a homophobe, you know." "Why not? You have every other teenage character flaw." "Wanker," he retorted. "I didn't stop liking you. It was you who didn't want to have anything more to do with me, so I thought 'that's OK, I'll do my own thing'." "But I didn't stop liking you," I objected. "It was you who didn't want to have anything to do with me." Larry and I stared at each other at the implications of what we had just said. "So you thought I had stopped liking you and I thought you had stopped liking me. Well, that's really dumb." Larry shrugged in agreement. "I always looked up you when I was a kid, you know." "Of course you did, you were shorter than me." Larry laughed. "You know what I mean, moron. You were my big brother and we did cool stuff together." "OK then, so why did you start getting all modest and wouldn't get changed in front of me any more?" "I knew it," he crowed. "You were checking me out. Your own brother! What a pervert!" "Oh. Look, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I wouldn't want to do that." "Hey, that's cool." Larry nudged me with his knee. "I didn't mind that. It was just that I was a bit embarrassed at having such a tiny dick, when you had such a big, hairy cock." "I would hope so at your age back then. But it was a cute little dick, and it's still cute now but much bigger." Larry groaned. "I'm being perved over by my own brother, I don't believe it." We looked at each other speculatively. We suddenly had no idea where our relationship as brothers was headed. Larry was no longer a little kid who hung around his big brother, but had his own interests. We had completely different personalities and had developed the habit of sniping at each other, so could we learn to become friends once again? It was possible but uncertain,. The conversation had gone as far as we were prepared to go, and perhaps further than we were comfortable with, so we got up to join the others inside. "Hey, Morrie." "What?" "You're still a dorky nerd, you know." "And you're still a horrible little shit." Larry shouldered me into the doorpost and walked inside ahead of me, laughing. TO BE CONTINUED ...