THE DANCE OF THE BROLGA by Ganymede


WARNING:

This story contains a graphic description of sexual acts between men and 
MINOR boys. I do not condone either child abuse except in the 
imaginary form presented here. If the subject of man/boy sex 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! You have been warned! Read 
at your own risk!

The story is copyrighted under the pseudonym, Ganymede. A single copy 
has been placed in the Nifty archives. Feel free to post it to appropriate 
newsgroups or send it to your friends. If distributing my story for monetary 
gain, please contribute $50 to a charitable organization providing services 
for boys.

The story is fiction. Any resemblance to any individual, alive or 
dead, is unfortunate.

FINAL WARNING:

If you are under the age of 18, if this material is illegal in your 
place of residence, or if man-boy relationships aren't your thing, then exit 
now and save yourself from a life of sin!



THE DANCE OF THE BROLGA by Ganymede



Author's Note: Please refer to the appendix for an overview of rites 
of initiation of Australian aboriginal boys.



The brolga was immobile. Long thin legs disappeared in the dull green 
water. Its compact body appeared to hover above the surface, so still that 
it appeared oily. Its long neck was vertical, its head turned slightly to 
one side. Mist drifted behind it gliding on a faint zephyr that was 
insufficient to disturb the reeds. A wallaby, pale grey fur slicked back, 
plodded cautiously towards the water. It stopped to feed with discretion, 
lifting its head with swift twitches to assess its safety. After nearly a 
minute the brolga moved, lifted one dark leg underneath, and balanced on the 
other. Another minute passed before it moved again. This time its head 
turned slowly to the other side. With graceful ease its neck formed a 
sinusoidal arc as it bent down into the water. It lifted out, swung around 
with flowing ease, and plunged in again. The white and grey bird began to move 
more fluidly than the water, taking each stride and each plunge with such 
precision that its motion appeared to be choreographed. Its long thin beak 
bobbed, then lifted up to point to the pale blue sky of the early morning as 
it swallowed. Each thin leg moved with deliberate elegance, possessing a style 
that added to the perfect charm of the delicate bird. It was a dance, the 
dance of the brolga. 

A boy, a naked boy with ruffled and unkempt hair, rose up from among the 
reeds. He moved with poise and control that gave his bronzed body assured 
composure. Each motion was a matter of will, a visible display of self-
discipline as muscle, bone, and tendon brought him inevitably closer to the 
grazing wallaby. Sheer willpower restrained an onward rush that would 
startle the animal. Two other boys appeared from the reeds and together they 
moved forward, their arms lifted back to carry long thin spears with cruel 
pointed barbs. Three heads followed the progress of the wallaby, noses 
following faint scents, clear eyes unaffected by television, limber bodies 
creeping forward until they were within range. The wallaby sniffed the air and 
turned its head and the boys froze. Its eyes fixed on the first boy. The boy 
moved slightly, bobbing his neck with exaggerated grace as his long legs 
lifted high. His imitation of the brolga reassured the wallaby and it returned 
to grazing, oblivious to the approaching danger.

Two spears leaped forward as one, from thin arms that belied the power 
to kill to survive. The spears followed flat parabolas to the target, 
humming slightly as they slid though unmoving air. The animal sensed its 
doom an instant before the first spear struck the ground behind it. The second 
spear penetrated the earth between the animal's paws. It leaped back and began 
to bound as the third boy, now rushing forward, threw his lance with deadly 
accuracy. It impaled the startled wallaby behind the shoulder and for a few 
brief seconds it was transfixed in shock. The boys began to run, oblivious 
to the thin strands of reeds that whipped at their bare flesh; legs, thighs, 
and genitals exposed to scratches.



 ********************* Hot to Trot, five years earlier ****************

Rodney Carlisle liked to fuck. It was enough to make Jordan smile 
every time the boy came onto him. He was hot to trot, or so the expression 
went and it was certainly hot enough inside his tight young anus. Although 
he never grew tired of it, the last time Jordan entered him was not much 
different to the first time. 

There were samples of ore spread across the high benches in the 
laboratory. Bits of grit had scraped the black enamel surface down to the bare 
wood. Test-tubes and petri dishes with pastes and liquids of various colors 
were scattered everywhere. On a ledge by the window a cardboard box held the 
latest samples from the Gregory Range that Jordan had collected on his trip 
into the bush with Rodney. Now he tested them with excitement, his mind a long 
way from thinking about the young boy who had accompanied him, who had aroused 
him in a way that a woman, or dog-eared pictures had never been able to. The 
results of his chemical analysis were impressive, the composition of rare 
metals nearly at the grade that merited the next stage of making test bores to 
establish the economic viability of mining. Jordan was not surprised when 
Rodney entered the room without knocking first. Nor was he surprised when 
the young teen closed and locked the door behind him. Habits were hard to 
break. 

"Hi!" Rodney said loudly as he walked casually towards the window. 
"I'm glad you're still here."

"Hi Rod!" Jordan said absently. He shook the test-tube again and watched 
the water cloud. The suspension slowly settled into a thick sediment. "What 
are you doing?" 

"What's it look like?" Jordan answered. "Your father is going to pleased 
when he sees these tests on the samples we brought back." 

"My father is always pleased when he makes a lot of money." 

Rodney leaned back against the window sill. He was unusually quiet for 
several minutes as he watched Jordan's expert analysis. The clock above the 
door ticked loudly. He looked over his shoulder and out the dusty-smeared 
window. Beyond the wrought-iron roof of the hotel he could see a 8,000 ton 
freighter docked at town wharf. 

"Did you hear what I said, Jordan?" Rodney demanded. "He doesn't care 
about anything other than making money." 

Jordan nodded. He was used to being the boy's surrogate father 
although it was a role that was far less interesting than being his lover. 
He flicked at a black bush fly that buzzed around his head. His eyes were 
tired, his thoughts somewhere between the chemistry of igneous rocks and the 
sandy-haired youth who teased him with his very proximity and the knowledge of 
what they shared. 

"Money isn't everything," Jordan agreed. "I'd rather have you than a 
million quid." 

Rodney smirked. "Only if you could put him in my bum, right?" 

Jordan smiled and placed the test-tube in the rack with several 
others. He rinsed his hands under the tap. Rodney was wearing a loose tee 
shirt bearing the faded print of a surfer hanging ten and baggy cotton 
shorts that came to his knees. A pair of red thongs were on his feet. He was 
the typical Australian boy of summer with suntanned arms and legs and a 
peeling nose. His brown hair had been bleached by the sun and salt and was 
streaked with gold. 

"Maybe," Jordan answered as he walked towards the waiting youngster. 
"You never seem to get tired of it, that's for sure." 

"I like your cock, what can I say," Rodney taunted. 

Jordan stopped a few feet from the boy and smiled. "I like yours as 
well, Rod. You know, if your old man ever found out about us he'd kill me."

Rodney smirked and raised his eyebrows. "You aren't going to tell him 
are you?" His fingers rubbed together. "I won't tell my dad, so long as you do 
it when I want," he added cheekily. 

Jordan grinned and placed his hand on Rodney's shoulder. It was a 
friendly gesture and the boy smiled in recognition of the man's display of 
affection. His lustful eyes looked up into Jordan's, observed the man's 
desire, and his smile widened obscenely announcing that he was similarly 
interested. His teeth were brilliant white and perfectly formed. His pink 
tongue came forward and lasciviously licked his lips, ready to exchange 
kisses. He was a pretty boy, far beyond what might be described as handsome 
with his long lashes and curling hair. Except for the small appendage 
between his legs he distinctly reminded Jordan of a girl. His features were 
very unlike his father's and Jordan decided that he favored his mother 
although he had never seen her other than in Carlisle's desk photo. He had the 
same soft features and button nose.

"Well? Do you want to...?" Rodney mouthed the word 'fuck'.

"I always want to....," Jordan returned. The f-word was silent but 
both of them knew it was there. "I'm not sure this is the best place for it. 
You might get bits of rock up your bum," he joked. 

"We could go to your place," Rodney suggested quickly. "I don't have 
to be back until it's dark, and then I could call Dad. He might even let me 
stay overnight."

Jordan shook his head. "Your father said he might drop around to my 
place later this evening to talk about the test results. No, I think we had 
better do it here, Rod. Everyone has gone home."

Rodney glanced around the laboratory. It was certainly private enough 
now that the other employees had left for the day. He had come prepared and 
ready for sex. It had been on his mind all day, and with only a few days 
left before he had to return home and go back to school, his opportunities for 
sex would soon be quickly curtailed. 

Jordan felt his penis begin to swell in anticipation. He guided the 
willing youngster forward and positioned him with his back to the bench. 
With his right hand he unfastened the button and zipper of the boy's shorts 
and pushed the loose cloth down until they fell to the vinyl floor. Rodney 
stepped out of them, placed both hands on his hips, and tugged his briefs down 
his thighs. The red nylon slid to his knees before it stopped. He was 
exposed and he waited under Jordan's gaze as his nude body was appraised and 
found to be very enjoyable. His penis was hard, just as it always was when 
he stripped in front of Jordan. His circumcised penis had a thin long shaft 
that presaged its adult shape. Its base was partially encircled by a small 
tuft of fine gossamer fuzz. Below, his taut hairless pouch was bulging with 
two quickly maturing testicles, bloated with the sudden surge of 
testosterone that had, within just the last few weeks, produced his first 
seminal emission. He was proud of his newly acquired skill and he demonstrated 
his additional capacity for pleasure to Jordan at every possible chance, not 
fully understanding why he could climax time and time again at short intervals 
and his man-friend was out of action for nearly an hour. 

Without a word, Rodney put both hands behind him and lightly sprung up 
so that he was sitting on the edge and his feet dangled over the side. He 
kicked his thongs off and his underpants followed in short order, falling on 
top of his discarded shorts. Jordan nodded appreciatively, and unfastened 
his zipper, reached down and extricated his hardening penis through the slot 
in his underpants. The boy's smile widened even further.

"You're one hell of a sexy boy, Carlisle," Jordan admitted as he 
looked down with interest.

He stroked the growing length of his sex organ. His penis was several 
times larger than the young boy's member, although it would not always be that 
way as Rodney grew up. Unless Jordan was mistaken, the lad would be 'well-
hung'. He walked away from the waiting boy and opened the cabinet on the wall. 
Beside the box of tissues was the bottle of hand lotion that he had left there 
for just such an emergency. As he came back to Rodney, he stroked his penis 
with depraved pleasure, rubbing in the greasy lotion as he imagined his 
delight as he slid his shaft into the tight young bottom.

"Show me your beautiful little bum," Jordan laughed. "I got something 
here I want to put in it and I think you're going to like it."

Rodney grinned and rolled onto his back, lifting his legs up so that his 
knees were at his shoulder. Without being told his hands moved back to his 
buttocks, fingers pressing into his deep crevice and parting his cheeks wide 
for Jordan's advance. The first few times his anus had still been puckered but 
his trip away with Jordan had taken care of that. Jordan eased forward as he 
centered his penis in Rodney's crack. He felt the boy's small fingers touch 
the bloated head and reposition it directly over the opening into him. 
Jordan pushed slightly until Rodney's anus resisted him. Remarkably the tip 
was nearly halfway through before the flesh restricted further passage. 
Without greater effort he would go no further. He felt the tension fade as 
Rodney pushed with him. The glans popped through the constricting band.

"Mmmmmm, you feel good," Jordan sighed. 

"Better than a woman, huh?" Rodney teased. He squeezed on the penis that 
now penetrated into him. "I like you there. You feel nice and big. Put him 
in further, okay!"

"Are you ready?" Jordan asked. 

The youngster nodded as he removed his hands from his cheeks and gripped 
his legs behind his knees. Jordan's right hand held his thick manhood, his 
other hugged Rodney's neck. He shoved hard as the boy groaned and pushed 
back against him. More than half of his penis rammed through the small orifice 
with a single thrust. Rodney grunted in surprise at the sudden but very 
welcome entry.

"Fuck!" he gasped.

"Oh gawd, you're so fucking hot," Jordan breathed.

He withdrew until only his glans remained captive. The shaft of his 
penis glistened with an oily sheen and he smiled. It wasn't hand lotion, it 
was vaseline. 

"I see you came prepared, Rod," he observed. "You're really slicked up 
inside."

Rodney giggled girlishly. "I didn't know you had anything here so I 
brought my own."

Jordan plunged his penis back into the willing youth and elicited 
another long groan as he surged past the small ripening prostate and 
bottomed out in his rectum. Much more than half of his penis was inside the 
boy and Rodney's eyes opened wide. Jordan began to move with slow deep thrusts 
that drove his penis into the sensitive bowels without inflicting pain. Rodney 
began to gasp as his sphincter loosened.With every minute Jordan's penis moved 
easier, faster, deeper, and harder until Rodney's eyes closed. He trembled 
in unbearable joy, offering his body for Jordan's satisfaction as he 
hungered for more.

He heard it moving inside him. It made a wet sound, of greasy slime 
sucking on Jordan's throbbing shaft as it pounded back and forth. His pelvis 
raised up and demanded more as he started to writhe in growing frenzy. His 
legs lifted higher and locked behind Jordan, pulling him in deeper and 
pummeling his back in a vain effort to increase the speed. Neither of them 
heard the key turning in the lock, and the sound of the door opening was 
barely enough warning for Jordan to stop his frantic jerking as he began to 
ejaculate deep into Rodney's rectum. He turned as the first gush of semen 
spurted out of his penis and exploded into the naked boy. Rodney panted as 
spasms contorted his body, overpowered by his orgasm.

"Jesus H. Christ," Carlisle bellowed. "What in the fuck! Jesus, Jordan 
what are you doing?"

>From where he stood he could not see his son's crimson face. Indeed, 
he could even see that it was a naked boy who was lying on the table because 
Jordan was in the way. He started to laugh at his chief geologist, his jeans 
halfway down his thighs and his white-cotton covered buttocks pressed firmly 
into his partner's lower abdomen.

"Where did you find a broad with legs like that around this dump of a 
town?" he joked. Carlisle started to walk towards the bench, his eyes ogling 
the couple ahead of him. "I was beginning to wonder whether you were 
interested in women. I guess this is as good a place to get it in as any,..." 

There was a momentary pause as he observed the person lying on the 
bench. Rodney's short hair was a giveaway. "Fuck, it's a boy! You're fucking a 
boy? Who in the hell?.... RODNEY!"



***********************************************************************

Jordan lay in the long grass, his body hidden in the strong afternoon 
shadows. He ignored the black bush flies that buzzed over his head or 
crawled over his exposed skin. His entire being was focused on the rifle 
scope. It was a Leupold 12X, mounted on a Winchester Magnum .300, a high-power 
rifle that was ideal for its intended purpose of hunting wild buffalo and 
crocodiles. Not for the first time that afternoon Jordan wished that the scope 
was a 24X. However, it was a vast sight better than the standard 4X normally 
used for hunting 'roos and wild buffalo. As he peered down the barrel and past 
the cross- hairs, he considered the situation. The slightest pressure on the 
trigger and the man would be dead.

At little more than two hundred meters, the bullet would barely slow 
as it tore through the man's body. A shot close to the heart, or in the 
head, was guaranteed to bring death instantly. And yet something stopped him 
from exerting the slight pressure that was necessary. His finger eased back 
away from the trigger and rested on the guard as he continued to watch. He 
breathed out slowly, relieved for the moment, fascinated by what he observed.

The air was thick with the redolent smell of eucalyptus. It drifted from 
the pure white ghost gums that surrounded the verdant pool. It overwhelmed the 
aroma of sun-dried wattle and penetrated to the very core of his being. Lazily 
he scratched at the mosquito bites on his left forearm and evaluated his 
options. It was a strangely peaceful place where the passage of time seemed to 
stop, or even to fade back to distant, almost forgotten memories.

There was no reason to kill the aboriginal other than the fact that he 
was there with the boy whom he sought for more than two weeks. Certainly, 
the man had a role in the boy's disappearance. Nearly a year needed to be 
accounted for after the truck had gone over the cliff. Some one had to provide 
food and water for the youngster's survival and protect him from the dangers 
of the bush until he was able to take care of himself. However, judging from 
the child's attire, or lack thereof, little else had been provided during 
the time that he had been missing. The boy was stark-naked. From the even tone 
of his dark-tanned skin, he had not worn clothes for many months, perhaps 
since he had first disappeared.

Jordan was both curious and very exited. He sensed the strangeness of 
the situation he observed, almost anticipating the events as they occurred. 
Flashes of deja vu, what the aborigines called 'Dreaming', came again and 
again, with vivid recollections of things he should not know. For nearly an 
hour, as he lay concealed under the wattle tree, and for half an hour 
previously when he had watched from the ridge, he had followed the activity in 
the camp with interest. There were two men and three boys. While all three 
boys were naked except for dirty head bands marked with totem signs, only 
one boy was white, or rather, he was of Caucasian blood. His darkly tanned 
skin was paler than the mud-colored bodies of his friends.

