Kurt

 

 

 

Life in The Village, through the eyes of a student at the remote school.

This is an original work of pure fiction (just an expression of a fantasy)
by Robert A. Armstrong (a pseudonym)
(This is a parallel story to “Schoolie”, but through different eyes.)

The resemblance of the characters by action, name, location or description to any real person is purely coincidental.

If it is illegal, or offensive, for you to read stories involving interactions of a sexual nature between adults and youths, what are you doing here?

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1 – Us Kids

 

It’s really hot where we live. Especially in the middle of summer. Out here, the hot weather seems to last way past when it’s supposed to, according to the calendar.

I don’t know exactly when we moved here. My twin brother Karl and I were little, and I think that it was because of my Dad’s work. He showed us in an atlas where our Village is, way out in the west of Queensland, Australia. It has a long aboriginal name that nobody can remember and it is only used on official government documents apparently. Everybody around here just calls it ‘The Village’. I’m told that it’s been that way for over a hundred years.

We live in a house that’s not very big. It has one living area (kitchen, dining and lounge with a small fireplace for winter). There are two bedrooms – our Dad’s room and one for Karl and me. Plus, between our room and the kitchen, a small bathroom with only a bath and a hand basin. There is a shower over the bath, but we never used it much when I was little. Dad reckons that having a bath saves water, if we don’t fill it up, and if Karl and I have our bath together.

The toilet is outside, towards the river, and I don’t like to go and use it at night, especially in winter. I always make sure that I do everything that I need to before the sun sets and before I have my bath. Usually, to just pee, my brother and I stand on the river bank and do it (or at least in that direction, away from the house). The toilet is kept for sitting-down stuff. It smells really bad when the weather’s hot. That’s probably why it’s so far away from the house. I usually try to go at school, if I need to. The toilet there has a nice smell because of something that the teacher puts in it. Dad says that he goes at work. So, our toilet is used only for ‘emergencies’.

When Mum was here, she used to keep the house very neat and clean, and everyone would pitch in and help on weekends to tidy up and make sure that all of our clothes were washed and clean: not that Karl and I had much – our school shirt and shorts, socks and underpants. On Saturdays, Mum would do the washing in the bath and then take everything outside to hang on a piece of rope which was attached to the house and to a big post at the other end, about six strides away.

When we were little, Karl and I liked to help Mum by handing her the pegs, but, as we got older, our jobs became mainly brushing away any cobwebs or chopping out any of the spikey weeds before they grew too big.

Mum would iron on Sunday while we either played with Dad or helped him to do ‘stuff’. Dad was always fixing things in our old house - the water tank, the pipes for the kitchen and the bathroom, and the generator for the lights, plus anything to do with the roof and the walls. And the chimney.

We have a large gas bottle which, Dad explained, is how we cook on the stove and how we heat our water for the bath. Our water tank is kept full by the windmill that pumps water up from the river. It’s on a stand much higher than our roof. Dad says that’s so that we can have good water pressure in the kitchen and the bathroom.

Sometimes on a Saturday we would go with Dad to Big Town to get groceries and anything else that he needed. We call it ‘Big Town’ because, compared to our Village, it is. Big. I actually don’t remember if it has a real name because we have never used it as far as I can remember. Mum usually didn’t come, unless she wanted something special. She would buy fresh milk from Mrs Smith at The Village pub, but usually we kept a supply of the ‘long life’ carton-type milk in the pantry. We always had fresh meat though. Dad would bring it home from ‘Whispering Gums’, the property where he works.

Mum would take care of the living room and the kitchen. There wasn’t much space to move things around in the living room, but Mum liked to change the position of things a little, where it was possible, like the angle of the two lounge chairs, or even just to swap the different cushions around. We had a small table and four chairs, just inside the door, plus a nice, soft rug in front of the fire, with the lounge chairs, one on each side of the rug.

The lounge chairs were for Mum and Dad after dinner. Karl and I used to either sit at the table or lie on the rug, which was big enough for both of us, and I liked the feel of it on my skin. When we were little, Mum used to let Karl and me dry ourselves in front of the fire after our bath then lie on the rug for a while, naked, before we put on our pyjamas to have dinner.

That is something that we still like to do – even in the summer time, without the fire. And Dad doesn’t mind. Sometimes, when he sits in one of the lounge chairs and Karl and I are on the rug, Dad puts his cold feet on our warm backs, or on our backsides. I think he likes to hear us complain about not being his personal hot water bottles!

Oh, yes, it was also Karl’s Job and mine to wash the dishes and put everything away in its proper place. Sometimes we used to play tricks on Mum by putting something in the wrong place and we would laugh while she went hunting to find it. I don’t think she was angry at us though. It was a game that she seemed to enjoy as much as we did.

Mum used to read and sew a lot, and she would complain that we had no radio and no television, like there was at our grandma and grandpa’s house (Ma and Pa) in Brisbane, where she grew up. I remember that Karl and I went there once with Mum. Dad didn’t come.

What sticks in my mind most about visiting Ma and Pa was how long it took us to get there. Dad drove us to Cunnamulla (about two hours away) and then we had to wait for a bus to take us to a larger town where we caught an overnight train to Brisbane. I remember that Karl and I mostly slept on the train. Pa picked us up at the station.

