Kurt

 

 

Life in The Village, through the eyes of a student at the remote school.
(This is a parallel story to "Schoolie", but through different eyes.)
This `school holidays' chapter does not align, specifically, with any Chapter of "Schoolie".

This is an original work of pure fiction (just an expression of a fantasy)
by Robert A. Armstrong (a pseudonym)

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

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

 

From Chapter 13:

"Karl and I usually shower or have a bath before dinner," I say. "But I don't care, really. What about you?"

He pauses, as if considering the best option, and says, "Why don't we have dinner first, clean up, then have a quick shower together first, before we..." He doesn't finish, but puts his hand on the front of my jeans instead."

I begin to have an uncontrollable, but predictable, moment.

"Your aura is suddenly brighter," he says. He's really telling me that he can feel my dick getting hard and that he knows that I like it. He's right!

He surprises me by removing his hand and saying, "Not yet." Even though I was loving having his `Moby' hand feel my `Moby Junior' erection, I agree with him. Let's do it later.

Chapter 14 – Kurt and Ron Together, Alone

He says, "Come on, I'll help you to get us some grub!" He stands up and I can tell from the front of his jeans that I wasn't the only one enjoying the moment. He makes no attempt to hide it from me.

Hang on! Did he say, `shower together'? Hell Yeah! Junior does a couple of push ups, seeking more room to expand.

Ron picks through the Esky, takes out some rissoles, eggs, bread rolls, butter, a tub of shredded lettuce and some sliced cheese. And a squirt bottle of barbecue sauce from the box. "Can you make hamburgers?" he asks.

I look at everything that he has put out. This'll be a cinch! "What? No onions?" I ask, smirking.

He reaches into the box and produces one.

"Seeing that I'm cooking, you can peel and slice the onion," I tell him, acting like I'm the head chef! "And butter the bread rolls, and get out the knives and forks and plates."

"If you cook them properly, we won't need knives and forks," he says.

A good bit of humour. But practical.

"Now, all I need is a pan, and egg flipper, a pair of tongs and a sharp knife. Oh, is there any cooking oil, or will I use the butter?"

"Butter," he replies. "But you'd better watch the pan though. This stove is not like the ones in a normal kitchen. Sometimes it can get too hot."

I put the large pan on top of the stove, which is now throwing out some good heat. A bit of butter. Spread around. "Got those onions done yet?" I ask. "They need to go in first."

"Hey, slave driver. Slow down," he complains, in good humour.

I take the pan off the stove.

And watch him do the onions, wiping his eyes with a cloth, multiple times. When he's finished slicing and crying, I say, "You know, if you peel the onions under water, they don't make you cry."

"You cheeky little ..." he says. "Why didn't you tell me that before I started?"

"Maybe I assumed that you knew that already. You seem to know everything else." I deliver it with the expression of innocence and puppy-dog eyes.

He moves behind me and presses his body against mine and whispers directly into my ear. "I'd love to believe you. But I don't." I find it hard to resist giggling. In the end, it just erupts. He squeezes my backside and steps away.

Pan on the stove. Butter. Onions. Mixed until they are nicely brown without burning.

"Bread rolls buttered yet?" I smirk. This is fun.

He lays the 8 halves of 4 cut rolls out and butters them. I spread the onions on four.

Four rissoles into the pan. While they are cooking, I add the cheese and lettuce on top of the onions. Turn the rissoles. I break the first egg into a cup then pour it onto the other side of the pan. Then a second. Rissoles out, onto the hamburger. Sauce on top.

"How do you like your eggs?" I ask him. "Turned, or sunny side up?"

"Sunny side up."

"Hard or runny?"

"Medium." He thinks he's got me. Smirking.

"Can do," I tell him, and add the other two eggs. I flip the first two over. They'll be mine.

"Hey, you really do know what you're doing, don't you?" he asks.

"I'm a quick learner," I tell him. "I told you that months ago. Besides, I help my Dad do these all the time."

"You didn't tell me that either," he says.

I smirk, "You only asked me if I could do hamburgers. You didn't ask about experience! Salt and pepper?"

He produces them from the cupboard.

"You can add your own on top of the egg," I say.

When his eggs are `sunny side up and medium', I take all four out and add them to the hamburgers and place the top halves on them.

Two to a plate, and I say, "Dinner is served, Sir."

We lay the plates on the table. Before I can sit down, he grabs me in a hug, holds my body against his and squeezes my backside. "I like you," he says, letting me go. "You are one cheeky, fun, young guy."

"You left out the handsome bit," I tell him, then bite into my burger.

He has that look which I sometimes see on Mr Grant's face. He wants me.

He finishes his first hamburger while I'm only half-way through mine. "My compliments to the chef!" He says then starts on his second one.

When I finish my first, I fetch a knife and cut the second one in half. "I don't think I'll be able to eat two full ones," I tell him. You can have my other half."

We finish eating at about the same time. "You want to wash up, or make us a cup of tea?" I say, thinking that I'm beginning to sound like my Dad.

"I don't expect you to cook and wash," he tells me. "Fair is fair. Can you make tea?"

I reply, "Yes. And, I've had a bit of experience at that too."

We both laugh.

He fills the big heavy kettle and places it on the stove. "We'll use some of the water for tea, the rest for washing up," he tells me. Everything is stacked, ready for the hot water. Tea bags in mugs. All set.

He opens the stove door and I can feel the heat filling the room. Having already left our boots at the door, Ron sits on the lounge and pulls off his socks. I sit next to him and do the same.

He tickles one of my feet with his. Then, instead of playing with my `stuff' which is what I thought that he was leading up to, he puts his arm around my shoulder, and draws me against him. "This is nice," he says.