For most of the time he had been watching, Jordan had tried to establish 
the relationship between the boy and his aboriginal companions. It dawned on 
him suddenly. It was exactly as he had suspected when the boy's mother had 
first approached him to begin the search for her son. The truth, despite the 
fact that he little to corroborate it during the period he had been 
watching, was inescapable. Misnomer though the term was, Jordan realized 
that Justin Young, the white boy, had in all likelihood been 'adopted' by 
the group. It was the only explanation that made any sense to him and it 
confirmed his worst fears. It was only to be expected. There was no other 
way that the boy could have survived by himself in the savage terrain of 
Cape York Peninsula.

Justin was slightly taller than one of the other boys but probably was 
no older. He evidenced the benefits of eleven years of better nutrition 
prior to his disappearance. Since then, his body had adjusted to deprivation 
accordingly. Now, his young body was firmly muscled. He was slender and he 
moved with a lithe, animal-like elegance that came less from six hard years of 
dance school than from a long exposure to the rigors of the bush and the 
need to move quickly and stealthily. And yet, despite his physical 
condition, Jordan realized that boy had suffered from his long deprivation. It 
showed in his resolute stubbornness, the dejected lowering of his head as he 
walked, and his reluctance to approach the other boys and join in their games.

Jordan also sensed that the boy was no longer a stranger to his dark- 
skinned companions and yet he was not attached in the same way that the 
other boys seemed to be. He assumed that the boy's apparent diffidence was 
because he would never be able to become part of their culture. Having a sun 
tan equal to anything to be found at Surfer's Paradise did not make him an 
aboriginal.

A faint breeze wandered through the silent gorge, stirring the leaves 
with a quiet rustle. In the idiom of the world's oldest continent, the 
primitive existence of the aboriginal reigned supreme. This was a sacred 
place, a Place of Dreaming. Its sacred qualities were not lost on Jordan. He 
had studied the many wall paintings as he ascended the gorge. He had noted 
that every painting was in the x-ray style, that each animal depicted was 
male, and that even the acts of coition always involved two males. The meaning 
of the wall paintings was clear. Women were forbidden here. This was the realm 
of men, and boys who were about to become men. And as a white man, Jordan 
was as much an intruder in this place as if he possessed a vagina.

Even from far below, when the gorge was little more than a scar on the 
side of the hill, it was a place of special significance. A single spire of 
rock pointed skyward. Its phallus shape was unmistakable. But from miles away, 
long before Jordan had glimpsed the rock, a sixth sense had been warning him 
that he was trespassing and that he was walking on very dangerous ground. he 
tensed, feeling the same sense of dread. The money was not enough for the risk 
he was taking in just being there. It was the boy who detained him, not a 
vague agreement with the child's mother, or the pittance she offered.

Overhead a hawk soared, riding the rising hot air from the hill as it 
searched for its evening meal. Already Jordan was feeling the pangs of hunger. 
The smell of the wallaby wafted to him. It was Justin's wallaby. It was also 
the reason why Jordan had finally managed to locate the missing boy after 
two weeks of fruitless searching.

That day he had finally spotted the missing boy and his two 
companions, both aboriginal boys, as they hunted near the river. It was 
early morning and the mist was still rising from the dull grey water. It 
drifted slowly, following the current. On both sandy banks, well fed 
freshwater crocodiles lay awaiting the warmth of the unborn sun, 
occasionally snapping at each other disagreeably. The pelicans and other birds 
avoided the gigantic reptiles as they drank their fill, spread their vast 
wings, and with considerable effort took off to return to the marshes on the 
coast. The crocodiles were as large as any that Jordan had seen, even in 
Arnhem Land. The largest of them measured more than eight meters from 
pointed snout to tip-of- tail. Jordan crouched low, unseen by the three 
boys. He was wary and fully appreciative of the dangers of being so close to 
the crocodiles and in a grassy area where they could easily approach, unseen 
and unheard until it was too late.

Three naked boys stalked the wallaby with the experience of trained 
hunters until they were finally close enough to kill. While one spear fell 
short and the other missed by nearly a meter, Justin's spear found its 
target in the muscular shoulder of the wallaby. Still alive, the frantic 
animal had bounded away into the scrub, followed by three screaming boys. They 
were not oblivious to the presence of the crocodiles. Instead they depended on 
their reflexes and agility to avoid a confrontation as they leaped through the 
tall grass. The chase had lasted several minutes until the lean youngster 
managed to grab the frenzied wallaby. Jordan watched in disbelief from the 
other side of the river as the missing boy wrestled it to the ground, pinned 
the struggling animal, and strangled it as they writhed in combat in clouds of 
red dust. The fight for survival lasted nearly a minute and it gave the boy an 
erection. It was not large, still boyishly thin, but it was sufficient in size 
to be seen from across the river.

When Justin Young stood up, his bronzed body was streaked with the 
animal's blood. There were broad smears across his chest and thighs. Like 
the ancestors of the land, he had become a primal being. Justin, a twelve- 
year-old boy from the suburbs of Brisbane was no different to the 
aboriginals of twenty thousand years ago. Also erect, Jordan's penis throbbed, 
but in his crouched position he could do nothing to relieve his desire.

As the other boys came up, Justin grinned with triumph at his kill and 
casually rubbed at his groin. He kicked at the lifeless body lying at his feet 
as he accepted their praise. For several seconds the boys chattered, then 
the older boy stepped back. His feet moved apart and his knees bent. He 
squatted down. He lifted his penis up and he urinated in the sand as he 
relieved the tension of the hunt and his full bladder. For a white boy, or a 
white man, the position was unusual and Jordan scratched his chin absently. He 
gazed in growing interest. As the last of the pale fluid dribbled out, the boy 
came to his feet. Justin laughed and pointed towards the moving reeds near the 
river, towards the basking crocodiles. He began to masturbate.

Justin was no further than a hundred meters from the man who watched him 
with surprise and fascination. His right hand moved easily along the short 
length of his now-very-stiff penis. At the same time as Jordan wondered what 
had been done to the boy to keep him away from his own race, he also wished 
that he had brought binoculars on his mission. He considered retrieving the 
rifle scope from his backpack and then he rejected the idea. To do so would 
mean taking his eyes away from Justin for more time than he could permit. 
Besides, he did not have long to wait before the boy's demonstration of his 
sexual prowess was suddenly terminated. Only a minute passed before the boy 
lost interest in his rigid penis. It was about the same time that the moving 
reeds parted and one of the crocodiles slithered clumsily towards the boys, 
drawn either to the carcass of the wallaby or to the boy who appeared to be 
completely engrossed in his own pursuit of self-gratification.

As the sun rose, Jordan watched the three boys quickly carry the wallaby 
away from the river. He contemplated the problem of crossing the river even as 
he considered whether he should have called out the Justin's name in an effort 
to get his attention. He did neither. Instead, he spend the rest of the 
morning making his way upstream. Just as the mid-morning heat became 
oppressive, he finally found a shallow area where it was safe to cross. It 
took several hours to return downstream to where he had seen the boys. From 
there, Jordan then followed their tracks back to the gorge.

Despite the fact that the boys had been extraordinarily careful in 
covering their tracks, Jordan was successful in his pursuit. Luck and 
intuition, as much as skill and experience played its part that afternoon 
and even then, as he pursued a long-vanished trail, he continually sensed that 
another force was at work in leading him onwards. Several times Jordan 
caught himself thinking about the nearly-wild naked boy who he had observed at 
the river's edge, or the pretty boy-dancer whose crumpled photograph he 
carried in his shirt pocket. At those times he sensed the direction that he 
needed to go to find Justin Young. That he would find Justin again seemed 
predestined. There was no other explanation for his uncanny tracking as he 
traversed the gorges and rocky slopes. For once, he was oblivious to the 
splinters and shards of broken stone. Beneath his feet could have been iron 
ore, rocks rich in uranium, even gold, but he moved with a single purpose.

Now, Justin showed little interest in the wallaby he had killed. He 
stood apart from the others as they gathered around the slow-burning fire 
and the animal that had been unceremoniously tossed into its center. 
Occasionally he glanced back at them, as if wanting to be invited to join 
them, or if waiting for one of them to join him. Again, Jordan wondered what 
was going on. If the boy had, in fact, been 'adopted' by the tribe then he 
would seldom be left by himself. Again, the explanation was unclear to him.

He focused the scope on the boy and studied him closely. The boy was 
very different to the picture that his mother had shown him. The differences 
were considerably greater than could be accounted for by time and exposure 
in the wilderness of the outback. The two boys were so different that it was 
impossible to conceive of them as being the same. Justin, in the professional- 
studio photograph, was a very attractive, demure boy who radiated an intense 
effeminacy beyond his glittering clothes. This was the overly pretty boy who 
had won first place in Division One of the Queensland Ballroom Dancing 
Competition for twelve-and-under couples only twelve months earlier. This 
was the boy whose photograph had taken possession of Jordan's senses from 
the instant that he viewed the woman's most treasured memory of her son. He 
had masturbated every night as he studied the details closely. He 
masturbated and fantasized until the attractive face had become engraved in 
his memory. He dreamed about removing each shimmering piece of clothing 
until the boy was naked, of feasting his eyes on the alabaster body of a 
beautiful young male.

This Justin Young was very different to the young, naked savage who 
pouted as he walked beside the dark green water of the pool. Jordan was 
uncertain of which boy he preferred. They were both exciting to him. And as he 
watched, Jordan's thoughts wandered in the heat and haze. As if dreaming, 
his thoughts sprang up as he remained in his prone position and he could 
picture the boy twelve months earlier with such clarity that he not imagine 
anything else. The boy before him became blurred and hazy and merged with 
another boy, innocent and untouched, a virgin who was his for the taking had 
he been in a different place and time.



**************** Dancing Lessons--twelve months earlier ****************

"For god's sake, child, could you please do what Mr. Benson asks?"

Justin glared at his harping mother and shifted uncomfortably in his 
clothes. "Mum?" he whined plaintively. "Mum, I'm going to be late for ballet 
class and Sergei is going to be mad at me again."

Alistair Benson simpered as he stepped forward from behind the large- 
format camera. "Really, I don't think it's right, Mrs. Young. Justin just 
doesn't look right," he added as he pointed to the flamboyantly attired 
boy." He raised his eyebrows. "No, it's all wrong. Perhaps our little dancer 
should stand side on to show his form. He is so,... so slender, so elegant."

The photographer's hands moved elaborately and with exaggerated 
gestures. He guided the boy to turn side on with a carefully placed hand on 
his thin shoulder that lingered a moment too long on the warm sequined 
satin, and then he positioned the slender leg at an angle. Again, his 
fingers strayed, not caressing the limb, merely holding sacred flesh for 
precious seconds. While imparting a graceful dynamic, the pose also emphasized 
Justin's small crotch. Much to his mother's restrained consternation, the 
photographer pulled the crease straight on the boy's trousers and tightened 
the material so that it folded below the small genitals. If it bothered the 
eleven-year-old dancer, there was no visible sign. He merely signed 
impatiently. He knew nothing of sex and the clumsy touches and rapid breathing 
of the photographer were meaningless to him.

"That's much better." Alistair Benson stepped back and framed the boy 
and girl before shaking his head. "He looks so serious again, Mrs. Young. A 
little smile would make him look so darling. And if Crista is serious,... 
No! I think not. It's better that she looks uninterested in him,... as if 
she is bored by her beautiful companion, perhaps. As if her mind is on other 
things. He should smile, like he should be proud of being such a wonderful 
dancer."

For the fourth or fifth time in the last hour his hand patted the 
boy's firm bottom affectionately. "Turn back the way you were, dear boy. 
That's right, so you face the camera. Like this, see,.... Justin."

"Do you want us to hold hands?" Crista Lowe asked.

For several seconds the photographer ignored the boy's partner. She 
was exceedingly pretty but she held no interest for him. "No child. 
Perhaps,... yes,... I think so,.. place your arm through his.... Excellent! 
Now Justin, dear, I want your absolutely nicest smile. Let's see those 
beautiful white teeth of yours. Think of something delicious, like licking 
vanilla ice-cream."

Mrs. Lowe snickered at the man's intonation and the dismissal of her own 
child's pose. Crista also won first place in the state title and the right 
to compete in the national title was hers just as much as her partner's. It 
was irrelevant that the four judges had been watching the boy with admiring 
eyes. Long ago she had decided that Claire Young's boy was a faggot. But, he 
could dance better than any other boy she had seen. He was a good partner 
for Crista, although a few more inches of height would be better.

"Simply divine, now just hold it for a second longer," Benson murmured.

At the same instant three flashlights illuminated the studio with a 
burst of bright light. It was the last photograph of a two-hour session that 
cost four hundred dollars.

Justin breathed out. His slender body visibly relaxing as the tension 
faded. "Are we finished now?" he demanded with unsuppressed boredom. "I'm 
going to be so late. Sergei is going to be angry, Mum. I know he is."

"Yes!" Benson said absently. He stepped away from the camera and tripod. 
"This one will be perfect. A little too butch for the evening paper, but 
excellent for his agent to use, I'm sure. I feel it in my bones. Beaut-i-ful!"

Justin and Crista shared a bored look and walked away from the grey-blue 
background. The glittering spangles in their clothes made a metallic rustle. 
Had the clothes been made professionally, the cost of the photo-session 
would have paled by comparison. Instead, the two mothers had labored for two 
months to design, tailor, and embroider the stunning outfits. Beyond the 
elegance and grace of their dancing, the judges had been smitten by the 
children's clothes. Their matching clothes were by far the best of any 
attire during the grand final in the Brisbane Civic Center.



It was the last photograph taken of Justin Young before he 
disappeared. Later that afternoon, as Benson made the first print, he oohed 
and aahed. The colors were, as expected, both vivid and intense and the detail 
exceeded his expectations. The gold and silver spangles and pear-shaped 
sequins were crisp and shimmering and they contrasted in texture with the 
yellow satin of the boy's impeccably pressed trousers. Though female, Crista 
was no less exotic. Unlike the boy beside her, whose only bare flesh was his 
face, neck and a deep v of his pale chest, a diagonal slash through the fabric 
of her bodice revealed a sweep of skin from the underside of her barely 
present right breast to her left hip.

However, to Benton, the boy's clothes were infinitely more arousing, 
concealing far more than they revealed and leaving everything to the 
imagination except the undeniable fact that he was beautiful. The boy was 
captivating. He had a broad smile that revealed small, widely spaced teeth. 
His cheeks and the corners of his mouth were dimpled and there was a 'Kirk 
Douglas' cleft in his chin. His nose was small and slightly upturned that 
presented a petulant arrogance if he scowled. The boy's hair was light brown 
and only the slightest trace of his once-golden locks remained. His eyes 
were magnetic, blue-green, and very large. Alistair Benton recognized the 
pretty boy for what he was the moment he saw him, but Justin Young had yet 
to discover that he was attracted to his own sex. For now, he revelled in 
the acclamation of his parents and an audience who watched the young danseur 
move with poise and grace far beyond his eleven years.

Alistair Benton masturbated in his darkroom. He held the still-wet 
photograph in his left hand and grasped his aching penis with the other. He 
fantasized about the boy-dancer, imagined him naked and willing in his arms, 
pretended to insert his penis between Justin's firm virgin buttocks, and 
spewed his semen over the picture. As he cleaned off the creamy lumps and 
spots and rewashed the paper, he invented a scenario by which he could lure 
the boy back to his studio and perhaps even convince the youngster to 
undress and be photographed in the nude. Improbable, but it was not an 
impossible task, especially with the boy's natural inclinations and his 
naivete. Alistair Benton did not know that the improbable was actually 
happening at that very moment, that another man's semen had flooded over the 
slender body that formed the basis of his fantasy. Justin Young experienced 
his first sexual encounter with a man even as his photograph was wiped clean.



**********************************************************************

Jordan wiped the sweat from his brow and pulled the brim of his hat 
lower so that the sun would not burn his cheeks. The thought drifted away as 
he wondered how many times he had masturbated using the studio photograph of 
Justin to prompt his arousal. Dozens probably. At least once per day, even 
twice sometimes. He had masturbated every night, and often in the morning, for 
two weeks. Justin's photograph was better than a porn mag, even the ones which 
were full of pictures of young boys. Pictures of naked boys in thin, badly 
printed magazines that came back from Hongkong and were smuggled past the 
customs and immigration inspectors at the airports or brought ashore by 
enterprising sailors who knew the value of boy-porn. Four years ago he had 
owned more than his fair share of those magazines and they had played a 
major part in his past problems with the Queensland police force. Among 
other things, those magazines were responsible for his incarceration in Her 
Majesty's Correctional Facility at Townsville. But beyond his past problems, 
he was tired of looking at scrawny Asian kids performing obscene sex acts with 
yellow-skinned men without their heads showing, unless, of course, they were 
fellating the boy in the picture and then their faces were craftily concealed. 
Long ago he had come to the realization that if one liked chicken, then the 
only type worth having was white meat. After Rodney Carlisle and four years in 
gaol, ochre-colored kids with tiny dicks did nothing for him.

He looked up again and blinked in the harsh light of the afternoon 
sun. It was only a matter of minutes before the sun moved behind the cliff and 
he was in shade. It would be cooler then. Already the aborigines had the 
benefit of shade. Justin had moved to the edge of the pool. He stood in the 
last of the sunshine, waiting impatiently as if for the cliff above to consume 
him with its shadow. He threw stones into the water, half-heartedly trying 
to skip them in the manner of all young boys. Again he glanced back at his 
companions. Jordan watched the young chest heave as the naked boy sighed. He 
turned away again just as the man placed the rifle scope to his eye.