I think that Ma and Pa didn’t like Dad – you know how you get that feeling just from seeing how people act when they’re talking about someone? I knew when Mum, Ma and Pa were talking about Dad, because they didn’t have their usual happy faces on, and would lower their voices if Karl and I were too close to them in case we might hear what they were saying.

In The Village, there aren’t too many other people near us. The school is the closest building to ours, just to the east. The pub is in a different direction - south. Our friend, Little Willie and his mum (we call her ‘Aunt Lilly’, even though we’re not related), live in a small house about a hundred metres from us, towards the pub and then west down a bit of a track. Their place is older than ours. I mean, really old. The boards don’t fit properly on the walls, some of the windows are broken and the rusty tin roof looks as though it is held in place by some heavy logs. Karl and I have never been inside their house.

Mum said that it was OK for Little Willie to come to our place but she didn’t like Aunt Lilly and told us to keep away from her. I’ve got a feeling that I know why, now.

My mother always used to impress upon me the need for good manners: ‘No, thank you.’ ‘Yes, please.’ ‘Thank you very much.’ ‘Excuse me.’ ‘Knock and wait to be invited in.’ ‘Never interrupt other people’s conversations.’ ‘Chew with your mouth closed.’ ‘Consider others before yourself.’

This last one was especially relevant, and I used to hear it often, because I was always reminded of the need to put my brother, Karl, first. And, I always assumed that he would do the same for me. However, I think that, as we grew older, he learned to take advantage of me at every opportunity. Not with the little things. He would always say, “After you, Kurt,” whenever my mother was present. Or “You choose first, Kurt,” when food was offered. No, it was the bigger things, especially when neither of our parents was around, when he used to ‘forget’ that Mum’s ‘golden rules’ were supposed to be followed by him too.

For example, when our friend, Little Willie, would come over to play, it seemed like Karl always favoured him over me. Well, I suppose, that could have been seen as doing what Mum had told us, but I always felt that he put Little Willie first, himself second and me last.

I tried to not be upset by it. But, you know, it sometimes just used to ‘get to me’, and there was nobody that I could talk to about it. I tried to share my feelings with Dad once, but only received a good ‘talking to’ from him about jealousy. And he told me that it was more important that I continued to do the right thing, even if I thought that my brother didn’t.

Sometimes, even now, when I think that my Dad might have seen Karl being mean to me, he comes over and gives me a hug and musses up my hair. And he tells me that he loves me. He once said to me, “Hey, handsome boy, I’m proud of you for being so loving to your brother.”

I love my Dad too!

I think that my Dad’s pretty clever. He manages a property north of here. ‘Whispering Gums’ is a strange name! They have sheep and cattle and horses. He looks after the animals and organises all of the repairs – buildings, fences, cattle yards, farming equipment and shearing sheds. I suppose that is why our place is in such good condition. If anything needs fixing, Dad is always able to do it. He knows a lot of stuff about lots of stuff. Haha.

Aunt Lilly’s (and Little Willie’s) place is totally the opposite. It looks as though it is ready to fall over.

I spoke to my dad about it once and he said that, despite how it looked, it was built a long time ago of very heavy and solid timbers. And even though there were holes, and the roof was rusty, it would probably withstand a strong cyclone (at least the walls would).

One afternoon, I asked Dad if he could possibly help Aunt Lilly to fix up her place a bit because Little Willie had made comments about the holes and the draughts. Dad said that he would ask Mum if it was OK with her, and she agreed that it would be ‘the Christian thing to do’.

The following Saturday, after Dad had played cricket with Karl and me and Little Willie in the morning, he walked over to the pub to have a drink. When he came back, he brought four cans of lemonade with him – for me, Karl, Little Willie and Mum. Sorry, for Mum, Little Willie, Karl and me (‘adults first, then others and yourself last’).

He told us that he had been talking to Marty O’Brien, Little Willie’s cousin. Aunt Lilly was Marty’s real aunt. Marty had said that most of her family had offered to help Lilly, but that she didn’t want them around and used to swear at them, especially if she had had too much to drink. So, they had left her alone. “Long story!” Marty had said.

Dad told me that, for a few years, he had seen Aunt Lilly around The Village but didn’t speak to her because either he was too busy or she was too drunk, which he and Mum didn’t like. That’s why Karl and I were not allowed to go over there. Dad said that he felt really sorry for Little Willie, but he had always seemed like a nice kid, in spite of his mother, and that Dad was very happy for us to be friends with him and that he could come to our place at any time. Mum did too, and she used to feed him all sorts of food that he said he never got at home.

Mum had taught Karl and me, and Little Willie too, to cook. We loved to help her and she explained everything, and even let us make dinner by ourselves sometimes. Whether Dad actually knew about it or not, he used to compliment Mum on a delicious meal and then acted really surprised when she told him that “the boys cooked tonight”. I loved that!

The Saturday morning after he had spoken to Marty, Dad spotted Aunt Lilly, as soon as the pub was open, heading in that direction. Because it was so early, he figured that she would be OK to talk to (not drunk, in other words). So, he went over there. When he came back, he told us that she had agreed to him helping out, and they went back to her place to see what needed to be done.