Jordan admired the small bottom that now faced towards him. He knew 
the pleasures that lurked within a young body. Deep inside the cleft of his 
buttocks a tiny hole was concealed. Between the boy's firm cheeks was Nirvana, 
the ultimate paradise for a man's penis. He could envision the feelings as 
Justin's slim body enclosed his penis, the mind-shattering spasms as he 
penetrated deeper, and the boy's grunts and groans as ecstasy came and 
overpowered him. Only shrieking cries of pain were able to penetrate his 
imagined intercourse and restore his present reality. He turned away from 
the boy who consumed his interest and studied the solitary boy who remained at 
the campfire.

For several seconds he did not see the source of the cries. They had 
moved away into the nearby grass and could be easily overlooked in the 
strong shadows. One of the aboriginal boys, the smallest boy, was lying on the 
ground. A man was lying above him. For a few more seconds Jordan thought 
that they were fighting. The boy appeared to flail wildly and tried to push 
the man away. And then he submitted and there was no longer any uncertainty 
about what was happening.

If there was doubt Jordan had about Justin's relationship with the two 
men, there was absolutely no doubt for this boy. He had certainly been 
'adopted' in the fullest sense of the word. It was, upon reflection, the 
only way that Justin could have survived for almost a year in the outback. 
As Jordan stared fixedly at the bodies moving in the grass, a fly buzzed 
around his head. The somnambulant sounds of the bush merged with the 
constant drone and his thoughts drifted away from the present.



**************** Justin's Mother, two weeks earlier ******************



Mrs. Claire Young found him drunk. But then Jordan was drunk every 
evening by six o'clock. She waltzed into his camp without invitation, assessed 
his squalid existence in a few moments, and was ready to leave before he 
even realized that she was there. After that, things appeared to go down 
hill quickly.

"Sargeant Brown said that you were the best person to talk to," the 
woman said disagreeably. "I wasn't keen on coming to see you and now I'm 
sure he was wrong."

"Yeah! Right on, lady! What did he tell yer?" Jordan demanded loudly.

"He told me all about you. I know you worked for Carlisle Mining when 
you were arrested. And I know why you were arrested."

Jordan burped loudly. "Yeah? And why's that, lady?"

"Because you raped a little boy!"

"Raped! Christ is that a joke. Is that what Brown told yer?"

"He showed me some cuttings from the newspaper. I read it for myself."

Jordan drank from his beer can. "Lies! The paper was full of lies. I 
never raped him. The kid was a randy little bugger. He wanted it, lady. He 
wanted it so bad that he practically begged me for it. And when I did, he 
couldn't git enough of it."

"That wasn't what I read," Mrs. Young retorted emphatically.

A trickle of amber beer ran down Jordan's chin. He closed his eyes and 
shook his head. "What's Brown say? He knows what really happened. If the kid's 
old man hadn't found out, nothing would have happened. Shit, old Carlisle 
was pissed off when he found out I was stuffin' his boy's arse. He didn't want 
to admit he had a pansy for a son."

"Mr. Jordan! I,.. I'm not here to talk about what happened four years 
ago. If it was up to me you'd still be in gaol. You're evil. Your type makes 
me sick."

Jordan chuckled. "My type? What type is that, lady? I was the best 
fuckin' geologist on the Cape! Maybe in the entire state. All it takes is 
for a twelve-year-old poofter to make a pass at me and my life is ruined."

He glanced around him. In the fading light, his few possessions appeared 
even more inconsequential. He had fifty dollars and some change left. The 
caravan tilted crudely to one side as it rested on a flat tire. The air- 
conditioner had shaken loose and was held only by two screws. The lawn chair 
had been scrounged from the council tip in Normanton. To the west, the sky was 
a crimson red over the Gulf of Carpentaria. Long-legged cranes strutted 
through the marshes and pushed their thin necks under the water with sinuous 
darts and weaves. But despite his material poverty, he was happy. Anything was 
better than the constant noise and everpresent stench of the gaol in 
Townsville. 

"I did my time, lady," Jordan said quietly. "Maybe I messed the kid 
up. Maybe I helped him to understand something about himself. He sure was 
confused when he came to me. He needed to be loved. I gave him only what he 
wanted. I didn't force him to do anything he didn't want to do. He wanted me 
to love him. Poor little bugger!"

"Brown said you could help me," Mrs. Young said slowly. She dabbed at 
her eyes. "I don't know where to turn now. The police have closed the case."

"Frankly, my dear, I don't know what in the hell you're talking 
about." Jordan stretched his legs out and waited.

"Have you been following the papers?" the woman asked. Jordan glanced 
around his camp, assessed his financial status, and returned to gaze at the 
woman. His answer was obvious. Even the 35 cents for a paper was a luxury he 
could not afford.

"No, I guess not! Mr. Jordan, a month ago, nearly two... they found a 
truck on the road to Cairns. It was up in the Gregory Mountains about forty 
miles past Croydon. It had gone over a cliff about ten months earlier. The 
driver was still inside."

Jordan glanced at his wrist and then remembered that he had pawned his 
watch two days earlier. Fifty dollars was all he received for a watch that had 
once cost more than six hundred dollars.

"I was still inside two months ago. Get to the point," he said 
brusquely.

"I am.... My son's clothes were in the truck," she replied. She paused 
as if her statement explained everything.

"And?" Jordan prompted.

"My son, Justin, he's been missing for nearly a year now."

"Sorry, lady. After a year it would seem like he's dead! I can't help 
you." Jordan scratched his thigh, musing that it was a pity that women did not 
excite him. This woman was very pretty. Her son might very well have been an 
equally attractive lad.

"I,... I don't know that, and neither do you," the woman interrupted. 
"My son wasn't in the truck. The driver was but not Justin. They only found 
his clothes, the ones he was wearing when he ran away. And his wallet, of 
course. He had a library card. That's how they knew it was Justin's wallet."

"He's dead, lady! Even if he got out of the truck without a scratch on 
him, he wouldn't last long up there. Especially a city kid. There's no water 
up there at his time of year. Not in the dry season at least."

"That's what Sargeant Brown said." The woman slumped against the 
caravan. "He looked around up there for a few days with a few aborigines to 
help him. They didn't find anything."

"Proves nothing! The kid might have managed to go a mile or two before 
he died. Once he was off the road, it's a hundred to one shot you could find 
him up there. Like looking for a fuckin' needle in a haystack, it would be."

The woman sighed and sniffed loudly. "They also searched for his body 
with a helicopter. There was no sign of him."

"Well the Gregory's are a hundred miles from here. You sure aren't gonna 
find your boy around here," Jordan grumped.

The woman gave him a distasteful glare. "Sargeant Brown said that the 
only way Justin could survive was if he managed to get to the coast."

"He'd never make by himself," Jordan said. He belched loudly. "What I 
don't understand is why did they find his clothes in the truck. I assume you 
were talking about the clothes he was wearing, weren't you? If he got out 
alive, I reckon he wouldn't have taken his clothes off even if he was badly 
injured. It doesn't make a damned bit of sense."

The woman swallowed awkwardly. "Sargeant Brown thought Justin, uh,... 
well,... uh, he might have been naked at the time of the crash."

"Naked? Christ! Why?" Jordan asked. Anyway, if he got out alive, he 
would have put something on,... unless he was badly injured." He studied the 
woman slyly. "What else did they find up there?"

"What else?" the woman repeated slowly. She breathed with difficulty. 
"God, I don't know. I tried to so hard to raise him properly. I gave him 
everything I could, and he ran away. And now this."

"Yeah, sure you did. What else did they find for God's sake?"

"Brown said,..." She swallowed with distaste and half closed her eyes as 
if blocking out a thought that was so unpleasant that she could not allow 
herself to form the image. "In the cab, well,... the driver's pants were 
halfway off. You know, like he'd been doing it,... having sex,... at the 
time he went over the cliff. They found some other stuff as well." Jordan 
shrugged and tried to pretend disinterest. "They found a jar of vaseline...."

"Yeah? What a way to go!" Jordan laughed. "Wanking yer meat as yer truck 
goes over the edge. What else did Brown find?"

" Uh,... There were some dirty pictures,... there were photos of boys... 
having sex with men. If you must know, Mr. Jordan,..." She shuddered and 
took a deep breath. "Well,... the reason why Justin ran away was because he 
got into trouble like that, if you must know, okay?"

"Not pictures of Justin?" Jordan asked.

The woman grimaced. He knew exactly the type of pictures that the 
policeman had found. They would not be too different from the pictures that he 
had collected before he went to Townsville. Pictures helped when the 
loneliness became too much to bear and fantasies needed help. Pictures of 
boys, of young naked boys, of boys having sex in any one of three major 
variations. Pictures that all too quickly became crumpled and stained and 
had to be replaced.

"Of course not!" The woman groaned. "Sargeant Brown said,... well he 
said Justin might have been having sex with the driver. That would explain why 
he was naked."

"Sure sounds like it. At least it explains the vaseline," Jordan 
chuckled. "No wonder the coward called the search off. The question is why 
he sent you down here. Why are you here?"

"Because Brown said that if anyone could find my son, you'd be the man 
who'd do it."

Jordan laughed again. "Is that ever the truth!"

"Is it because you like boys?" she added awkwardly.

"Because I like boys? Get real lady. I did four fuckin' years in gaol 
because I like boys as you put it. I don't intend to spend any more time as 
the guest of Her Majesty. Least not in this life. It ain't worth it."

"Sargeant Brown also said you knew the area like the back of your hand."

"Yeah? I know it better than most people. Except for a few of the abos 
of course and you can't trust them to lead you anywhere except to the 
nearest pub for a beer. He's dead, you know. The bush is a goddamn mean place, 
especially for a city kid with no clothes on."

The woman ignored him. "Brown also said that you'd be the only person 
who might be interested in looking for him. What did he mean by that?"

"That's easy! Thanks to Carlisle and his little bastard, I'm shit around 
here right now, lady. I can't even get a job washing dishes. I got caught with 
my tool up a boy's arse, not just any boy mind you, but the only son of Thom 
fuckin' Carlisle. I guess the kid's sixteen now and he's as queer as they 
come. I'm the one who's blamed, naturally. It doesn't matter that his old 
man trod him into the dust every second he was alive. And it certainly doesn't 
matter that the kid was suckin' cocks down at the Normanton dock before I 
had anything to do with him. I certainly didn't rape him. The kid really 
wanted my tool up his arse. Fact is, he begged for it. Some boys are like 
that."

The woman shuddered and looked away. For several long seconds she 
gazed at the crimson sky as the sun disappeared on the horizon. Slowly she 
turned back to the man.

"I know that some boys can be like that. If they're homosexual... Well 
is isn't as bad,... but it still doesn't make it right. I think my son is, 
well I imagine he's gay from what happened in Brisbane."

"You really want to know what happened, lady? Thom Carlisle brought 
his kid up here for the summer. He was a spoiled little shit. Only the best 
private school in Sydney would do for our darling little Rodney. Thom 
brought him to me and asked if I would take him with me for a few days on my 
next trip up the Cape. Actually, what he said was maybe I could make a man out 
of him. I don't he had quite the same thing in mind as his boy did."

Jordan drank deeply, paused, and ascertained that he had the woman's 
attention. "Well, young Rodney was queer okay and he started right out getting 
what he wanted. On the first night we were out, he stripped off and asked me 
to wank him. It didn't stop there but I wish I had ended it when I had the 
chance. One thing led to the next and by the time we got back to Normanton 
we were old friends. Little Rodney was always horny. He used to come down to 
see me every afternoon. His old man found us in the back of the lab goin' at 
it. Well, Carlisle wasn't about to believe that Rodney wanted it as much as 
I did so he decided that I must'a raped him. That was so far from the 
goddamn truth, even an abo would know it. His boy used to bring the fuckin' 
vaseline for me to use!"

Jordan stood up and ambled down to the edge of the salt marsh. He bent 
down and pulled another can of beer out of the moist sand. He turned around 
and looked at the woman beside the caravan.

"This boy of yours, what's his name? How old was he?"

"His name is Justin. His age,... he's, God, I don't know. He would be 
almost twelve now. I know he's still alive."

"For God's sake, lady. A naked kid who's probably badly injured isn't 
going to last a day up there. The area is crawling with snakes. There's no 
fuckin' water unless you know where to look and then it's miles away from 
the road. Only an abo could survive up there in the hills."

"Maybe he was able to get to the coast, like Sargeant Brown said."

"For God's sake, lady. If he managed to make it even close to the coast, 
the crocs would get him in the first day. This is rough country. You'd be damn 
lucky to find a single bone after the dingos or crocs were finished with him."

"Then I need to know what happened to him. My son ran away because of an 
argument with his stepfather. We separated afterwards but now we're trying 
to get back together again. I need to know if Justin is dead before I try to 
pick up the pieces, Mr. Jordan."

"Why is that so important to you?"

"Because my husband doesn't want Justin back. It's that simple! I 
don't know what I'll do if he is alive, but he is still my son. I have to 
try to find him before I put my life back together."

"If he's alive, lady, you may not want him back again."

"What do you mean by that? Of course I want him back. He's my son. 
That's why I'm here."

"Damn Brown!" Jordan said angrily. "He didn't tell you anything, did 
he?" The woman looked confused. "If your boy is still alive it's because 
some abo picked him up. He's goin' to be somewhere between the Mitchell and 
Gilbert Rivers because that's where the only water is at this time of the 
year."

"You really think my son is still alive?" the woman asked quickly. Her 
excitement made her tremble.

"Christ, did I say that? I must be losing my mind because I don't 
think I said anything like that. Listen to me will you? If your kid is 
alive, and that's IF! He was picked up by one of the abos. Do you know what 
that means?" The woman shook her head. "Most boongs would bring the kid in, 
you understand? Okay, and there's been no sign of Justin so far, right? That 
means he's either dead, or some abo's gotten hold of him."

"I'm sorry, I really don't understand. If an aboriginal found Justin, 
why wouldn't he bring him to the police immediately?"

Jordan laughed loudly as he snapped open the can of beer. "Christ, lady, 
what I did with Carlisle's kid, boongs do all the time with their boys. It's 
part of the culture. Men do it with boys all the time,. Now do you understand? 
If he ain't dead, your boy might as well be. He'll be as queer as they come 
after spending all this time in the bush."

"You mean,..."

"Yeah! I mean its real likely that young Justin's been fucked maybe 
three or four times a day since he was found, particularly if he was 
sexually mature. Abos aren't much interested in younger boys. I guess they 
want to see something for the effort. Mind you, that's if he was found! 
Maybe he's been screwed even a lot more if he's travelling with a group and 
he's strong enough to go the distance. The buggers share everything, you know, 
even their boys. He's not going to be the same little boy you remember, lady."

"How? How do you know this?" Mrs. Young gasped. "How?"

"Because I know someone who used to be in that position, so to speak. 
It's not pleasant, even if a boy is that way,... you know, a poofter, 
beforehand. If your son wasn't queer, he certainly is now. Assuming of 
course that's he's not dead," Jordan spat out angrily.



**********************************************************************

A buzzing fly finally penetrated through Jordan's consciousness as the 
cries died away. The bush settled into an uneasy silence. It was a brooding 
quiet that was strangely threatening. All movement in the grass ceased and 
Jordan could barely make out the dark-skinned body of the man as he lay 
exhausted over the passive boy underneath him. Afterwards, boys were always 
sluggish for a while. A young boy, even an immature boy, was lethargic, as 
if the dilation of his rectum had drained his energy more than ejaculation.

Jordan turned his head slightly and scanned the lengthening shadows 
for Justin. In the few minutes he had looked away, the shade had reached the 
water and formed dark green pools broken by the scars of brown rocks. The 
coolness was both inviting and menacing. Watching the two aboriginals coupling 
in the long grass had made Jordan's penis hard. He imagined the man's 
pleasure, felt the luxurious wet warmth that enclosed the slowly softening 
shaft of the aborigine's penis. The small body would be enjoyably tight, not 
like a virgin arse that screamed in pain with the slightest touch, but a well-
used 'fuck-hole' that carried a man's member with considerable pleasure for 
both of them. Still, the lad had screamed at first. Jordan smiled. What boy 
didn't scream if it went in too fast or too deeply at first? A kid needed time 
to adjust when his arse was stuffed full of man-cock.

He smiled again. Justin was still watching as well. The boy's eyes 
were glued to the immobile figures in the grass. Perhaps he could feel the 
man's thick seed, boiling with heat of passion as it spurted and anointed 
the small receptacle. Like the boy on the ground, there was no evidence to 
suggest that Justin's own semen had already splashed out in a joyful 
celebration of manhood. But there were signs that sexually maturity was not 
far away for him, perhaps only a matter of months or weeks until the first 
time his penis ejected its milky fluid.

Jordan watched with jealous fascination as the aborigine lifted away. 
His limp penis seemed to stretch to a thin stick that united them, the head 
still contained inside the youngster's anus, the other end permanently 
attached to the man. He grinned. If he was confident of one thing it was 
that the boy had a tight anus. Again his eyes drifted away to focus on 
Justin Young. His thoughts shifted and with a clear vision he gazed back 
into the past to witness something he had never seen.



 ************** The Lesson, twelve months earlier *********************

Justin pirouetted and stopped. His body stayed in the same graceful arc, 
unmoving for several long seconds until the music finished. He relaxed. His 
taut muscles uncoiled and he breathed heavily.

"That was good, Justin," Sergei Andreyev said with admiration. He smiled 
at the boy gently. "You were very good indeed."

The boy returned the smile shyly as the man approached.

"I'm sorry I was late today," he mumbled breathlessly.

He glanced away self-consciously, suddenly unable to look at the man 
he admired most in the world. Together they walked to the side of the room. 
All of the other dance students had left for the evening and now his lesson 
had concluded as well. Justin straightened up, grasped the wooden rail, and 
began to stretch. His limber legs lifted easily to the rail and he locked 
one foot behind it as he stretched. The black lycra of his tights pulled 
into the crease of his groin and accentuated the small rounded lump of his 
otherwise formless crotch. 

The instructor shrugged and leaned back against the rail. "I saw you 
dance this weekend." His voice was soft and calming to the still breathless 
boy as he began to unwind. "You danced beautifully, Justin. I was very proud 
of you."

"It was only that ballroom stuff," Justin said deprecatingly. "My mum 
wants me to do it as well as ballet," he added.

"It's still useful. Of course it doesn't take as much talent as 
ballet, but it's good for your timing." The man smiled again. "I'm pleased 
that you won. You were by far the best there. You were good enough to win 
Division Two as well."

The boy smiled smugly. He thought so too but he would never admit it 
to anyone, not even to Crista who thought he was already too proud.

"Justin?"

"Yes, Sergei," the boy replied. He stopped stretching, straightened 
up, and hesitated before he turned to face the man beside him.

"You are already a good dancer. By the time you are in your teens you 
will be very good. Maybe you will even be a great dancer in time. Sooner or 
later you will need to think about the commitment it will take to do that."

"I already practice as much as I can," Justin answered.

"I know that. It is not practice that you need. When I was a boy in 
Kiev, the only way to become a great dancer was to be mentored by a true 
ballet master."

"But you are," Justin said indignantly. "You danced with the Bolshoi for 
years. You're the best teacher in Brisbane."

"Perhaps. I don't think you understand. Becoming a great dancer takes 
more than practice and a good teacher. It means that you must become very 
close to your teacher. So close that you dance only to impress him."

"I want to be good for you already," Justin objected. "I was really 
happy when I saw you at the hall on Saturday night. I knew you came only 
because you wanted to see me dance. It made me try even harder to win."

"That isn't what I mean. When you love some one, you dance for their 
eyes only. I loved my instructor. It was because of him, because of his 
special attention to me that I danced as well as I did. I danced only for 
his enjoyment."

"Well, I know why I danced better than anyone else there," Justin 
replied. "I was so glad that you came to watch, I was dancing for you."

Sergei turned away from the boy and stared out the window at the cars 
passing below. "I came to watch you because I loved you, Justin. Can you 
understand that? I want you to be a great dancer when you're older. You 
certainly have the body for it, and the skill will come in time and with 
lots of practice."

"That's what I want too," Justin replied. He looked into the man's 
gentle eyes and observed the affection there. Slowly he smiled shyly. "I 
like you too, Sergei."

"Liking someone is very different to loving him, my angel. When a person 
loves you, nothing and no one else is important to you. You only want the 
person you love to love you in return."

"Sergei?" The boy hesitated. He shivered as he spoke. "Sergei, is that 
how you feel?... Is that how you feel about me?"

"Of course. I've liked you for many years, ever since you first came 
to my studio. Now,... now I'm afraid I love you so much that I cannot live 
without you."

"Sergei," the boy burst out.

"Yes Justin? What is it?"

"I,... I don't know. What you said scares me, that's all. It makes me 
feel funny inside."

"You're shivering!"

"I know. I'm not cold but I have goose pimples on my arms, see."

The man nodded reassuringly. His fingers touched the boy's smooth 
cheek and for a moment their eyes were locked together. The boy seemed to 
quiver at his touch, becoming more agitated with every passing second. His 
nipples, concealed under the sleeveless tee shirt, became hard points and were 
visible under the sweaty white cotton.

"I think I love you too, Sergei. I've always wondered if I did, ever 
since I was a little kid. I thought you'd be angry at me. It's not right. 
Everyone knows that boys are supposed to love girls."

"What about the girl you danced with? Kristina? Don't you love her? 
She's very pretty and she is a very good partner for you. A little too tall 
perhaps, but still very good."

Justin smiled. "Her name is Crista, Sergei. I like her, I guess. She's 
fun to talk too most of the time. Only.."

"Only what?"

"Only she never makes me feel like this. She teases me about you. She 
says I talk about you too much. Because I tell her what you teach me, and 
things like that. Whenever I am here with you I feel funny inside. It's like I 
want to go on dancing forever for you. I want you to be proud of me."

"Does it bother you?" Sergei asked softly.

"Uh,.... Sometimes,... well,..." Justin swallowed nervously. "I don't 
know what's wrong with me, Sergei. Sometimes, I think I'm a homo."

"Being a homosexual is not a bad thing, Justin. Some men, and boys 
too, are like that. They cannot help the way they are. But this isn't the 
place for us to talk about these things, Justin. Let's go to my office."

They walked together, side by side. Both Justin and Sergei were 
apprehensive, but the boy was frightened. At eleven years old, he had listened 
to enough playground jokes about queers, and poofters, and faggots to know 
what they meant. Whenever he thought about his dance instructor the same 
question always loomed in his mind. What frightened him now was not that he 
loved Sergei as much as the answer to that question. It loomed before him like 
a dark veil that he would have to lift away sooner or later to discover what 
lay behind it.

"The boys at school make jokes about me," he mumbled as he entered the 
man's office.

"Because you dance? Because you are learning to be a ballet dancer? 
The boys are stupid, Justin. What do they say?" Sergei asked. He knew the 
answer to his question. He watched Justin redden, quiver slightly, and his 
shoulders slump dejectedly as he admitted to himself what he was.

"They say that guys who do ballet,... well they say only poofters do 
ballet. They say that I'm queer and most of them don't want me around," the 
boy answered desperately.

"But are you? Isn't that the question you keep asking yourself, my 
wonderful dancer?" Sergei asked softly. "I am, Justin. I'm not ashamed to 
admit it. I was homosexual from about the time when I was your age. I fell 
in love with my teacher. It's nothing for you to be frightened of you know."

"Did you,... you know,... do stuff,... with your ballet teacher?" Justin 
whispered.

"Of course! That's part of being in love. I loved him a great deal. He 
taught me a lot, much more than how to dance. He taught me about love."

Again Sergei's hand reached out and he brushed the boy's dishevelled 
hair back from his forehead. His fingers lingered, stroking through the soft 
locks and slowly dropping lower to caress the hair behind Justin's small ears. 
The boy trembled. He felt strange inside, as if a great weight had been lifted 
from his shoulders. He felt happy and excited, and suddenly very secure. The 
pain he had experienced from the boys' painful taunts faded in his mind. The 
voices no longer clamored in his head. He looked up at Sergei and smiled 
shyly.

"Are you going to do that stuff with me?" he asked curiously.

"Yes, if that's what you want," Sergei answered gently. "If we love each 
other it would not be a bad thing to do. You don't have to Justin. But I 
love you and I want to be your lover. Do you understand what that means?"

"Yeah, I think so. It means you want to have sex with me," the boy 
answered fearlessly. "At first I didn't know what the boys meant when they 
told jokes about me. Then a while ago I guess I figured it out for myself."

Sergei grinned. "You're very well informed for an eleven-year-old boy. I 
was totally ignorant. The man I loved had to explain everything to me two or 
three times before I knew what he wanted. You have to decide what you want for 
yourself. Because I love you, I'd like you to say yes," he added gently.

The boy grinned back. Already his natural shyness was disappearing. He 
stood silently before the man and tried to decide what he wanted to say. He 
had been confused until only a few moments earlier. His P-E teacher had talked 
to the boys about sex only a month ago. In one lesson they watched a video, 
"Friend or Foe" and pretended to respond to the unwanted advances of a 
homosexual. He said 'no' just as every boy chorused, but everything seemed 
so natural and expected. At the time, and during the weeks that followed, 
Justin disputed what he had learned silently and with growing conviction 
that it was not as wrong as the video and his teacher portrayed. Increasingly, 
he wanted to say 'yes'.

"A teacher at school said that it wasn't right," Justin said. "That guys 
shouldn't do that stuff, even if they want to. He's wrong isn't he, Sergei?"

"There are times when it's right. I think this is one of those times. 
We've been friends for more than five years. I've known you since you were a 
little boy."

Justin giggled at the person he liked more than anyone else with the 
possible exception of his mother. "You're not wrong, Sergei," he answered 
confidently. "The teacher showed us a dumb video and we had to pretend what we 
would do. Of course we had to say no, but I'm not sure I really wanted to."

"Perhaps. You're still a young boy and it's the most important 
decision you'll ever make. Maybe you're too young to decide what you really 
want. You should not rush into something that is so important."

"What if I love you? What if I want to have sex with you? What happens 
then? What do I do?" Justin asked anxiously

"That's the way I feel about you, Justin. I want you to love me more 
than anything else. As for the other, you only have to lie down on the couch."

Sergei gestured to the supple leather couch against the wall. Justin 
followed the man's movement with his eyes. He was confronted by the 
unavoidable truth and the strange desire that was demanding his attention. 
He took a deep breath as he pondered the inevitable question. He nodded 
slightly and swallowed. His blue-green eyes flickered. Hesitantly his hands 
moved to his waist and he fumbled with the button nearest his navel. Sergei 
stepped forward and gently moved Justin's nervous hands away.

"Let me do it, my angel," he whispered. "I've wanted to see you naked 
for so long. You have such a beautiful body."

 The man's expert hands unfastened each button of the lycra ballet 
tights with deft precision. Gradually the stretchy material parted and 
unblemished, creamy-white skin was revealed from the boy's navel to his 
briefs. With one simple movement, Sergei lifted the tee shirt up, tickling his 
fingers under Justin's arms until the cloth was bunched behind his 
shoulders. Without pausing, Sergei's hands moved to the thin, sloped 
shoulders, grasped the soft warm material, lifted it over the tousled head, 
and gently tugged it down the boy's slender arms. Justin smiled as his torso 
was bared by the man he loved. Only a few seconds passed before Sergei's hands 
dropped back to grasp the black lycra. The garment was tugged lower. It 
followed the perfect contour of Justin's lithe, boy's body, dragging with 
it, his white briefs. Sergei pushed the bundled clothing down as far as 
Justin's knees before he stopped to admire the almost naked boy.

"You're so beautiful!" he exclaimed. "I've watched you for so many years 
and tried to imagine you. Over the years I've seen many other boys, but none 
of them have ever come close to such perfection."

Justin grinned. "My step-father thinks I'm too skinny," he said 
cheekily.

"You have a perfect body."

Sergei's eyes travelled up and down the slender form. He admired the 
slight frame, the narrow hips, taut waist, and squinny shoulders of the 
boy's torso. And although his dancer's legs were long and lanky they were 
without the angular appearance of some boys. From head to toe, the puppy fat 
of his childhood had long since vanished and been replaced by firmly muscled 
flesh. He sighed as he focused on Justin's groin, observing still-immature 
genitals that were puny but very appropriate for the lean young body.

"Mum tells him it's because I'm built like her and I'm really in good 
shape because I dance, but he doesn't care," Justin added nervously. "He 
doesn't like me very much because I'm not interested in the same things that 
he is."

"Justin, I love you," Sergei breathed in an undertone that almost passed 
unnoticed.

"I,... I guess, well,... that's how I feel too," the boy murmured. 
Hesitantly he leaned forward, his supple body bending at the waist as he 
pushed his clothes down to his feet. His movement was graceful and as he 
straightened up, he moved backward so that he stood next to the leather couch. 
For several long seconds he held Sergei's eyes admitting the same interest 
that he saw looking back at him. He trembled with growing excitement.

"I want to have sex with you," Sergei admitted to the boy he loved. He 
stepped forward, closing the distance between them as he held out his arms. 
"Is that what you want, Justin?"

"Uh huh. I want you to love me more than anything."

The lissome boy shivered as he felt the couch behind his knees. He 
stepped forward and the man's hands brushed his flanks. With deliberate 
slowness, the hands caressed his chest and stomach, feeling the warm 
softness of naked skin. Fascinated by the gentleness of Sergei's hands, Justin 
was unmoving. There was no indication of his accelerated heartbeat or even 
of increasingly labored breathing. He was aware only of the man before him. 
Only Justin's penis moved. The head lifted away from the soft cushion of the 
boy's tiny scrotum. Within seconds the small penis was rigid. It was 
unyielding as it pointed upward. As it lengthened and became inflexible, its 
proud young owner trembled again and again. It took all of his resolve not 
to leap into the man's embrace. His muscles strained to resist as his heart 
pounded harder and harder. He wanted to be held, locked in an embrace that 
would shield him from the taunts that would follow him until he died. His 
nudity did not bother him although it had been several years since another 
person, male or female, had seen him naked. With Sergei, Justin realized 
that his bare flesh was good. His naked body was something that he should 
not be ashamed of. There was no other explanation of why he felt so happy 
and complete.

"You're stiff, just like I am," Sergei said gently.

Justin's eyes widened as he glanced quickly between them. The penis that 
protruded adamantly outward from his own groin paled in comparison to the 
dominant bulge that had formed in the man's crotch. Under the thin nylon of 
his sweat pants, the shape was clearly defined, even the swollen head was 
given form as it pushed relentlessly upwards. To the eleven-year-old boy, it 
seemed massive and he studied it curiously as he made the obvious connection 
with his own pink projection. Man and boy, so alike, yet so different.

"You do want to do this, don't you, Justin?"

"Uh huh," Justin murmured in awe. "Of course I want to do it."

Sergei eased the boy down on to the couch with a slight push 
backwards. Unable to move away, Justin stared as the man unfastened the cord 
of his pants and opened the zipper of his sweat shirt. Mesmerized, he 
watched as the top pulled back to reveal a chest that was nearly as hairless 
as his own. Then Sergei's pants were pushed down and he grinned as he saw 
the man's sex organs. The tumescent penis projected at right angles to the 
muscular body. It danced with a life of its own as it bobbed and bounced.

Justin's eyes were locked to it, taking in the reddened, distended 
length of it and the rounded glans that was so much darker than his own. 
Even as he looked it seemed to swell and become larger, expanding until the 
skin was stretched so tightly that it appeared painful. The tip glistened with 
a shining bead of freshly expelled lubricant.

"What happens now? Are you going to stick it up my bum now?" Justin 
asked meekly. "You can, if you want." he offered gratuitously.

Sergei grinned. "Where on earth did you hear that?"

"From some of the boys at school. That's what they say I do."

"The answer to your question is no. Not unless you really want me to, 
but I really don't think you're ready for that yet."

"Then what?" Justin asked.

"You don't have to do anything unless you want to, but I'd like you to 
lie down so I can suck your penis," Sergei instructed patiently.

Justin complied with a shy smile. He had spent eleven years obeying 
the wishes and requests of adults and this afternoon would not be an 
exception. Without touching him, Sergei straddled the boy and leaned over 
his crotch. His knees were beside Justin's head.

"Sometimes the boys at school call me a cocksucker," Justin confided 
in a soft whisper. 

He gazed downward, watching intently as Sergei's mouth came closer to 
his hard penis. The lips parted, wet by the man's tongue, ready to envelop the 
child-sized organ. Their eyes met as the man looked along the smooth, 
slender body. Guided by a silent and unknown force, Justin's eyes lifted. 
Above his head the man's powerful penis protruded prominently. he could not 
look away even if he had wanted to. His eyes focused on the dangling 
scrotum, so much larger than his own hairless pouch. Black hairs curled this 
way and that, so very different to his own soft smoothness. The urge to 
touch arose in his mind and consumed his inhibition. His desire was ignited 
and it burned fearlessly.

"Can I?" Justin breathed. "Can I suck yours too, Sergei?"

Sergei's assent came just a moment before his lips closed on Justin's 
glans. Man and boy, teacher and student began to suck each other's penises. It 
came easily to Justin Young, as easy and natural as dancing. Sergei was much 
bigger than the boy and there was a momentarily reluctance as the boy licked 
the shaft and considered his dilemma. The erect penis presented to him was six 
inches long and very thick. He opened his mouth as wide as it would go and 
it flowed into him, sinking deeper inside him until his nose brushed the wire-
like strands of man's pubic hair. Even then it was all that he could do to get 
a little more half of the huge penis in his mouth before he started to gag. By 
then, all of Justin's penis and both of his prepubescent testicles were 
contained within the man's mouth. Sergei sucked urgently, devouring the 
boy's body with loud wet movements of his cheeks and tongue. The suction 
brought feelings of unparalleled delight and joy and Justin responded by 
lifting his hips and pushing all of himself into Sergei's mouth until 
contained his manhood.