So, most Saturday afternoons, Dad started to go to Aunt Lilly’s place, just to do the most urgent of things – repairing the holes in the tin roof where you could see the sky from the inside, nailing boards that had become loose, or replacing them if necessary. He even put some wood over holes in the windows so that the rain wouldn’t come in; not that we’ve had rain for years, but Dad had said that her place could be a real mess if ever it did rain again. Whenever Dad went over there, Little Willie would come to play with us.

After a while, Dad began to stay longer than his usual one hour. I remember that Mum asked him what he was doing, and he said that he was making repairs inside – to the furniture, the cupboards, the beds and other things.

What had started out as ‘the Christian thing to do’, became a cause of much disagreement between Mum and Dad, and he often reminded her that it was her idea in the first place. I remember the early summer day, before Christmas, over a year ago now, that Mum said she was leaving, to go back and live with Ma and Pa. She told Karl and me that she could no live with the heat, and the dust and the bugs, and with being sick. I cried a lot. So did she.

The day that Dad took Mum to catch the bus, I couldn’t stop crying. Before she left, she hugged Karl and me, told us that she loved us very much, and that we could come and visit her any time, and even come to live with her, if we wanted to. Dad had said that Karl and I shouldn’t go with them in the car to Cunnamulla, because that would just make us more upset. Besides, he wanted to say good-bye to Mum in private. Mum said that it was OK, and she hugged and kissed us one last time. As Dad’s car left, I ran to my room and just cried into my pillow until it had lots of very wet patches. I don’t know where Karl went, but a bit later I heard Little Willie’s voice outside.

Karl came in and said that the three of us should go for a swim in the weir, which was closer to the school than to our place. I said that I would come over soon and that they should go on ahead.

I walked the long way ‘round (down towards the pub, then up towards the old church and then back past the school) as I had been taught to do. Dad had told us that little kids shouldn’t take short cuts in the long, dried grass, because, with this heat, there could be snakes about. Poisonous ones. I usually walk around in bare feet, except when I go to school, or to Big Town with Dad and Karl.

When I got there, all that I saw of Karl and Little Willie was their shirts on a log, together with Karl’s shorts. That meant that Little Willie still had his shorts on and that Karl was swimming in his undies. I knew where they would be. I waded into the river on the low side of the weir, just where the water spills over. There was a ‘secret space’ behind the waterfall (as we called it) and the main wall of the weir. And there was enough room to sit on one of the large beams at water level and talk. It was a great place to be on a hot day. The boys at school had claimed it as their space – no girls allowed. I don’t think that it bothered the girls. Most of them were too little anyway, and Jane, the oldest of all us school children, always looked after the little ones when they were swimming.

Karl, Little Willie and I talked for a long time about our Mum leaving, and what our Dad had been fixing at his place. He told us, sometimes after Dad had fixed some ‘stuff’, that our Dad and his mum used to talk a lot, and that our Dad had even started bringing some bottles of beer from the pub, because Aunt Lilly couldn’t afford much. When Dad arrived, Little Willie was told to come over and play with us, which often lasted for a long time, until Dad came back.

I shared with Little Willie that I don’t understand why Mum left Dad and Karl and me and went back to Brisbane to live with Ma and Pa. I know what she told us about the heat and bugs and stuff, but that didn’t make an awful lot of sense somehow, because it had always been that way in summer. For years.  Something changed when Dad started helping Aunt Lilly.

I know that Mum did ask us to come to visit her whenever we could.

We never have.

I understood when Dad said that he wasn’t able to take the time off work to drive us to see Mum, even though he’d like to. He also explained that it was a long way by car, bus and train to Brisbane. We knew that already. Besides, I don’t think that he would let two eleven-year olds travel alone over such a long distance and time. So, I have just accepted that fact that my Mum is gone – until she gets better and is able to come back to us.

In the back of my mind there is, even now, a feeling that there was more to her leaving than just her health. Dad doesn’t like to talk about it, and he changes the subject if ever I mention it and ask the question. I’ve learned not to.

We’ve had a tradition at Christmas time. Each person is allowed to make one Secret Christmas Wish. My wish usually came true, because Mum or Dad would somehow find out what it was. (Thanks Karl! Nothing that I shared with him stayed a secret!) One year my wish was for new school shoes. The Christmas earlier, it was for a cricket bat.

But on the Christmas after Mum left, it was for her to come back. She didn’t, and she hasn’t. Maybe my days of Christmas wishes coming true are over.

When Karl and I turned twelve last February, we each received a Birthday Card from Mum. I was more interested in the letter that she included rather than the $20, but she said that the money might make a wish come true the next time that Dad took us into Big Town with him.

My pillow soaked up a lot of tears that night as well, and I ended up in Karl’s bed. We had always slept together, but when we turned 11, Dad thought that we each might like our own bed. So, he made two the same.

However, we hugged each other to sleep on our twelfth birthday, in Karl’s bed. I think that all I said that night was, “I miss her, Karl.” And we both cried and hugged each other.