Minutes passed. They were long wonderful minutes of intimate touches, of 
previously unknown pleasures as Justin's genitals swished under the gentle 
undulation of an adoring tongue. Sergei's hands moved relentlessly, covering 
Justin's slight body with loving caresses. The window air-conditioner buzzed 
loudly, nearly drowning out the sounds of their passion. Justin's innocence 
became a fleeting memory, he moaned deliriously and arched his body to present 
even more of his penis to the mouth that held him captive. He groaned as his 
testicles were released, then squeezed and teased until his buttocks tightened 
with an instinctive response to an imminent climax. He shifted under the 
man, his bare flesh sticking to the leather as he sought a more comfortable 
position. His knees lifted away and he grasped Sergei's head between his 
thighs, locking him there as the delight became unbearable. Their breathing 
quickened, touches became more urgent, both hard penises probing deeper and 
faster as they bucked against each other. As unsuspecting Justin shuddered 
suddenly with the violent throes of his first dry orgasm, he bit down on the 
huge penis that reached into the back of his throat. Without warning Sergei 
orgasmed. As the boy tasted the salty goo in his throat he pushed away. It 
seared his tongue and he choked. The rest of it spurted over his face and 
splashed into his eyes.

Quickly Sergei lifted away and pulled Justin to him. The boy was shaking 
and he clung to the man as if he was afraid to release him and face the 
world's derision by himself. Lovingly, Sergei kissed the child's head, sharing 
the weak embrace with a fervent hug of his own. Instinctively he realized 
the exposed fragility of the boy, his desire exposed like his nude body. 
Nearly a minute later, Justin was sitting up by himself but he was still 
breathless with disbelief at what had happened. Sergei, premier danseur of the 
Bolshoi dabbed Justin's white briefs at the lad's face to wipe away the 
thick strands of semen from his eyes. His movement was gentle, cooing 
affectionately at the embarrassed youngster.

Justin's fingers brushed his cheek, touching sperm, recoiling as the 
warm fluid smeared his soft skin. Confusion and shame showed in his eyes. 
"It's all over me," he observed plaintively.

"I'm sorry, my angel boy. It happened so quickly. I love you so much."

His arm tightened around Justin's shoulders, drawing the boy into his 
lap, his strength coming from the reserves of energy that he possessed. He 
kissed unabashedly, from his pupil's soft forehead to the bridge of his 
nose, settling his lips against the small, perfectly shaped mouth. It was 
several minutes before Justin dared to kiss back and by then all of the 
taste of semen had been licked away.

His stepfather found him like that with Sergei. After the door opened, 
there was a period of several long seconds while they confronted each other. 
With the vigor that only prepubescent boys know, Justin had become hard 
again and his little penis and testicles were contained within his teacher's 
hand. They were stroked with infinite tenderness, as they continued to kiss, 
now without any reluctance or discomfiture at the intimacy they shared.

"The boy's a fucking cocksucker," Marty Orman snarled. There was another 
pause as if he was summoning all the disgust he could muster. "I always said 
you're just like your faggot father. You're just another goddamn poofter."

"I,... I'm sorry,...." Justin cried. "I,..." His voice strangled, 
throttled with sobs of misery as his distress erupted.

"Maybe you should go to Sydney and join him, if he hasn't died from 
Aids, that is. He'll stick his dick up your arse and give you what you want. I 
bet any fuckin' pansy will pay big bucks to fuck your pretty arse."

"I,... I'm sorry,.... I,.. I couldn't help it," Justin wailed dismally.

"Get your fucking clothes on," Orman ordered. 

Justin wriggled to the side, escaping from beside Sergei. Totally naked, 
he felt more vulnerable and sad than at any time in his life. Even his dim 
memories of his father's final good-bye, paled in comparison. He shuddered 
uncontrollably, covering his now limp sex organs with both hands. He did not 
need to hide his genitals from either man. Neither of them paid him the 
slightest attention as he scurried to find his discarded clothes.

"Not your fucking ballet clothes for Christ's sake," Orman shouted. "I'm 
not taking you home dressed like a fairy." 

"They're not ballet clothes,... my clothes are in the changing room," 
Justin explained nervously.

Orman shook with anger. "Then go and get them! NOW!"

He turned to Sergei as Justin ran from through the still open door. 
The younger man regarded the boy's stepfather with nothing less than utter 
contempt. His eyes narrowed, realizing that he was on dangerous ground. He 
taken a risk. Laws had been broken and he knew the penalties.

"I'm sorry you found us like this," he said apologetically. "It wasn't 
Justin's fault. It really wasn't."

Orman snorted. "He's a fucking faggot! Do you think I'm blind?"

"He can't help the way he is," Sergei said quietly. "For that matter, 
neither can I. I'm sorry if Justin isn't what you wanted for a son."

"The damn faggot is no son of mine. I ought to call the cops and have 
you arrested. But hell, all you've done is give him what he wants." Orman 
laughed loudly. "And from what I saw when I opened the door, the horny 
little bastard certainly liked what he getting. I guess I should be happy. I'm 
surprised you didn't have it up his arse."

Hesitantly, Sergei settled back in the couch and crossed his legs. There 
was no point in antagonizing the man further. "Now what?"

Orman was silent. "Now what?" he demanded angrily. "I catch you 
fucking my son and you ask now what?"

Sergei shrugged. "I was hardly fucking him. He's a frightened little boy 
who doesn't understand the way he feels. He needs to be loved."

"And I guess you've appointed yourself to the task, is that it?"

Sergei shrugged again. "I'm very fond of Justin. Since his father 
left, I've been one of the few friends he's got. He needed help to 
understand what he feels and I was there for him. That's all!"

Orman's mouth turned down in distaste as he studied the naked ballet 
dancer. Men held no interest for him but it was impossible not to be impressed 
by the other man's physique. Muscles rippled under hairless brown skin. 

"You faggots make me sick," Orman spat out as he left the room. "He 
might be just as much a faggot as you are, but keep your fucking hands off 
Justin. If I find you've been at it again, even so much as playing with his 
cock, I'll call the cops. In fact when I tell his mother you're a goddamn 
poofter, she probably decide to keep Justin away from you anyway."



***********************************************************************

Jordan breathed out slowly and stretched his cramped legs. There were 
already two ant bites where the black soldiers had crawled up under his 
clothes. They were the advance guard of a phalanx that was traversing the 
scrub a few meters to his left. It was a clearly defined path of scavengers, 
returning again and again to the remnants of food abandoned by the aborigines. 

Without knowing why, Jordan felt sad. The memory of the young boy's 
sodomy weighed heavily on him until he realized why. His mind drifted to 
another time and another place as he reminisced about Rodney Carlisle. With 
the right man there was definitely plenty of pleasure in it for the boy. He 
decided, despite the evidence of his own eyes, that it had been the same way 
for the young aborigine. The way that Rodney had carried on, he had no 
doubts that the boy was in seventh heaven when they had sex. All it took was 
patience and a boy who was willing to accept a few minutes of pain in return 
for Nirvana for both of them. He remembered Rodney's frenzied grunts, not 
unlike those of a wild sow being rooted by a boar. Young Carlisle would push 
back with each forward thrust into him and squeeze down as hard as he could 
when he felt Jordan's penis receding. Jordan smiled to himself. Hell, Rodney 
practically fucked himself. Any boy was the same way once he was used to 
having a man-sized penis inside him.

There was no question that the young aborigine had experienced the 
same pleasure deep in his bowels, his uncertain waddle across the sand to bath 
his hindquarters in the cool refreshing water of the pool notwithstanding. 
With the man's seminal fluid washed away, the dark-skinned boy inserted a 
finger into his opening to remove the semen that had been deposited there. 
After awkwardly getting to his feet he walked into the nearby grass. He 
squatted down with his heels far apart. It was the same position that the 
older aborigine boy had adopted in order to urinate earlier in the day. Jordan 
watched the chocolate colored boy perform his ablutions, trying to decide 
why he would crouch down on his haunches like a girl. There was no immediately 
obvious explanation. Finally the boy stood up and stretched, arching his 
lean body with natural grace. His navel was swollen with a prominent and 
unattractive lump, a clear sign that his birth had occurred in the bush 
without doctor or midwife.

Jordan turned his attention back to the white boy as he ambled towards 
the young aboriginal. They conversed for several seconds until the dark-
skinned boy grinned and rubbed his buttocks meaningfully, indicating that he 
enjoyed what had transpired a few minutes earlier. Together, they returned 
to the campfire and Justin knelt before the oldest man. A strange sense of 
deja vu settled over Jordan. It was as if he had witnessed the scene earlier 
in a barely remembered dream. His head buzzed and his throat was parched. With 
their backs towards him, Jordan could not see what was happening. Only the 
soft murmur of chanting voices came to him. He swallowed dryly as a nagging 
fear possessed him, as other images overcame what his eyes observed. 



*************** For a Hamburger, twelve months earlier ****************



Justin ran away from home before dinner. He took the bus downtown with 
the intention of going to the train station. He had a vague idea of going 
south to Sydney to find his father but beyond that he knew only that he 
could no longer live in the house where he had lived all of his life. 
Unknown to Justin, he left his money on the bus seat. A dog-eared and often-
opened envelope slipped out of the back pocket of his shorts. He lost $235. It 
was all that remained of his share of $500 prize money when he had won 
Division One of the State Ballroom Dancing Championship. Unsure of what to 
do next, he walked across the bridge. Before he had reached the intersection 
of Queen Street and McIntyre Road he was picked up by a truck driver heading 
north and out of the city.

The passenger door handle was broken and Justin climbed in over the 
driver. As he clambered past the driver slapped his rump playfully. Justin 
giggled as he bounced into the seat. It was the first time that he had laughed 
in four difficult hours and it felt good. There was no seat belt. By the 
time the truck had reached the next stop light he had learned that the 
driver's name was Bruce and the turmoil in his frightened mind began to 
dissipate. Again and again he had considered going to see Sergei, if only to 
say good bye. But his mother's order never to see his dance teacher again 
weighed heavily on him. She had been very explicit: 'see him again and I 
will call the police'.

He fell asleep just before Gympie, two hours later. The sun had been 
shining for more than an hour when the boy woke up smelling hamburger. The 
truck was stopped in a clearing by the side of the road. Justin eyed the 
hamburger, remembering that he had not eaten since breakfast.

"Are you hungry kid?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah, I am." Justin grinned as he rubbed the sleep from his blinking 
eyes. He stretched and yawned. He did not notice the man's eyes as they 
travelled up and down his lean body. They lingered at the boy's crotch and 
then stopped at the hem of his shorts.

"The ride is free, Justin." Bruce smirked as he eyed the boy's pale, 
smooth legs. "But you have to pay for the food."

"What do you mean? I already told you Bruce. I don't have any money. I 
lost it on the bus."

The man continued to smirk. His lips pursed and he licked them hungrily. 
Already he could taste the hairless flesh. "Feeding runaway boys ain't one 
of my charities. The hamburger sure smells good, don't it boy. It tastes 
great! But you gotta pay for it first."

Justin returned his stare arrogantly. "How man? I told you I don't 
have any money."

"Then you gotta earn it, kid. It's that simple!"

"Okay. What do I do to earn it? It's only a hamburger!" Justin whined.

They stared at each other for several seconds. The man's fingers stroked 
the palm of his hand as he evaluated the options. The only thing to be lost 
was if the boy said no. If he did then he could get his arse out of the 
truck and walk. The nearest town was five miles down the road.

"You look like the type," Bruce said meaningfully.

"What type?"

"The type of boy who likes to suck on a guy's cock."

Bruce watched as Justin reddened to his ears. "I don't do that. That's 
gross, man," the boy denied hotly.

Bruce raised his eyebrows. The boy continued to blush. He was certain 
that the driver knew what he had done with Sergei even though it was 
impossible. He shook his head resolutely. The man smiled confidently.

"Its the only way you can make money, kid. You're about three hundred 
miles away from where I picked you up. You're already starving hungry. You 
don't have no money. What's a kid like you going to do to eat."

"I'm not doing that. That's what queers do!" Justin answered angrily. 
The heat in his face was not from anger but from the guilty recognition of 
that was exactly what he was. He might as well get it over with and admit 
it. At least then he would not be hungry.

"Yeah? That's what you are. Well ain't ya? Yer as gay as I am. You 
want it in your arse only yer too scared to admit it. You can either strip off 
or I'll take your clothes off for you. Either way, your bum gets it. Yer gonna 
git naked for me or what, mate?"

"Here?" Justin mumbled nervously. He glanced out the window. A white 
station wagon raced past, crossing the double yellow lines, heading south. 
"You want me to undress here?"

"Of course fuckin' here! I'm not gettin' a motel room for you. Git yer 
fuckin' clothes off. You got to be in the buff for what I got planned."

"But Bruce, please man, I really don't wanna do this, okay?" the boy 
pleaded.

"Whatchya scared of? You sure ain't frightened of my dick. I know that 
because you cain't take yer eyes offa it. I seen you watchin'. You was peekin' 
at me the whole time until you fell asleep outside Gympie. You was watchin' me 
dong git hard."

"I wasn't, honest Bruce!"

"Don't tell me I picked me up a fuckin' arse-virgin," the man said 
angrily. 

"What's an arse-virgin?"

"You don't know what a fuckin' virgin is. boy?"

"It's a girl who,... who hasn't done it before," Justin answered self- 
consciously. "I'm not that dumb!"

"Well it ain't no different. An arse-virgin is a boy who hasn't had a 
man's cock shoved up his sphincter. That's your arse-hole Justin, in case 
you was curious."

"I've never done anything like that before."

"You never been fucked? Cor, I don't fuckin' believe it!"

"What?" Justin asked as he shook his head. "What do you mean?"

"Like I said. You never had a guy's cock stuck up your bumhole? One of 
your little friends from school, maybe?" Again, Justin's head moved in denial. 
"You'll like it kid. I know you will. I can put it in real deep in yer arse 
boy, not pokin' around the rim lookin' for the back door. You'll like it then. 
You look like you'll do it a lot, and not for money either."

Justin shook his head and tried to open the door. Slowly he remembered 
that the door handle was broken.

"I wanna get out, Bruce."

"Shut the fuck up. You're hungry ain't ya, Justin. Well, I'm hungry too. 
I ain't had a fresh boy-butt for years. You don't have to do it but if you 
wanna eat, you ain't got a choice in the matter."

"I don't wanna do that with you. Just give me the hamburger, okay, 
Bruce. Stop kiddin' around. I'm starving."

"A hamburger for your bum hole, Justin. That's the deal.  It won't be so 
bad. In fact I bet you'll fuckin' love it after a while. I know I did when I 
was your age. I couldn't get it enough. I used to hang around the loo at Manly 
looking for men."

"If,... if I did Bruce,... can I have the burger first?"

"No way! Besides it ain't goin' take but a few minutes for me to git 
it up. If you behave, why the damn burger ain't even gonna get cold."

"Will,... will it hurt?"

"Of course it's gonna fuckin' hurt. I got a big one. You're arse is 
gonna be sore for a fuckin' week but you might as well get used to it sooner 
or later."

"What's that s'posed to mean?"

"Just what I said. You're another dumb kid! You city-bred runaways are 
all the same. You run off and leave the comforts 'a home. You ain't got no 
money, not even enough for a phone call. There ain't no mummy or daddy to take 
care of you. And there's only one way for a kid like you to make a few quid, 
assumin' you ain't gonna steal it. You gotta have sex. Suckin' and fuckin' 
is the only way you can make a living, Justin. Git used to it!"

"If I let you do it for money,... how much would I get?" Justin asked 
cautiously.

"You're cute kid and you got a real nice rump, but I don't have the 
cash. I sure ain't payin' you for it. You oughta be payin' me for it! "Bruce 
chortled as he studied the nervous boy beside him. "But I'll feed you and 
you can sit right where yer at. I'm goin' all the way to Townsville. You can 
git out then, or keep goin' with me. "

"But I don't have to do that with you. I don't have to do it, you said 
so," Justin disputed. "Please! I don't want to!"

"I'll feed you and you can sit there until I get rid of this load. And 
then I'm haulin' sum stuff on to Normanton. You're free to come all the way, 
if you want."

"But I don't have to do that stuff.... I don't want to do that with you, 
okay? I don't have to do it, you said so," Justin said uncomfortably.

 Inside, his confidence was ebbing. He understood what Bruce wanted 
and he trembled slightly in uncertain panic, not from fear but the sudden 
surge of excitement that swept through him. Justin could not even begin to 
understand his own feelings, the powerful inclination that attracted him to 
the threatening man and that made him similarly captivating. Bruce was very 
different to Sergei, without the dancer's elegance and patience, but he also 
offered something that aroused deep-down desires in the youngster. It would be 
brutal and unfeeling, and a more experienced boy would have known better. 
The affection that Justin needed, indeed craved for, would not to be found 
in a truck parked on the roadside. With one hand he casually swept the hair 
back from his forehead. It was a distinctly effeminate gesture that angered 
his step-father and provoked his distasteful comments. Bruce smirked.

"I said you do if you want to eat. And when a boy's starvin' he'll do 
anythin' to eat, won't he? He'll even spread his cheeks if he's hungry enough. 
Besides, I know you're the type. I ain't much for readin' but you got 
poofter printed on your forehead in big pink letters right under your pretty 
haircut. Hell boy, I even bought us some vaseline back there at the last 
stop."

"Vaseline? What's that for?" Justin asked.

"It's lube for your arse-hole. I don't wanna tear you up when I stick it 
in you. And there's always the next meal to think of. Friction is bad for a 
boy when he's fuckin' with a real man. We're just wastin' time now. You 
wanna eat or not?"

"If I did,... if I did do it, how bad would it hurt?"

His mind drifted to Sergei and he wondered how old his friend had been 
the first time. He thought of Sergei's penis, so much larger than his own that 
he was insignificant by comparison. He imagined doing with Sergei what the man 
wanted them to do together. With Sergei, the idea was entirely appropriate, 
with Bruce, he was utterly sickened.

"I wouldn't hurt you real bad. You might be a bit sore back there, 
that's all."

"You said it would hurt for a week," Justin countered plaintively.

"I said your arse would be sore from it. It'll only hurt bad for a few 
minutes."

"Why does it hurt?" Justin tried to think what Sergei had said about 
doing it. He remembered nothing about it hurting.

"I already told ya, Justin. I sure ain't no boy. My cock's real big 
and it's gotta stretch yer shit-tube a lot to fit inside you. I'll try to go 
easy on ya. I sure don't want you bleedin' like a stuck pig in my cab."

"If it hurts too much will you stop? Promise you'll stop if I say so?"

"No fuckin' promises except you get the burger when I'm done, mate. 
Assumin' you still feel like eatin' after I'm done with ya. You won't feel 
much like sittin' down or taking a shit, that's for certain."

"Okay Bruce! You can do it for a minute or two, I guess."

"Get fuckin' real. I do it until I fill your arse. That's the whole 
fuckin' point, Justin. I'm tired of wanking myself. I want to put my spunk 
up yer gut, boy."

"Huh? What do you mean?" Justin asked with growing fear.

"Where have you been kid? How old did you say you was, Justin? Eleven, 
right and you don't fuckin' know what spunk is. It's the juice from your 
balls. I'm gonna fuck you till I cream in your arse. You do know what spunk 
is, don't ya?"

"Yeah, I know what spunk is," Justin acknowledged uncertainly. 

It was what the boys at school alluded to, most of them sexually 
immature like Justin. But it was no longer the mysterious fluid he had once 
thought it to be before Sergei's semen had splattered over him without 
warning. He remembered the distinctive odor of it, the slightly salty taste 
that was not unpleasant. He recalled swallowing the first blast in his 
mouth, like a hot slimy oyster as it slid down his throat and into his 
belly. He still held Sergei's juice inside him and he felt good. He felt a 
welcome happiness as he thought of Sergei and the copious fluid that had 
spurted over his face. Some of it had even gone into his mouth. It had been 
not much longer than twelve hours and the taste had long since disappeared but 
he had not forgotten. It was hot and thick and slightly salty. It tasted 
nothing like cream and its constituency was far more like egg-white than 
anything from a cow. Strangely he found himself wondering whether this man's 
ejaculation would taste the same until he realized that the question was 
moot if Bruce had his way. He tried to imagine what it would feel like 
having the man's semen inside his bottom and he shuddered at the thought. He 
wondered whether it would hurt him. 

"What happens to it?" Justin asked nervously. "If you do it in my bum, 
does it run out afterwards."

Bruce grinned. Victory was in sight. "Sometimes it stays inside him 
until you take a crap but some of it dribbles out right away cause yer arse is 
loosened right up. The worst problem is it can be hard to take a shit 
afterwards. You might not go for a few days," Bruce laughed. "But then 
sometimes a kid will get a bad case of diarrhea from being fucked in the arse. 
Ph--eeew, does it stink! You better not crap in my truck. You tell me so I got 
time to pull over, understand?"

 Justin nodded glumly as he tried to remember when he had last 
defecated. It had been at the photo session with Crista, just before he had 
put on his outfit.

"Don't worry, it won't hurt you. It's not like you can git preggers or 
anything like that."

"I knew that!" Justin said angrily. "Everyone knows boys can't get 
pregnant, just girls." 

"You got that right, kid, and it takes spunk to do it. Can you do it 
yet? Na' I bet you cain't. You still got the little boy look between your 
legs. A little squib of a dick like you got down there ain't goin' to have 
spunk, not for a year or two at least. And you ain't much good for pokin' it 
at a girl. Not when you're hot for a man with a big dong like mine."

Justin's head shook slightly as he acknowledged his deficiency. Sergei 
had been appreciative of his young body, admiring its smoothness and grace. 
His years of dancing had honed his muscles into firmness, giving him a 
hidden strength that belied his long thin limbs and narrow torso. He could 
move quickly when the need arose. If he was given a chance to escape he 
would take it in an instant. He could be safe before this lumbering truck 
driver even began to move. For now, there was nothing that he could do 
except to submit. He nodded slightly in silent acquiescence to the man's 
offer. Not even fully understanding what was required of him, realizing only 
that it somehow involved the man inserting his penis into his bottom, he 
decided that he would do what the Bruce wanted. At least he would eat and at 
that moment his famished stomach demanded nourishment.

"Fuck, who gives a shit if you can spunk when I'm soddin' your bum. 
Now git yer clothes off. Strip off everything! And fast, because I'm 
startin' to get pissed. With all the time you're wastin', we could be 
fuckin' done by now."

"Bruce," Justin implored, "Please? If I suck it, isn't that enough?"

"I'm waitin' boy. Climb back there and get naked," Bruce ordered as 
his thumb jerked over his shoulder. "Okay," Justin said nervously.

Bruce nodded abruptly and rubbed the large bulge in his jeans 
aggressively. "I'm gettin' horny now. I'm still waitin' to see the 
merchandise, mate. We could be fuckin' done by now and you could be eatin' 
this burger."

Slowly Justin Young began to undress hesitantly, his awkwardness 
coming not from the confined cabin, by from removing his clothes in the 
presence of a grown man. Impossibly, and despite his best effort to direct his 
thoughts elsewhere, his penis became erect. He tried to delay the inevitable 
exposure as he fumbled with his shoe laces. His hands shook. He swallowed 
dryly, smelling the aroma of fresh hamburger. Thoughts of Sergei clamored 
for attention and then they vanished. He wanted to be held in strong arms. Did 
it really matter whether those arms belong to Sergei or another man so long as 
they held him securely. His fingers fumbled clumsily with each button of his 
shirt until it was open at the front. He met Bruce's hungry eyes and took a 
deep breath, knowing that he was required to remove it as the man watched. 
He shivered and pushed it back and wriggled free, exposing creamy 
unblemished skin. 

Bruce watched him with undivided attention. The corners of his eyes 
crinkled and he smiled appreciatively. He had hit the jackpot. Justin's 
shirt opened as the buttons were clumsily unfastened. His small chest was pale 
but well developed from years of exercise. Like a gymnast, his shoulders 
were solid muscle, each rib a definitive line that curved to the depression of 
his sternum. His belly was also firmly muscled, two ridges that traversed from 
chest almost to his groin, parted only by an indented navel. He licked his 
lips hungrily as Justin's fingers began to unfasten the clasp of his shorts. 
>From the knees down, the boy had superb legs. He hungered to see the rest of 
him and he rubbed his swollen crotch with anticipation as the metallic 
zipper was opened. 

 "Skinny little runt aren't you?" Bruce observed. "Sure ain't no meat on 
your ribs. You on a diet or sumthin?"

Justin stared at him uncomfortably and shook his head. There was no 
disputing that he was thin but he was also in excellent condition. A boy had 
to be fit in order to survive the long hours of strenuous exercise that was 
demanded of him every afternoon. His trim abdomen was firmly muscled, with 
barely visible nipples and a tiny navel whose presence was amplified by the 
long belly muscles that stretched to his groin.

"Yer shorts too, kid. I want you starkers to earn your burger."

Justin sniffed loudly and wiped his hand across his face to smear the 
tears that threatened to break loose at any moment. When Sergei had 
undressed him he had felt nothing but a wonderful light-headed sense as his 
clothes were removed. He wanted Sergei to see him naked. Now he felt guilty as 
the man stared at him and waited for the last vestige of clothing to be 
removed. He understood what would happen then. Instinctively his anus 
tightened and again he forced himself to resist the temptation to cry. He 
had to be brave.

Self-consciously his hands moved to his waist. Thin fingers that had 
never seen work deftly unfastened the clasp and zipper of his shorts. He 
exposed a body that had never seen the brutal strength of a man. As the 
cloth was slowly pushed down his legs Bruce's eyes focused on the child's limp 
penis. Justin looked up, now completely naked. In the gloom of the sleeping 
compartment his body had the lustre of polished porcelain. Like a virgin, he 
radiated pure innocence in a place that had known only animal lust for the 
last four years. Bruce grinned wickedly and his hands clenched to resist the 
urge to hurt the tender youngster.

Justin stopped. Beneath his hands, hidden by his white cotton 
underpants, his little penis throbbed. It was every bit as hard as it had been 
with Sergei. He felt shame building within him. Undressing before Sergei in 
the privacy of his office was very different to this. Here, in the cab of 
the semi-trailer, he was exposed to the world. He shivered fearfully, took one 
quick look at the man sitting beside him, and shook his head in denial.

Bruce started to laugh. "You're chicken, is that it? Are you afraid I'll 
see your dick, or what I'll do to it?"

Again Justin's head shook as he looked down guiltily. His mother's words 
rang in his ears but so did Sergei's gentle coaxing. Being homosexual was 
bad by her standards but not by Sergei's. It was how he was born. It was not a 
matter of choice but a matter of fact. He wanted to cry but there were no 
tears. He sniffed and wiped at his nose. He glanced at Bruce. There was no 
hatred or loathing. Instead what Justin observed there was appreciation of his 
half nude body. Bruce looked at him differently to Sergei, but the looks meant 
the same thing. Both men wanted him. He closed his eyes for a moment and 
breathed out as he tried to decide. What harm was there in doing what he 
wanted to do? Was there really any difference between Sergei and Bruce, except 
that he had known one man for five wonderful years. They both wanted to have 
sex with him. Slowly, deliberately, he nodded and his fingers grasped his open 
shorts and began to pull them downwards.

He stopped momentarily at his knees, waiting for guidance. He had a 
faint hope that Bruce would stop him there, at least to find a place more 
private than the side of the highway. There was no intervention as Bruce gazed 
upon his middle section with enthusiasm. 

"Go on, take 'em off," Bruce prompted. He stared at the smooth long 
thighs beside him. Only the boy's briefs provided any modesty. "Let me see the 
merchandise and I'll let you start on the burger." He smirked. "You'll get the 
rest of it when I'm finished with you."

"The merchandise?"

"Take everything off so I can see your tool. You sure can't have sex 
with your clothes on can you, matey?"

"Here?" Justin whispered. "What if someone sees me? There's cars going 
past all the time. What if one stops?"

Bruce shrugged. "Not here, back there. No one's going to see nuthin' 
boy, except me," he answered as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "If 
there weren't people around, I'd do it to you right here. I probably will at 
some point if you stick with me until we're further up the coast."

Justin's eyes followed Bruce's backward gesture as he lifted back the 
oil-stained curtain. Bruce grinned with anticipation as the lithe almost-naked 
boy twisted around and saw what fate had in store for him. Justin saw the 
cabin behind the seats. Strangely, he had not noticed it before. The tiny room 
was chaotic, with clothes and magazines scattered among the sheets. The sheets 
were no longer white and they were tangled at the foot of the bed. Dirty 
clothes, underpants and sweat and semen-stained singlets were tossed on the 
cabinets at the furthermost side. He felt the hunger of going without dinner 
and breakfast in his belly and his reluctance dissipated. The smell of 
hamburger was like an aphrodisiac. Slowly his two hands pushed his shorts down 
past his knees and fell noiselessly to his feet. Only his white underpants lay 
between his obviously aroused penis and the man's interested gaze. They were 
the same underpants that Sergei had pulled down but Justin did not think of 
it. Now they afforded the only protection to his boy-part. He had no choice 
but to go into the sleeping cabin. 

Bruce watched the boy's firm buttocks and lean legs as he bent down 
and moved easily between the two seats. His eyes were riveted to the wiry 
young body, admiring the small bottom presented for his inspection. He was a 
beautiful boy, with graceful proportions that emphasized his natural 
agility. Compared to the heavyset man, with thick beefy arms his slight 
frame was scrawny. Until the vibrant white underpants, his pinched buttocks 
captivated Bruce and he salivated at the prospect of plundering the small, 
very-tight anus with his man-sex. It would happen with or without the boy's 
consent.

Justin crawled into the corner furthest from the opening, getting as far 
away from Bruce as was possible in the confined space. The air was stale 
with the strong scent of diesel fuel and cigarettes. Suddenly he felt very 
frightened. A magazine lying on the bed next to the greasy pillow caught his 
eye and he swallowed. A picture of an Asian boy, probably no older than he was 
confronted him. The boy faced the camera with a crude leer, as much a 
grimace of pain as anything else. One hand reached between his skinny legs 
to hold the thick shaft of an ivory dildo, brown-smeared and partially 
concealed within his enlarged anus.

"Now your undies, mate," Bruce prompted eagerly as he started to move 
into the cabin after his prey. "And I'll give you some of the hamburger," he 
added teasingly. "You can eat it while I eat your meat."

Justin shivered. He could not forget the wonderful feeling of Sergei's 
mouth on his penis. His joy had been beyond description as his juvenile body 
reached the peak. 'Eating his meat' could only mean one thing. He swallowed, 
still nervous but quickly becoming excited as the thrill of anticipation began 
to build. His memory of the flood of Sergei's semen over his face was enough 
to make his heart beat increase. It was a mutual pleasure in which he was an 
almost equal participant with a grown man. The exchange of food for the 
unknown experience of anal intercourse was very different. The chance of 
oral sex now offered to the normally submissive boy, became an opportunity for 
physical gratification as well as to satisfy his growing hunger. His penis 
started to become erect.

 
****************************************************************************

The shadows eventually reached Jordan and he sighed with relief as the 
heat from the dying sun began to fade. He was hungry. More than anything, what 
he wanted was a cold beer, but he would settle for anything fluid in his 
parched throat. He scratched the bridge of his nose thoughtfully and studied 
the aboriginals again. Nothing had changed, or had it. The smaller boy 
seemed to have recovered, if not fully, at least enough to help Justin collect 
firewood from under the trees. The two adult aborigines were talking as they 
squatted in the dry dust. Both of them had shed their loin cloths and Jordan 
brought the scope back to his eye. Neither of them was overly endowed, he 
decided. He smiled to himself. They were like him, about average in size if 
the limp state of their dangling black penises was any indication of erect 
size. Like him, they were ideal partners for the boys who accompanied them, he 
mused. Big enough to hurt and then give pleasure as the boy's anus became 
accustomed, not large enough to cause injury.

He swallowed dryly, trying to find saliva in his mouth. The idea that 
one or both of them had sex with Justin was everpresent in his mind. But the 
child, at least from what he could discern, was still immature. He 
remembered telling the woman, his mother, that aborigines were seldom 
interested in prepubescent boys. That left the boys themselves and it was 
far less disagreeable to Jordan if one or both of them was Justin's partner. 
That the brown lean body had been left untouched by the aborigines for 
twelve months was an unlikely proposition, although it was not impossible. 
Indeed, Jordan had observed nothing to allow him to determine otherwise for 
the boy had wandered away from the others with such apparent disinterest 
that he could easily still be a virgin despite the fact that the other two 
boys were obviously well experienced with the men.

He swallowed again and focused his attention on Justin Young as he 
meandered with aimless interest by the cliff behind the pool. Occasionally, he 
leaned forward and picked up a stick until he finally had enough to justify 
returning to the others. He placed them near the fire and sauntered over to 
the two men. Jordan strained to hear what was said. The few distorted words he 
heard were certainly not English. He tried to place the dialect, guessing at 
first that they were from the Dieyrie tribe for this was part of the territory 
in which they tended to range at this time of the year. However, aborigines 
were of nomadic origin, and small groups often travelled great distances to 
sacred places irrespective of the tribal rights of land ownership. The other 
possibility was that they were from the Aranda tribe, but that would mean they 
had travelled hundreds of miles from the reservation settlements. Without 
clothing, it should have been possible to see tribal markings. And then, one 
of the aborigine men turned side on to throw more sticks on the smouldering 
fire. There were chiselled swollen scars on his shoulders.

Jordan stroked his chin thoughtfully. He had seen such markings before 
and easily recognized them as part of the mutilations that were performed 
during the ritual of initiation. There was no longer any question in his mind. 
The men were from the Aranda tribe. In itself, that was especially important 
although he wondered why they had travelled so far from home. Perhaps they 
were outcasts, but the more reasonable explanation was that they were strict 
followers of tribal custom and had come to this sacred place to perform some 
nearly forgotten ritual. 

And then the naked white boy lay down between the men and Jordan's heart 
stopped as they crouched over the small sun-tanned body. The chatter of voices 
ceased as darkness began to settle over the small group. He watched in 
mystified fascination as they appeared to caress the youngster's bare skin, 
from head to toe. The flickering light illuminated the shadowy forms. Two boys 
squatting by the fire, two men busily engaged in the ceremonial preparation of 
the boy for what Jordan suspected was a rite of initiation. Their hands 
moved with deft gestures, continually returning to their mouths, to a hollowed 
stone that held a chalk-white powder, and back to the young boy's torso, arms, 
and legs.