There is another boy in the school who is older than us and closer to our age than Little Willie. But Jake and his sister, Jane, live out of town, and we only see them at school. Little Willie is friends with Jake too, and they are real cousins. Sometimes, Little Willie told us, that they are both invited to stay with their cousin Marty at his place for the weekend.

I’m grateful that Karl and I have Little Willie as our best friend. He has always been fun to be with, even though he is more than four years older than us. I remember that, because shortly after Karl and I had had our twelfth birthday, Little Willie turned sixteen.

Karl and I have almost always had our bath together, and we are used to seeing each other with no clothes on. In fact, I never used to think anything of it. Mum and Dad didn’t insist on us being dressed if we were in the house when the weather was warm. Sometimes Dad would walk around with nothing on too. Mum never did.

When we were little kids, Dad would sometimes sit in the bath with both of us and wash us. That’s when he would sing the song, “Rub-a-dub-dub. Three men in a tub…” I used to like that, and we took turns of being the butcher, the baker and the candle-stick maker. But he hasn’t done it for a long time now. I think Karl and I may be too old for that stuff, and Dad probably does too.

Besides, our bath really isn’t big enough for three. Now, that Karl and I have grown, there’s barely enough room for the two of us. We sometimes wash each other – usually our backs, but sometimes the fronts as well. I enjoy doing that for my twin brother, and I like it when he washes me.

From the time when we were both little, as far back as my memory can stretch, it was just natural to be, like, naked together, and not just at bath time. Pyjama pants were just things that we put on, after our bath, to have dinner and to wear to bed. Underpants were only needed, under our shorts, to go to school. Dad’s only requirement for us to be allowed to wear no clothes in the house was, that if we had done a poo in the outside toilet, we had to make sure that we cleaned ourselves properly afterwards. “We don’t want skid marks on the furniture,” he would say. I knew what he meant.

I also really used to enjoy lying on the rug in front of the fire in the winter time. Karl and I would lie head-to-head and talk. Sometimes we would read, and sometimes do our homework like that – naked and toasting. It felt good. Dad didn’t say anything.

As far as I knew, this stuff is what all families did. I never heard anyone say anything different. I didn’t think about it much and never felt the need to ask any of the other kids what they did. It was just normal and I enjoyed it.

I love my Dad. It takes him about two hours’ drive up to ‘Whispering Gums’ each morning and back again in the afternoon. He leaves early while Karl and I are still in bed, but always puts out for us the things that he wants us to have for breakfast. He likes to spend time with us when he gets back home. That’s when he plays outside with us if it’s still light enough – usually footy or cricket. And, we talk a lot over dinner before going to bed at night. Sometimes he even sits with us while we are in the bath and tells us what happened at work and asks us what we did at school. After dinner, I feel really good when he gives us a long hug, tells us that he loves us, tucks us in and kisses us goodnight.

After Mum left, Dad ‘did a deal’ with us: if we got dinner started each night, as he knew that we could, Little Willie would be allowed to come over and play with us, any time, after school. Dad said that when it was warm, all of us could even go swimming in the weir by ourselves, if we played safely, provided that we didn’t forget about dinner. We’re all good swimmers. And good cooks!

Little Willie has told us that sometimes he goes down to his cousin Marty’s place, especially if his mum’s in a bad mood. (I know that he means ‘drunk’.) It’s down the road a few kilometres, somewhere south of The Village (towards Big Town), and he runs all the way. He’s a really good runner.

Dad still fixes stuff for Aunt Lilly on weekends and we see a lot of Little Willie. We play cricket, tag, hide ‘n’ seek, wrestling, and other games. Dad’s teaching us all to play Monopoly but has told us that it can sometimes last for hours, so to be patient with each other if there’s only the three of us boys playing.

For whatever reason, I’m sure that, out of Karl and me, my brother is Little Willie’s favourite. It’s hard to explain. Maybe there is something about Little Willie that reminds Karl of our Mum, and he is naturally drawn to whatever that is. I don’t see it. Maybe it’s because Little Willie never gets mad and is always helpful. Maybe it’s the way that he smiles at Karl. Maybe it’s the great hugs that he gives. Who knows? Except that, Little Willie seems to respond to Karl’s attraction to him. Whether it’s Little Willie’s intention or not, Karl always seems to get more attention from him than I do and, if he’s over here when Karl and I disagree on anything, Little Willie always takes his side. I don’t know why it’s not obvious to anyone else, except to me.

If we all wrestle together, it’s always Karl and Little Willie who combine to get the better of me. If we play hidings, I usually seem to be ‘it’ and have difficulty finding the two of them. If we play tag, I think that I am tagged the most and the hardest, or in a very painful spot – you know what I mean?

But I still like Little Willie! I just don’t know what’s going on between him and Karl.

Because we’re allowed to have him over, and because he doesn’t like being at home alone with his mother these days, or if my Dad’s helping Aunt Lilly with stuff, we see a lot of Little Willie.

In fact, I remember the day, about nine months ago, when I first saw much more of him than usual.

It was a really, really hot afternoon at the end of last summer; so hot that even the noisy parrots were silent, conserving their energy. We had our shirts off. Instead of swimming in the weir, we were playing basketball with the hoop that Dad attached to the side of the house. We all still had our school shorts on. Karl said, “It’s too hot. I’m taking my shorts off!” And he did.

Little Willie said, “Me too!” And he did.

Being the one who always followed the rules, I reminded Karl, “Hey, Dad said that we always have to wear our clothes when we’re outside. What are you doing?”

Karl, in his smart-alec tone, said, “Well, we’re still wearing our underpants, aren’t we? They’re clothes! But I’m going inside. Then I won’t have to keep them on.” And he cackled a mischievous laugh. “We can still play something in the house.”

Little Willie added, rather excitedly, “Me too!” And they both disappeared. I followed them, without hurrying, not sure exactly what was going on with them.

Just as I walked through the front door, Karl and Little Willie both emerged from our bedroom, starkers.

Now, being naked with my brother, and sometimes with our Dad, was normal to me. But with a visitor? Even our friend? That was new! And, I guess that I had really not taken any particular notice of my Dad’s body before, but seeing Little Willie’s penis, surrounded by lots of curly dark brown hair, took me completely by surprise.

(Dad had told us that ‘penis’ was the right word for what some people might call a ‘dick’ or a ‘cock’ or a ‘prick’ or a ‘doodle’, ‘wiener’ or a ‘willie’.

I remember that Karl and I had both looked at each other, then burst out laughing when Dad said ‘willie’ and we reminded him that ‘Willie’ was our friend’s name. He said that ‘penis’ was the most polite word, ‘willie’ the funniest and ‘prick’ was the naughtiest. And, yes, while our conversation was down in that area, he threw in the ‘testicles’, ‘balls’, ‘nuts’, ‘knackers’ ‘bollocks’ and ‘family jewels’ bit.

Little Willie’s penis looked pretty much like my Dad’s, except Dad had more, but lighter-coloured, hair. I looked across at Karl’s body and then at my own, being aware that we never had hair down there, unlike him. Actually, and surprisingly, I saw that there was a fair bit of it, which I’d never really noticed before, probably because it was light brown, like our skin, and it had kind-of just ‘crept up on me’. Looking at Little Willie’s penis and dark hair suddenly caused me to feel strange and tingly inside. It flashed into my head that he had just had a birthday and I thought, ‘So, that’s what guys look like when they are 16.’

“Well, what are we gonna play?” my brother asked. “We can’t play chasings in here. What about wrestling?” He knew that it was one of Little Willie’s favourites. Little Willie, being 16, was bigger and stronger than both Karl and me, so when we wrestled, it was usually us two brothers against him, that is, until the pair of them ganged up on me. And, our wrestling usually ended that way - two against one: them against me.

“Hurry up!” Karl ordered,” as I walked past them. “Just ditch your clothes on the bed. Little Willie’s not gonna win today! We’re gonna beat him! Come on!”

A wrestling game for Karl and me always started by being totally focussed on trying our utmost to pin Little Willie to the floor. However, even our combined eight arms and legs weren’t enough against him. He would roll and squirm free and then, to show off how strong he was, he would set about trying to hold us both down at once, either by stretching himself across our two bodies, side by side, or, to manoeuvre us so that one of us was on top of the other. Then he would lie on top of us both. Often, when that happened, I was the one right on the bottom. Then, despite my gasps and pleas, Little Willie and Karl would not let me up. They made fun of ‘how weak I was’, every time!

However, something seemed unusual that particular day. Karl sounded as if he actually wanted him and me to team up to ‘get’ Little Wille. Also, because we had always wrestled with our clothes on before, this was going to be ‘different’. Somehow, it was going to be more exciting.

I had never felt like that before, even whenever Karl’s penis and mine got longer and hard, it was different. All that just seemed part of normal. He and I used to wrestle on the bed a lot, and I thought absolutely nothing of it if one of us, or both of us got hard; Grabbing Karl’s willie was no more special for me than twisting his nose or his ears or pulling his thumb backwards to loosen his grip on me.

As I stripped off my shorts and undies, the prospect of wrestling naked with another guy felt somehow naughty, against my mother’s ‘golden rule’, and yet, it was something that I suddenly really wanted to do and feel.

Walking into the lounge room, I hadn’t realised that my penis was hard and sticking straight up until Little Willie pointed at it, covering his mouth with his other hand, as though it was a great joke. He had never seen me naked before.

“I’m gonna get you, Little Willie!” I almost shouted at him, more annoyed at being made fun of than from any embarrassment, and I leaped onto his back, with my arms around his neck. I hung on.

“Hey, I’m not the one with the little willie,” he laughed. I gritted my teeth and tightened my grip. Then he simply bent forward and I went tumbling over his head, letting him go so that I could stretch out my hands for a softer landing.

Karl thought that me being upended so easily was hilarious. “What are you laughing at?” Little Willie said to him, standing over me victoriously, with his hands on his hips. “Your willie is even smaller than his!” Well! You should have seen Karl’s face change colour; it was like a chameleon that had suddenly stepped from beige dirt onto red soil!

For once, I think that Karl and I were truly united in our resolve against our friend. Our response was silent and swift. While Karl tackled him like a rugby player, I got up and went for one of his arms, grabbing it with both of my hands and twisting it behind his back. That was, actually, a mistake! Little Willie, being stronger, reached down, squeezed my balls then grabbed my erect penis. Not just grabbed it, but tried to pull it clear off my body. I reckon he was trying to turn me into a girl! I yelped in pain and let him go.