There was a chill in the desert air before Justin Young finally came 
to his feet. In the fire light, his dark body was the color of charcoal with 
white lines that glowed in stark erotic contrast. The lines were uniform in 
shape and flowed seamlessly over the front of the boy's body to create a 
pattern. A fish, Jordan thought, as he assumed the pattern to be awkwardly 
shaped scales. For several minutes Justin Young stood facing the fire, warming 
his nude body and drying the painted decoration before he again laid down 
between the two men. They resumed their self-appointed task, now carefully 
drawing the marks over the boy's lean back, buttocks, and limbs. Although 
unfamiliar with aboriginal rituals, Jordan sensed the reason behind the 
painting of the young body. It was part of a sacred rite in preparation for 
the boy's initiation. What Jordan did not know at the time was that it was the 
same reason why Justin Young still stood like a normal boy to urinate 
instead on squatting down like the other boys. After the ceremony he would 
need to squat like a girl. 

Jordan's eyes closed, picturing Justin before he had been forsaken by 
his family.



*********** The Sleeping Compartment, twelve months earlier ************



Sergei's gentle touches were very different to Bruce's clumsy efforts to 
arouse the pre-teen boy. He was not a sadist by nature. Indeed, he tried to 
reassure the youngster with words intended to calm him and convince Justin 
that he should feel good from the heavy-handed caresses of his nude body. At 
first he squirmed away as Bruce's grasping hands found his sex, manipulating 
them like raw meat as his maladroit fingers attempted to give pleasure. His 
inept efforts were not because he was inexperienced with boys. The embarrassed 
child shrunk into the pillows, his slender legs splayed wide as the 
unskilled and work-roughened fingers embraced the short stiff organ and 
began to abrade delicate skin. Justin closed his eyes in guilt enjoyment, 
thinking back to Sergei's fondling of his most private part. He felt Bruce's 
warm breath on his bare chest. Moments later Justin felt the wetness of the 
man's salivating mouth on his nipples, teeth nibbling into tiny sensitive 
circles that were smaller than shirt buttons. He had never been touched that 
way. 

The hand on his genitals began to move away from his fully stiffened 
penis, stroking the loose skin of his scrotum to locate the precious eggs. 
Bruce squeezed them between his powerful fingers and Justin winced as his 
uncertain pleasure turned immediately to definite pain.

"Yeow! Don't! That hurts!" Justin squealed as his testicles were 
squashed between Bruce's fingers and thumb. The thumb pressed harder.

"Hurts don't it mate? You got pretty tiny nuts, even for a boy. You 
wanna earn that burger now?" Bruce taunted. "You know, gettin' your balls 
squeezed is bad but it don't hurt half as bad as getting that little butt 
furrow of yours ploughed for the first time." His hand rubbed at his swollen 
crotch. "And I have just the spike to do it!"

Justin shook his head dumbly. There was little he could do as Bruce's 
hands left his groin and grabbed his ankles. He was dragged from the corner 
onto the middle of the bed. Bruce gazed at the inert boy as he fumbled with 
his zipper and with difficulty managed to expose his rigid penis. Justin 
stared back at the massive shaft, as thing as his wrist and as long as his 
forearm. The plum-sized head was bulging and glistening with the excretion 
of pre-seminal fluid that oozed from the broad slit. 

"You wanna suck some cock first, mate," Bruce offered gratuitously. 
"Or do you want to fuck first?" 

He shoved Justin's closest hip, easily flipping the boy onto his belly 
and then he quickly straddled him with his weight concentrated just above 
the Justin's knees. He leaned forward and pushed the fat head of his penis 
between Justin's small cheeks. The boy tried to wriggle away as the man's 
glans burrowed between them in search of the tiny opening. Finally, in a 
last resort to preserve his virginity, Justin's buttocks clenched.

"Just relax, mate. Think of the burger in your tummy," Bruce teased. 

Holding this penis between Justin's cheeks, he started to thrust, 
using his bulky thighs to drive his shaft along the dividing crevice of the 
boy's tender rump. The excretion of pre-orgasmic fluid increased, leaving a 
slimy, slippery trail in the untouched groove. Bruce focused his effort of the 
small anus, rubbing his glans into the tiny pucker with every stroke. While 
the oozing slickness eased the passage of the man's organ along the narrow 
crevice, it was still far from being enough to provide the lubrication 
essential for penetration. After a few minutes he reached over to the open jar 
of vaseline that lay next to the pillow.

With a large lump of the translucent grease on the forefinger of his 
right hand, Bruce used his left hand to split Justin's small cheeks wide 
apart. Even with the dim light in the cabin he could see the tiny hole staring 
back at him. It was like a little mouth with its dark lips pressed tightly 
together. Not for much longer, Bruce mused to himself. Maybe the boy's anus 
was too small, he wondered. Well, only time would tell.

He positioned his forefinger right over Justin's opening and pushed. The 
child heaved and tried to jerk away as his felt the tip surge past his anus. 
He had not been unsuspecting of what was about to happen to him, merely 
unprepared to resist. Before he could try to stop the ingress of Bruce's 
stabbing finger, it pulled back. He gasped with the suddenness of it and then, 
before he could catch his breath it plunged into him again. Deeper the time, 
all the way in until it could go no further. The finger twisted, rotating 
easily in the well lubricated rectum. It stopped moving and Justin sighed. 
There was no pain. There was a strange feeling inside him. He tensed and 
clenched his buttocks, squeezing on the now gently stroking finger that 
reached into his bowels and ignited a dormant desire. He sighed again as he 
felt Bruce probe in his rectum as if seeking something. It felt undeniably 
good.

His pleasure was abruptly terminated as Bruce's hand lifted away. He 
waited as the man scooped out more vaseline and transferred to his virgin 
body. Now the man's finger moved even easier, pumping slowly in and out as 
Justin's hips became uncontrollable. All reason told him that he should resist 
and yet he could not fight his instinctive urge. His response was barely 
noticeable at first. Slight undulations of his pelvis, pushing down with inner 
muscled to concentrate his inner organs at the source of the unfamiliar 
delight, breathing slowly, then faster as he was carried along with the flow 
of feelings. After a minute he was groaning, wanting to go on and on 
forever. He buried his face in the pillow to muffle his gasps.

Justin's body twitched. His anus dilated, his pelvis rocked and began to 
push back at Bruce. Then he spasmed as his feelings began to mount, a sudden 
buildup that preceded orgasm. He groaned as Bruce's finger pulled out again. 
He waited and felt the larger, hotter blunt end of Bruce's penis return, the 
swollen head directed to his anus. He felt the surge of unstoppable power as 
the tip searched for the opening. Again his body tried to defend itself 
despite the fact that Justin was eager to try it. His slender body trembled 
with uninhibited excitement.

"Yeah, you like that don't you mate?" Bruce muttered. "You'll like 
havin' my tool in your chute even more once you get used to it. Just relax and 
let me in there. Push back at me and I promise you it'll slide right in 
there before you can say 'fuck-a-duck'."

He was not oblivious to Justin's reluctance. Finally he stopped moving 
and pressed both hands down on Justin's firm cheeks to split him open. There 
was no question in his mind that the virginal anus was too small to take his 
penis without being badly injured in the process. Admitting defeat, if only 
for the moment, he slapped the boy's bottom loudly and dismounted. With one 
hand he callously flipped Justin onto his back and nudged the boy's knees wide 
apart. Jason's face was red with guilty shame as the man stared down at him. 
He was erect and his boy-sized penis was an angry red, tiny blue veins 
throbbing.

"Well, look at yoooouuu," Bruce joked as his fingers brushed against the 
swollen member. "Kid me you don't want it. You're so horny, you can't get 
enough. I'm surprised you're still an arse virgin."

The small penis was so hard that it resisted the man's playful push. Not 
content with merely trying the boy's stiffness, Bruce set about testing it 
with a painful grip. He dragged it downward until it pointed at Justin's 
feet and then let it snap back so that it slapped at his flat bare belly. 

"Ouch!" Justin complained. "You don't have to hurt me," he whined. 

"You can't spunk yet but you got a real hard cock. It's probably the 
stiffest little thing I've ever seen. I'm really surprised you can't do it, 
but I guess you will soon enough."

Without saying anything more he leaned forward and put his mouth over 
Justin's penis. His tongue licked along the small throbbing shaft, wetting 
it with slippery saliva. Justin tensed and tried to resist the sudden urge 
to push his penis into Bruce's mouth. Images of Sergei's head flashing through 
his mind. He felt the warmth of the man's mouth enclose his sex, strong work-
roughened fingers pressed into his testicles and manipulated the tiny pouch 
with unforgiving pressure. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the 
feelings. Justin's natural reluctance collapsed. He was abandoned and 
without family or friends. He was frightened. He was lonely. He needed to be 
held closely. He submitted to Bruce's caresses and his legs moved apart as the 
man's head came lower and lower until his short hard penis had disappeared and 
his testicles were engulfed in the wonderful soft heat inside Bruce's mouth. 

He lost all sense of time. The man seemed to anticipate his needs, 
applying greater pressure as Justin wanted more, sucking lightly when his 
sensitive body could stand it no longer, ever seeking new ways to make him 
happy. And then, just when Justin began to believe that it could get no better 
and despite his greater affection for Sergei that there was little to choose 
from between them, he felt a saliva-moistened finger penetrate his anus. It 
moved gently but with a firm steady pressure, wriggling as it pierced his 
opening and sank into him. Now, between Bruce and Sergei there was no 
comparison. Already on the brink of orgasm, Justin's naked body twitched. 
The man needed no further incentive. His finger thrust in to the knuckle and 
Justin bucked his narrow pelvis into the air. The finger levered upwards and 
the boy gasped loudly. It stabbed again and again with a desperate rhythm, 
each time eliciting groans of pleasure.

Bruce grinned. It was almost as good as fucking the youngster. Justin 
trembled. His body arched and his bare feet pushed hard into the tangled 
sheets. Uncontrollably he began to jerk, grunting with animal-like hunger. His 
long powerful thighs and legs had the strength to propel him several feet into 
the air when he was dancing for Sergei. Now they served a different purpose. 
Somewhere deep inside him a different sensation erupted. He squeezed, 
shoving himself down onto Bruce's finger as hard as he could and using all 
of his energy to bind his rectum. He stopped moving, unaware that he was 
shaking. Then Bruce took over again and his finger moved easily in the 
loosened anus. Justin's eyes closed tightly and his clenched fist came to 
his mouth to strangle a cry. There was no mercy from the prodding finger as it 
pounded into the boy's immature prostate. Without the relief of ejaculation, 
Justin's craving could not abate. What had existed only as an innocent itch 
became full-blown lust. He yearned to have Bruce's penis inside him. If it had 
not been for the police car stopping beside the truck, Justin would have 
lost his virginity within a few minutes.

 
************************************************************************



A million sparks rose into the darkness as more twisted eucalyptus 
branches were dragged to the fire. Above, in a black velvet sky a myriad stars 
shone, fixed and unmoving and unlike the darting flashing pinpoints of 
light. As quickly as they had appeared the sparks died and the red glow of the 
burning embers reflected off the ancient granite walls of the cliffs. 
Justin, naked and daubed with vivid markings of white clay rose up from the 
fire. He stood in silence, establishing a connection with a far off time and a 
thousand generations of other aborigine boys who had been initiated and joined 
with men in that sacred place of Dreaming. For Jordan it was as if time had 
stopped and he was witnessing an act so primitive and taboo that no other 
white man had seen it.

Justin Young stepped closer to the eldest man and into the flickering 
light of the fire. The old man's gnarled hand reached out and held the boy's 
genitals between thin black fingers. Thoughts without words flowed between 
them. Slowly he stroked the youngster to erection, producing a small 
hardness that was crusted with white clay. Justin moved slightly, his 
slender body bowing, bringing his sex organs ever closer to the aborigine. 
Kurawalla picked up the thin bone from the scalloped wooden dish on the 
ground. It was the wing-bone of a bird, less than three millimeters thick 
and as long as a pencil. With his left hand wrapped around the short penis, 
then man squeezed the small glans between his thumb and first finger. The 
meatus was pinched open like a tiny mouth. 

Despite the distance Jordan watched the white thin bone slide into 
Justin's urethra, making the already stiff penis become straighter and less 
flexible as it disappeared. Jordan swallowed and tried to imagine how it would 
feel. It seemed that it would be very painful but there was no sign of 
discomfort. If anything, judging by the way Justin stood, he was an eager 
participant in his initiation. 

The squirt of urine came of the hollow end of the bone without warning 
as it penetrated further into Justin's urethra. It had become a catheter, 
reaching beyond his testicles while still some distance from being inserted 
into his bladder. The flow continued for nearly a minute, slowing dying to a 
trickle that could not be stopped until there was no more than an occasional 
drip. Still erect, the young boy's penis was bent down towards the ground at 
an uncomfortable angle and unable to rise to its normal angle.

Slowly Justin moved, stepping with rhythmic poise until he was several 
meters away from the fire. He stopped again, his long thin arms and legs 
immobile. The dusty sand oozed between his toes. His neck was stretched 
upward, emphasizing the narrowness of his shoulders. His head turned 
slightly to one side, away from the fire and into the darkness where Jordan 
lay watching him with interest. After nearly a minute the boy moved, lifting 
his left leg high and balancing his scant weight on one dark leg underneath. 
Another minute passed before Justin moved again. This time his head turned 
slowly to the other side, his pale European eyes focusing on the attentive 
aborigines. 

The slow mesmerizing drone of a didgeridoo began, wafting primal 
sounds through the narrow gorge as boy began to dance. His long years with 
Sergei had prepared him for this one celebration of his sex. He was a boy-
child, about to become join the world of men. With graceful ease his neck 
formed a sinusoidal arc as he bent down, curving his back until his face was 
only a finger's breadth from his groin. He lifted up in slow motion. And 
then as the sonorous mood of the ancient wooden instrument began to energize 
him, he pivoted around on one raised foot with flowing ease. Only Justin's 
training, long weeks of preparation, and his natural flexibility permitted the 
fluid movement. His tousled head plunged down again in a crude sexual display, 
bringing his face ever closer to his slowly stiffening penis. 

The didgeridoo hummed louder, warbling in the night air as the boy's 
sexual arousal became stronger. His penis strained, flexing with youthful 
desire as it grew longer and stretched the delicate skin of his shaft as it 
filled with blood. He began to move faster, taking each stride and each plunge 
with such precision that his motion could have been choreographed by a master. 
His ruffled head bobbed, then lifted up to point to the black sky. Each thin 
leg moved deliberately to convey a solemn dignity that added to the perfect 
charm of the beautiful boy. Justin's dance was the dance of the brolga. 

Jordan sighed as he observed the splendid body of the boy engaged in the 
sacred ritual. He focused on the small hairless appendage, unable to dangle 
between slender thighs but proudly and painfully erect above the wrinkled lump 
of the boy's scrotal pouch. His mind drifted and images filled his 
consciousness as he started to walk forward to greet the youngster waiting for 
him beside the glimmering fire.



*********** Photos in a Magazine, twelve months earlier ****************



Other than a scheduled stop for refueling at Rockhampton and the 
occasional rest stop beside the road, they did not stop again until evening. 
By then the truck was no longer unfamiliar to Justin, just as his nude body 
was no longer foreign to Bruce. Even at the garage in Rockhampton he had 
been naked, his clothes discarded as he reclined in wanton freedom in the 
privacy of the sleeping cabin. When he needed to urinate, Bruce pulled the 
truck to a halt and he climbed down to stand out-of-sight of any passing 
motorists. One time, as he urinated beside the truck he felt the need to 
defecate and he darted several feet away into the nearby scrub. He was back in 
the truck within a minute, his hindquarters wiped clean with a handful of 
wattle leaves, before he had even realized that he could have run into the 
bush and escaped. 

But there was no reason to escape. He was no longer a prisoner, if 
indeed he ever had been. The undeniable fact was that Justin Young was quickly 
adapting to his situation. Each time he looked through Bruce's collection of 
tattered magazines he discovered that he was not only interested in what he 
saw but that he was sexually aroused. It was a peculiar thing. Pictures of 
boys with other boys excited him but it paled beside the thrill he received 
from photographs of young boys, most of them his age or a year or two older, 
and men together. Some photographs he studied again and again. In these images 
the boy was not unlike himself and the man was very hairy. He was thick-
armed and broad-shouldered. He was very similar to Bruce in so many ways 
that Justin wondered if they were related. His eyes were drawn to the man's 
huge penis and he could not look away until his curiosity was satisfied. 
Always his own small penis became hard as if he was trying to match the 
manly power that held his interest. 

At first being naked bothered him but once he had become accustomed to 
Bruce's obscene taunts and the continual touching of his genitals, even that 
no longer disturbed him. Strangely he began to welcome Bruce's admiring looks, 
and by mid-afternoon he started to enjoy the clumsy fondling of his 
sensitive parts. However, by the time they were a few miles south of Mackay he 
was beginning to worry. He needed the man's attention and for the last hour 
they had barely spoken to each other. The silence nagged at him and left him 
questioning what he had done wrong to upset Bruce. Finally he could stand it 
no longer.

"Bruce,... what did I do wrong?" he asked nervously.