He latched onto Karl, rolled him over onto his stomach, and lay chest-down across his back, gripping one of Karl’s legs and one of his arms.

“Get off me!” Karl demanded, squirming and with his face in the rug, but with no success in achieving his freedom.

“Make me!” Little Willie teased.

Now, I had never been one to seek revenge, but on this occasion, I felt a strong urge to do it – friend or no friend! The way that he was laying his chest and stomach on Karl, I could see Little Willie’s balls and ‘cock’ in a gap between his body and the floor, right next to Karl.

What I did was more of a reaction than something that I thought about. I reached underneath him, grabbed his ‘prick’ then flopped myself right onto his back, hoping that I was heavy enough to make it too difficult for him to move. I squeezed as hard as I could. “How do YOU like it, eh?” I yelled in his ear. And I squeezed it again. He didn’t answer, but he just stayed across Karl and made no attempt to remove me, as though he either didn’t care, or was actually enjoying it. Hold and squeeze! His willie got very hard. And, it wasn’t little at all! I had never seen my Dad’s penis that big!

When I realised that he didn’t care about what I was doing, I let him go and rubbed both of his ears, back and forth, as hard and fast as I could instead, using my two hands.

He let go of Karl, and rolled off him, in order to get at me. Karl instantly sprang up and latched onto him. What followed was a whole lot of rolling around and grabbing of body parts, but with increasing gentleness: the ‘do unto others…’ rule. Actually, it was more like, ‘don’t do unto others what you don’t want them to do unto you’!

Suddenly, Little Willie jumped up, shaking both Karl and me to one side, and ran into our room, slamming the door shut behind him. Karl and I tried to get in, but we couldn’t. We stopped pounding and backed off. “He’s got to come out sometime,” I smirked at Karl, “and when he does, we’ll …” I made a ball-scrunching motion with my hand. He nodded and copied me. We grinned at each other.

Not a minute later, our bedroom door flew open and Little Willie, shorts back on and shirt in his hand, bolted for the front door. He was escaping before Karl and I were even able to get our feet moving! We dashed after him but stopped dead at the doorway.

“You’d better not come outside like that,” he called back, pointing at our still-excited nudity, and hinting with a nod of his head towards the pub that there could be witnesses. We were beaten! “See you tomorrow,” he laughed and gave us a wolf whistle. We both gave him a one-fingered salute (which Mum would not have been happy with). Then, turning, he slowly walked away from us, down the track, with his shirt slung over one shoulder. Mongrel! But a good friend.

We’d had fun; at least I know that I had. New fun.

“We’d better get dinner started,” Karl said to me, looking at the clock on the wall. “But we should get dressed first.”

We looked at each other, hugged, then stepped apart, scrutinising what had been erect only minutes earlier. “He’s got a big one, hasn’t he?” I asked as we headed for the bedroom.

“Too right!” Karl replied. “Did you get a hold of it?”

“Yes, I sure did. But he started it. He grabbed mine first.” I said, as if to suddenly absolve myself from what I had done; for what we had done.

Little? I had wondered about that before. But, right then, I thought really hard about it. Why was his name ‘Little Willie’? His 16-year old penis definitely wasn’t little, compared to our 12-year old ones. I’d never thought about size before! Actually, I don’t know if ours are little for our age, or not. Even though we’d had the talk about penises, and my Dad had said that we could talk to him about anything, I’d be too embarrassed to ask him that!

I put the question to Karl, while he was peeling the potatoes and I was left to do the onions – again.

“It’s funny when you think about it,” he said. “Little Willie has a really big willie.” We both laughed.

“It would be even funnier,” I added. “If a 16-year old Big Willie had a little willie.” Giggles!

We kept peeling, and then Karl suggested, “Hey, why don’t we just call him ‘Little’ and we can refer to his penis as ‘Big’”. I thought about it and agreed. “But only between you and me; like a secret code. We can still call him ‘Little Willie’, to his face or when anyone else is around.” We both put down our knives, bumped fists and high-fived. Karl thrust his hips forward, framed the lump of his cock and balls with both hands and said, “Big!” I copied him. We repeated it, in unison and both nearly wet ourselves laughing.

Occasionally, Karl and I used to leave some of our homework, just so that Dad could help us with it. I liked it when he would sit next to me, with his arm around me or over my shoulder, and would explain things to me (most of which I already knew, but I liked to feel him close to me). I made him think that he was a pretty good teacher, and I could tell that he felt great about being able to help us. He often commented about the school teacher and whether he was actually teaching us anything, if we needed to ask so many questions at home.

School. That’s another story. Teachers (or ‘schoolies’ as we kids refer to them) usually stay here for two years and then we get another one. One left at about the same time that our Mum did. He had been here for two years. Then we got ‘Mr Grumpy’. He has just left too. But he only stayed for one year. He was older than our Dad, and we gave him his nickname because he was pretty grouchy a lot of the time. The little kids were scared of him. I hope the new one is nicer. He’ll probably turn up just before school goes back after the holidays. Soon!

Many months have passed since Mum left and I think that Dad must have fixed up nearly all of Aunt Lilly’s house by now. But he still spends a lot time over there. And ‘Little’ spends a lot of time with us. We see ‘Big’ a fair bit now as well. Apart from wrestling, we enjoy a new game – ‘grab and run’. Even though we play it naked in the house, it’s easier to play it like that at the weir when there is nobody else around – usually on weekends or after school when all of the other kids have been picked up by their parents. ‘Big’ starts off soft, like us, but then gets hard, like us. It’s great fun! What’s even better, is that Karl usually teams up with me now to get ‘Little’; I mean, to get ‘Big’; I mean to get ‘Little’s Big’. Umm… You know what I mean!

I think that my ‘big’ has been getting even bigger when it is hard. I know the hairs are growing! I should start to measure it.

When the three of us were playing together, especially naked in the weir, ‘Little’ was always making jokes about how little Karl’s and mine were. I wasn’t sure, so, instead of asking Dad whether we were normal, or little or big, I decided to check out some of the other guys at school when they went for a pee in the toilet. We usually go two or three together.

David, who is a boy close in age to Karl and me, is only 8, so I expected his penis to be smaller. But Jake is older, and I was really interested to see his. It is bigger than Karl’s and mine, but smaller than ‘Big’. I’m starting to confuse myself!

What I did see in there one day, when Jake was peeing with his elastic-waist shorts and undies pulled halfway down to his knees, was his balls. They were… umm, hanging lower than Karl’s and mine, and Little’s. They were long, like a bull’s. Little’s and Karl’s and mine (and Dad’s) are up higher, and a lot rounder than Jake’s. He saw me watching him and he said, “Want to have a good look?” He took his hands away and half turned towards me. Not knowing what to say or do, I just dropped my hands too. He looked at mine, and said, “Nice one!”. Then he laughed, pulled up his shorts and left. And I learned something else: it’s hard to pee when my penis goes hard!

 

About a month ago now, at the start of these long, summer holidays, ‘Little’, Karl and I had been playing in and around the weir. I was ‘stuffed’ and really needed a rest after all the running and swimming that I had been doing, especially since the other two had both been after me most of the time. So, I got out and sat on a log, and just watched them still chasing, ducking, tagging, and then trying to get away from each other.

While I caught my breath, I just relaxed and took in everything around me.

The water was brown, probably from the river banks upstream. And the gum trees hung over the river from both sides. They were pretty tall, but their branches and strips of bark hung low, yet, not touching the water.

It was a sunny day, and I felt the heat not only in the air, but from the flashes of mid-afternoon sunlight through the slightly-moving leaves of the trees.

I closed my eyes and listened. There was the splashing that ‘Little’ and Karl were making, but also the sound of the waterfall on the down-side of the weir. Sort of a constant bubbling, or like the wind in the trees, I guess. And, it was easy to tell the difference between Little’s deeper voice (but not as deep as my Dad’s) and Karl’s. I guess mine would be the same as Karl’s, seeing that we are identical twins.

I heard the laugh of kookaburras, somewhere down the river, and that awful screeching that those cockatoos make!

I listened harder and realised that there was also a buzz in the air. What was it? Flies? Cicadas? Dragonflies? A bug buzzed past my head but I wasn’t quick enough to see what it was when I opened my eyes.

I watched Karl and ‘Little’ having a heap of fun together. Without me. I knew immediately what my secret Christmas wish was going to be! I really wanted to have MY OWN Little Willie to have fun with – just him and me. Does that sound stupid?

Making up things might sound weird, but from the time I first remember, Mum had always read to Karl and me before she said goodnight and turned out the lights. We still have all of the Little Golden Books. My favourites were Scuffy, the Tugboat, Cinderella and Chicken Little. I reckon that I could still recite the entire stories, without looking at a single page. I know that they were all ‘made up’, and it was fun imagining stuff. I learned the difference between fiction and non-fiction.

My Dad still reads to us. We’ve recently finished The Knights of the Round Table and have started on Treasure Island. I sometimes imagine that I’m a knight defending a castle, or a pirate looking for treasure. I made a wooden sword (with Dad’s help) that I use when Karl and I play fighting games.

I remember that, after Robin Hood, I tried to make a bow and arrows, but that didn’t turn out too well. It was funny when he read the bit to us about the big man, ‘Little John’ (fiction), because it reminded me of Little Willie and his big willie (non-fiction). I wondered whether Little John had a ‘Big’ John. Haha.

Christmas came and went. That was only a month ago now. The highlight for me was a card from Mum with another $20, and a short note telling me that she loved me and looked forward to seeing me again. She told me that she missed hugging me, looking into my lovely blue eyes and brushing my thick blond hair off of my forehead. It made me cry. But I was happy to get hugs and kisses from my Dad. Karl and I gave each other a printed T-shirt that we had chosen on our last trip to Big Town. His is mainly red and mine is mostly blue. Dad gave us both our own wrist watch and reminded us to take it off before we go swimming. At night I put my watch on top of the drawers next to my bed. Even four weeks later, I still keep Mum’s note inside my pillow case and think of her as I fall asleep.