Bruce turned quickly and looked at the naked boy. Justin was lying in 
the sleeping compartment, his head and shoulders protruding into the cabin. 
"Nothing mate!" Bruce replied curtly. "Nothin' at all. I was just thinkin', 
that's all." 

"About what?" Justin demanded. "You! You and me, mate! I was wonderin' 
when yer folks called the cops." Justin thought for a few seconds. "No one 
knows I'm here, Bruce," he answered. "We must he hundreds of miles from 
Brisbane now. No one saw me get in your truck." 

"That's right mate. I guess no one did. But they'll still circulate your 
picture all over the state once they report you as missin' won't they. A 
pretty boy like you is easy to spot, especially since you're s'posed to be 
in school." 

Justin nodded and twisted onto his back. Slowly his hand crept down to 
his groin and his fingers caressed his limp penis. It seemed as though he 
had been hard most of the day. He picked up the magazine that had become his 
favorite. It fell open at the center-fold. A man was leaning over a supine 
youngster, one hand gripping his upper thighs, the other wrapped around the 
boy's shoulders. His hair-covered penis was more than halfway inside the small 
anus. From the expression on the boy's face Justin could tell that the boy 
liked it but if he had any doubts the stiffness of the thin pale penis quickly 
dispelled it. He stroked his own small organ, teasing the flaccid shaft as his 
fingertips rubbed the delicate crown. He tried to imagine how it would feel. 
It looked like it had to hurt a lot. The boy's anus was stretched wide and 
still he grinned. In a few seconds Justin's penis began to respond. 

"Bruce?" he asked slowly. "What you said earlier, when I first woke 
up,... remember?" 

"What, mate?" 

"You know, you wanted to put your cock in me,... and well you said it 
would hurt me. How bad does it hurt?" 

Bruce chuckled. "You think you want to try it, huh?" 

Justin thought before he answered. "I dunno! It doesn't look like it 
hurts that bad," he replied. "The kid in this picture looks kinda happy, 
like he's dreaming or something." 

Bruce changed gear as they rounded the last corner before Mackay. 
Again the ocean came into view. The color of the water had become a 
brilliant azure blue and sparkled from the final rays of the afternoon sun 
before it disappeared behind the range of distant hills. 

"I guess it depends, mate," Bruce answered. "Some boys like a man's cock 
in their bums. They don't care that it hurts a bit goin' up cause it's worth 
the pain. Besides, a boy gits used to it after a while." 

He changed up a gear again and began to accelerate down the hill. "Me 
uncle used to screw me all the time when I was 'bout your age. At first it got 
so sore I didn't want to take a shit. Then I spent my Christmas holidays 
with him. I never knew gettin' my arse stuffed could feel so fuckin' good. I 
bet you'll be the same way, mate. You even look like a fag. You might as 
well get used to the idea and start enjoying it." 

Justin nodded. He tried to imagine Bruce as a boy his own age. It was 
difficult to think of his thick arms and legs being slender and hairless 
like his own. He breathed out. Sergei was right, his step-father was right, 
Bruce was right. He was a faggot! The only thing he was good for was to take a 
man's penis in his bottom. 

"Bruce," he began awkwardly. "If you want to do it to me, I don't care." 
Bruce laughed. 

"What! My little arse-virgin wants to get himself fucked now? I don't 
believe it! Don't worry kid, your time will come soon enough. I want my cock 
up there even more than you do. Only I don't wanna hurt you so I plan to get 
yer hole stretched out first." 

He cupped his hand over his full crotch and squeezed firmly. It was 
vastly bigger than the small bulge he had seen in Justin's underpants. Fully 
extended, his penis was as big as the biggest bananas from the banana 
plantations there were now driving through. It was nearly ten inches long. 
While he expected that he would get only half of it inside the slender boy-
dancer it was much thicker than the boy would be able to accept without 
being injured. His uncle had been the same way. He remembered how much blood 
had flowed from his ruptured anus as his uncle's penis plunged back and 
forth inside him. He had no desire to hurt Justin like that. 

 
****************************************************************************

As he walked, Jordan removed his shirt. He dropped it on the ground. The 
painted body swayed before him, luring him on with a beguiling movement that 
held him enraptured. Only several times before had he seen the courtship dance 
of the brolga and Justin's slender form moved in expert parody of the long-
legged bird's motion. It aroused Jordan as he approached. The sound of the 
didgeridoos grew louder, penetrating his trance. He began to sway, rocking his 
body to and fro. Justin came nearer, lifting his arms and legs with deft 
precision, each limb striking a pose for several seconds before fluidly 
progressing to the next position. Time stopped. 

For thousands of years aborigine boys had come to this sacred place. 
Each boy had danced for the tribal elders before taking his place in the 
most guarded of all rituals. Few Europeans had witnessed Kulpi and then the 
boy had been shielded from view. Without taking his eyes away from the brolga, 
Jordan dropped to his knees. He removed his socks and shoes and then his jeans 
and underpants as he stood up again. His white skin matched that of the 
dancing boy, his suntanned body daubed and smeared with clay brought from 
two hundred miles away. Now naked, the man took his rightful place beside 
Justin.

The hollow drone of the didgeridoo was uplifting, swelling in volume, 
changing tones with the passage from boyhood to manhood. Now it was high 
pitched and curiously erotic. They came so close together that their bare skin 
nearly touched. They parted, twisting away until they were face to face again. 
Jordan's penis throbbed, bouncing up and down as his hips gyrated in a 
frenzied coupling motion. Justin's head tilted back and his buttocks began 
to rotate and jerk obscenely. He turned, stepping backwards until his back was 
only inches from Jordan. Both man and boy bucked simultaneously, the adult 
penis thrusting aggressively and powerfully towards the bottom presented to 
it. Each time it came dangerously close, yet still not close enough to 
penetrate the boy's crevice before he moved away. 

The note warbled, shifting key, become ever faster. Deeper notes, loud 
and sonorous were dispersed through the primal rhythm. The swollen glans of 
Jordan's penis dripped pre-seminal fluid and his heart pounded with lust. 
Still the boy courted him, teasing his mate with a crude simulation of love-
making. His pelvis jerked rapidly, his thighs strained, copulating with a 
penis that was still outside his sweat-spotted body. Memories flashed 
through Jordan's head as Justin finally fell to the dusty ground and waited 
for the man to mount him.



************** The Beginning, twelve months earlier ***************



Bruce drove with one hand on the wheel. His left hand held Justin's 
rigid penis, gripping the small smooth shaft between his thumb and two 
fingers. It was greasy with vaseline and minimized the friction as Bruce 
rubbed up and down. Justin's legs were stretched out and the warm Australian 
sun came through the broad expanse of glass and kept his naked body pleasantly 
warm in the air-conditioned comfort of the truck. Beyond the windscreen, the 
road meandered around the endless curves. He sighed as Bruce's fingers stroked 
the delicate tip and squeezed the dark pink helmet-shaped head, looking 
fruitlessly for the first sign of approaching puberty. His knees trembled as 
the nerves in his sensitive glans responded to the rough treatment. His 
belly was full and he was happy. His clothes were discarded on the seat and 
floor where he had hurriedly removed them after getting back in the truck 
following the last stop for lunch. 

"Tonight's the big night," Bruce teased. "When we get into Normanton and 
find a motel room you're gonna take a shower." 

Justin smiled shyly. He did not care that he was dirty and unwashed 
for nearly four days. The smell of his body was no worse than Bruce's stale 
smell. 

"And then what?" he asked cheekily. 

"You wanna stay an arse-virgin all your life, mate?" Bruce joked. 

Justin shook his head. "I've been doing what you told me to do, Bruce. I 
put my fingers in there all the time like you said. I can even get the plastic 
thing in there about halfway." 

Bruce laughed. "Well we both know my cock is a lot bigger than that, but 
the exercise will do you good, I s'pose. You like having it in your bum, don't 
you?" 

"It's okay," Justin hedged. "But?" 

"I guess,... well I'd rather have you." 

"You will, mate. I plan on fuckin' this as often as I can." 

Bruce's hand pushed between Justin's bottom and the vinyl seat and his 
forefinger searched for the boy's small anus. He levered his finger up into 
the tiny opening. By stretching his thumb around he was able to massage 
Justin's small eggs, squashing them at the same time as he pushed his finger 
further inside the boy's tight passage. 

"I bet this feels good, don't it?" 

Justin nodded and twisted in his seat so that his bottom was more 
accessible. "Put it in further," he demanded. 

Bruce's finger punched into him beyond the second joint and rotated it 
as he stabbed back and forth in the small rectum so that Justin squirmed 
from the pressure building in his prostate. He ached for release. 

"I better get some more beer as well," Bruce thought aloud. 

It would be easier if the youngster was drunk. His hand came up and 
settled around Justin's penis again. The truck slowed as they came to the 
crest of the hill. Bruce changed down two gears and for a moment considered 
releasing Justin's genitals to have both hands on the wheel but changed his 
mind. The road curved to the right and dipped as it entered a cut through a 
granite wall. Justin purred contentedly, his scrotal pouch becoming very 
tight. His erection hardened as his orgasm approached. His back arched and his 
buttocks clenched as he tried to expel invisible fluid. The peak lasted 
several seconds and although it was no longer a mystery to him, it held him 
entranced as he felt the spasms inside him. 

The truck began to pick up speed and Bruce used his right hand to 
reach over and change gear again. As he came through the cut, the truck 
lurched to one side as the wheels passed through gravel. Although he tried 
to grab the steering wheel again, it was too late to stop the inevitable. 
The sheer wall of the granite ended and a ravine opened up. Two hundred feet 
below, among a tumble of rocks, a goanna watched the red and white truck 
careening out-of control, a long inevitable slide towards the edge, and then 
in slow motion it plunged forward. Its trajectory was a graceful arc and 
several seconds passed before the horrendous crash rocked the ravine. It 
wedged into a gash in the rock. Several minutes passed before the dust cleared 
and the screeching of frightened birds died away. 

>From the road there was no sign that the truck had ever been there. 
Justin crawled out through the splintered windscreen. His nude body was 
streaked with Bruce's blood. His head was spinning and he vomited again and 
again until he fell exhausted to the ground. He was lucky to have survived. 
His only physical injury was the large bruise on his forehead but like the 
truck, Justin Young had also vanished.



**********************************************************************

As was his right, Jordan lay over the submissive boy. Beneath him, the 
slender form arched up with surprising strength and greeted his naked body 
with a burning energy. Their erect penises came together as Justin's arms 
embraced him. He was panting as Jordan began to kiss him. His kisses were 
gentle at first but they quickly became aggressive as Justin yielded. Jordan's 
words of endearment, the first words of English that Justin had heard in 
twelve months, were whispered to the writhing naked boy as he accepted the 
man's kisses and returned his own.

The aborigines watched intently. They were fascinated by the different 
technique used by the westerner. Although they were not disturbed by the 
open display of affection, they did not appreciate it as part of the sacred 
ritual that had been handed down from man to boy for hundreds of 
generations. Passion had no part in initiation. The two men rose and 
forcefully turned Jordan onto his back. Justin needed no encouragement or 
instruction as to what he should do next. He turned and squatted over the 
man's hips, his face away from the fire. 

He felt beneath him, found the source of Jordan's manhood, found it 
greased with the melted fat of the wallaby, found his opening. He pushed hard, 
straining with all his might to force it past his anus. His sphincter opened 
and he swallowed as he felt the thick glans encroaching slowly. He pushed down 
again and again, each time taking a little more into him, each time 
quenching his thirst for more. Jordan groaned loudly as Justin eased away. His 
penis stretched within its tight abode before it began to recede out of the 
taut tube. Again the boy pushed down onto him, this time taking nearly half of 
the man's shaft before he lifted away. Up and down, moving instinctively to 
a rhythm of their own that was as timeless as the red cliffs around them, 
their heated breathing as musical as the fading notes of the didgeridoo. The 
oldest man turned the sharpened flake of quartz in the fire, already it was 
glowing red hot. Kurawalla waited for his turn. He watched as boy and man 
coupled, releasing their pent-up desires in the pleasure of sex. It did not 
matter that Justin had been circumcised at birth. Nor did it matter that he 
was not a member of the tribe. He was a boy and boys were initiated by men.  
As tradition required of him, Kurawalla would cut through the small penis to 
the bone inside the urethra, slicing from the junction of penis and scrotum 
all the way to the beginning of the tiny glans. Justin Young would carry the 
scar proudly and he would squat to urinate like the other dark-skinned boys.



 ************************** THE END *********************************

*********************************************************************



Appendix: An Overview of Rites of Initiation of Young Australian 
Aborigine Males. 

[Citations are not provided. Complete studies of aboriginal anthropology 
are readily available in most major libraries and can be consulted for more 
information.]



The two rituals described below were ceremonies performed by 
Australian Aborigine tribes on the Cape York peninsula and on tribal territory 
around the Gulf of Carpentaria. These ceremonies were first reported by mid- 
and late nineteenth century explorers. They were performed until the 1930's, 
when most of the more "barbaric" practices were actively discouraged by the 
government and church missions in the region. There is some evidence that they 
continued to be performed for many years afterwards but under conditions of 
strict secrecy. 

 Circumcision

Kurrawellie wonkauna was one of the primary right-of- passage 
mutilations of puberty practised by Cape York tribes. The act of 
circumcision was a traditional ceremony for all Australian aborigines that 
marked the separation of the boy from his mother. Usually it was performed 
by his uncle, one of the tribal elders, or a man with whom the boy had 
experienced a sexual relationship for pederasty was openly endorsed as an 
acceptable practice in many tribes.

At the time of the ceremony the boy was taken away from his family. He 
was accompanied by his father and any older brothers to a secret place that 
was forbidden to women, such a clearing in the bush or a cave. The removal 
of the foreskin was done without anaesthetic and was typically performed 
with a quartz flake or a piece of shell. Increasingly, a knife or razor 
blade was used during the early twentieth century until the popularity of 
infant circumcision after WW II made it no longer necessary. More recently 
however, circumcision at the time of puberty has undergone a renaissance and 
has once again become an important recognition of an aboriginal boy's rite 
of passage and an expression of cultural values. Often the ancient method is 
preferred, despite the pain to the young initiate. Already-circumcised boys 
may be 're-circumcised' at puberty by opening the skin behind the glans and 
allowing the penis to bleed.

Subincision of the Urethra

In the past, subincision of the male urethra was performed in most of 
the tribes in northern Australia. This ritual was done as much for 
Malthusian reasons as a rite of initiation. Because of the range of 
techniques, it is believed that subincision was performed to leave an 
identifying mark of tribal belonging on the boy. Compared to circumcision, 
it involved considerable pain for the young boy and has a primary role in 
the rite of passage rituals for many tribes. Further, there is some evidence 
that is was done to enhance sexual pleasure, particularly when engaging in 
homosexual practices, as was the norm for most aboriginal boys in northern 
Australian tribes such as the Aranda. One can only speculate on the nature 
of the penile sensations that occur once the wound has healed.

The operation was generally performed close to maturity and soon as 
pubic hair had begun to appear on the boy's body. However, there are also 
well-documented reports that it was performed on prepubescent boys in the Cape 
York region in preparation for the arrival of manhood.

The naked youth was laid on a human altar and positioned so that his 
movement was restricted. Before the incision was made, the boy took two names. 
In exchange for one public name, which he gave, he received a secret name, 
known only to him and the witnesses to his injury. This secret name was the 
name that the boy used as he became invested with the knowledge of men.

The operation was performed by one of the tribal elders or a member of 
the boy's family. Despite some regional differences, the lower part of the 
boy's penis was cut to expose and penetrate the core of the urethra. All of 
the variations were executed to accomplish the same fundamental purpose-that 
of preventing semen from reaching the end of the penis during ejaculation, 
thus making it an effective, albeit painful method of birth control. The 
degree of mutilation varied according to the technique employed. Some tribes 
made a lateral incision to produce a small opening--less than ten 
millimeters across. By contrast, the Aranda tribe inserted a thin bone 
(usually a bird's wing-bone) into the boy's urethra. Using a quartz flake, the 
penis was slashed several times so it was opened from the base to the glans 
corona. One witness reported that the end result was not unlike a sausage 
(frankfurter) that had split open.

The operation and the victim were called Kulpi in the Dieyrie tribe. For 
a Dieyrie boy, the penis was placed on a slab of tree bark, the urethra was 
incised longitudinally with a quartz flake mounted in a gum handle. The 
incision started at the junction of penis and scrotum and continued for 
approximately one quarter of the length of the penis. Because the objective 
was to prevent the sides of the penis from closing until the wound sealed, a 
splinter of bark was often inserted to keep the cut open. Some observers 
reported that charcoal was placed in the cut while others noted that the 
red- hot end of a burnt twig was used to sear the raw tissue. In some 
settlements close to the sea, a fragment of oyster shell was sharpened and 
heated in a fire, thereby simplifying the operation and minimizing scar 
tissue. Kulpi urinated by squatting on the ground and lifting the penis 
upward. Alternatively, the victim urinated by standing with his legs wide 
apart.

In some Cape York tribes, at the end of the nineteenth century, less 
than four males out of every hundred had not been subjected to subincision. It 
is probable that these tribes suffered from severe dilution of genetic 
material and may account for the high degree of mortality when exposed to 
sicknesses introduced by European settlers.