I even made my Secret Christmas Wish: for ‘Little’ to have a twin too. Then it would be #1 (‘Little’ himself) for Karl, and #2 (but an even better one, please) for me. There you go! Two matched pairs of twins. Perfect! Not that I would ever expect that one to come true either. But I have dreamed about it, almost every night since then, and my penis gets really hard if I imagine #2 and me playing a naughty game. One morning I woke up and was aware that my pyjama pants were wet. Not much, though. Just a small patch. I didn’t remember peeing myself during the night. Embarrassing for a kid who’s nearly 13! And I didn’t tell Karl.

◊◊◊

Now, it is a week before school goes back. A lot of us kids are at the weir and playing. There’s Jane and her brother, Jake, and ‘Little’ and Karl and me. And the younger ones: 8-year old David and his 5-year old brother, Eric, and some others – Rose-Marie and Susanna plus two of their cousins who don’t go to our school. There is excited talk about who our new teacher (our new ‘Schoolie’) might be. Will he be better than Mr Grumpy? Everybody laughs. Jane wishes that he will be young and handsome. More laughs.

Jake is up a gum tree and pretending to be Tarzan. ‘Little’ is hiding behind the waterfall. Jane is playing a game with all of the young ones. Just as Karl and I are scrambling up the river bank, Jane suddenly calls out, “Hey, kids, I think the new schoolie’s here!” then she heads off, rushing towards the school. We all take off after her, at a run. I overtake the little kids.

Even as I get closer to the new Schoolie, I can tell that something is wrong. Well, not wrong exactly, but…

Jane almost comes to a screeching halt in front of him. I slow down, so do the others behind me, and we stand a little back from Jane. The new teacher looks a bit nervous, or maybe it’s just the heat, but he smiles and greets us with, “Hey guys!” Jane introduces herself and we hear that his name is Mr Grant. He comments what a handsome bunch we are, and Jane introduces each of us to him. We are all wet, especially Karl and me who are still dripping.

Apart from Jane, who is wearing a full girl’s costume, all the rest of us only have on our underpants, even the little ones.

Including Jane, there are nine of us. Jake and Little Willie are still back at the weir. Jane yells out their names, but they don’t come.

Mr Grant is staring at me, or was I staring at him first? He mouths my name as though he is trying to remember it. I cheekily mimic his expression and mouth ‘Mr Grant’ back at him. Then we grin at each other. I instantly like him.

My heart is pounding.

Jane suggests that Mr Grant follow her so that he can meet the other two. She and the others take off, running back to the weir. I go too, but not as quickly. Half-way there, I look over my shoulder. Mr Grant is following us. He smiles at me again when he sees me looking at him. I wave to him, sheepishly, then run to catch up with the others.

My mind is racing too.

Well, it appears that Jane got her wish – he is young and handsome. However, it runs through my mind that if God or Santa Claus really does grant people’s Christmas wishes, then why didn’t my Mum come back to us?

When everyone is gathered at the river, looking around for the other two, Jane again calls for Jake and Little Willie, but they stay hidden. Haha, I know where they are!

I stand beside Mr Grant and he is still looking around. Jake gives a Tarzan-like call, swings down from the tree and lands right in front of Mr Grant and me, pretending to stand like some kind of ape, with his arms swinging from side to side, and pulling a weird face. He looks ridiculous!

At first, Mr Grant jumps at the suddenness of Jake’s appearance, but then just smiles and asks, “And you must be…?”

“Jake!” everyone tells him together, pointing and laughing at Jake’s pose.

From where I am standing, I see Jake stare at Mr Grant then he freezes. He turns to Jane and gestures, as if to say, ‘What’s going on?’ Jane’s shrug implies, ‘I have no idea!’

Jake relaxes and moves to stand by his sister, who, again, calls out for Little Willie. Nothing.

Mr Grant says how pleased he is to meet us all – well those who are here – he shakes everybody’s hand and asks us all to repeat our names and to tell him our ages. We do.

Karl and I tell him our names, and he doesn’t try to hide the fact that he is looking carefully and comparing us, perhaps trying to detect whether there is any noticeable difference. (There is, but I don’t think that he’s spotted it.) I follow his eyes. He fully checks out the two of us, back and forth, all over, including ‘down there’. In my white, clingy-wet, undies, now would definitely not be a good time for my penis to start getting hard! (It seems to have an attitude of its own lately.) I also tell Mr Grant that Karl and I will turn 13 next week.

He smiles at me. He has kind eyes – totally different to Mr Grumpy.

He’s still looking up, and around, when I see Little’s head pop up near the other side of the river, which is only about 20 metres across, below the weir. Mr Grant catches sight of him too, and I watch as they both appear to stare at each other.

Then, Little stands bolt upright, dripping, thigh-deep in the swirling water, still staring. Peering almost. Suddenly, looking shocked, he dives back towards the waterfall and disappears.

Mr Grant asks, “What…, I mean who, was that?” He looks more surprised than shocked, but, then, who wouldn’t be at what he has just seen?

“Little Willie!” everybody shouts out.

 

Just a reminder: This is a parallel story to “Schoolie”, with some different details.

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