I agree.

When we see steam coming from the kettle, he first fills the mugs then puts a plug into the sink and half-fills it with boiling water before adding some cold. He washes up and leaves everything to drain dry.

We enjoy our cup of tea and he recounts what we have accomplished today. "My uncle and your Dad are going to be really happy with what we've been able to do. If we work at the same rate tomorrow, we might even have it all finished by late afternoon. Assuming that there is not too much mending to be done. Otherwise, we can do the rest on Tuesday morning before we head back to the main house."

We rinse the tea mugs and leave them to drain with the other things.

The light from the outside is getting less and the fire is lighting up the room, as well as providing some wonderful heat.

"It's getting too hot for clothes," he says, removing his shirt. He looks at me to gauge my reaction.

"I agree," I say, and take off my own.

We still sit side by side and I really like his body. His muscles seem to be highlighted by the glow of the fire. "Ron, may I feel your muscles?" I ask him.

"Sure. But you don't need to ask, Champ. Anything you want," he says.

I run one of my hands over his chest and shoulders and arms. He makes some muscles go hard and then soft again. I move my hand to his stomach and play with his belly button and then run one finger down the line of brown hair towards the top of his jeans.

I do it a couple of times and then become very daring. Instead of stopping at the top of his jeans, I push my fingertips inside, following his hair.

When I get to that point, he starts to play with my body too. I stop what I'm doing to simply enjoy his touch.

He also doesn't stop when he gets to the top of my jeans but keeps going until he finds my `chicken feathers' then plays with them a bit.

Then he stops and asks. "Did you say that your shoulders and arms were a bit sore?"

"Yes," I answer.

"Let me massage them for you. That should help, and then we can shower. Stand up and face me."

I do, but instead of massaging my shoulders, he slowly reaches for my belt and unbuckles it. Then the button on my jeans. And my zipper. "You'll feel more comfortable without these." He says.

He pulls my jeans slowly down my legs and I step out of them. My underpants have a prominent tent in the front, but he doesn't touch it.

"Now, do mine," he tells me and stands up.

I go slowly. Belt. Button. Zipper. I fold the two flaps down and expose his red underpants. I slowly pull his jeans down just far enough for Moby to become visible. I stare at it then I look at his face. "You can feel it if you want to," he says. "You don't need to ask."

I feel it. Wrap my hand around it. Give it a gentle squeeze. A dark patch appears. I feel it. It's wet. "You know about pre-cum?" he asks. I squeeze again. The patch grows. It feels wetter.

"Yeah. Sort of." I answer. "I know it happens when I get excited, and I know that it's slippery, but I didn't know that it had a name."

"The easiest way to explain it is that it's getting your cock ready for wanking. There's a bit more to it than that, but that'll do for now." I remove his jeans and have a quick feel of his balls. He smiles at me.

He sits back down on the lounge and tells me to sit between his legs but not on his lap. Then he starts to rub my shoulders and the tops of my arms. When he holds me and starts to rub his thumbs into the top of my back, I say, "Ooh. That feels so good."

He continues for about another ten minutes and I can feel everything relax.

When he stops, I lean back onto him. He lifts me onto his lap and I lean back onto him again. I ignore the lump under my backside which seems to fit neatly under my bum cheeks.

He keeps massaging my chest and the sides of my body. With his fingertips he tickles my body from my underpants up over my chest and then firmly rubs my skin in the opposite direction with his hands flat. Over and over. My body starts to tingle and I groan. He takes hold of my nipples and squeezes them gently. I moan.

The next time that he runs his hands down my chest and stomach, he doesn't stop and continues right across the spike in the front of my underpants and down to my thighs. Then up again. A few times more. I can tell that he has stopped to feel my wet patch.

"Ready for wanking, I suppose," I say, looking at it. Then I add, "But I get to do you first. We agreed."

"Do you want to do it in the shower?" he asks. "Or do it here? Now? Then we can shower afterwards."

"Now!" I tell him. I'm too excited to take a break and start again.

I get off his lap and sit next to him. I run my hands over the front of his body, trying to do what he did – lightly up, firmly down. Then I continue down over Moby Dick and his balls. Lightly at first and then more firmly. He groans. "Put your hand inside," he tells me.

I run my fingers up his body, then the flat of my hand down and inside his underpants. "Lots of chicken feathers," I say. He laughs.

I take hold of Moby and turn it to one side before running my hand down and holding his balls. I wiggle my fingers and feel how big and solid they are. "Take my underpants off," he tells me. I do it slowly pulling the waist band downwards. He lifts his backside off the lounge so that I can pull them right down. I put them on top of his jeans.

When I look back at him his cock is lying flat on his stomach directly covering the line of hair from his chicken feathers to his belly button.

I do what I know. I put my full hand around it and rub it up and down. My hand gets slippery from all of his `pre-cum' and I begin to slide my hand up and down, faster and faster. "Ooh, that feels so good," he tells me, "but what's the hurry?"

"What do you mean?" I ask him. "Isn't that how you do it? That's how I do it."

"Can I show you something?" he asks. "I promise that you can still get me to spurt first."

"OK. I say, "But if I say `stop' then you have to stop, because I know what will happen if you don't!"

He takes my underpants down and sits me back on his lap with his erection between my legs, just like in the swimming hole. He does to me what I did to him and soon my dick is very slippery.

He goes slowly then fast like I did, but only a couple of times. Then slow again. Then slower. Then fast. Then slow. Then he stops, tickles my balls along their side. I feel amazing. He presses his finger under my balls into what feels like a hard part of my cock that is inside my body. He runs his finger up, then squeezes my cock from the base to the top. I feel a flood of pre-cum. I moan. I love this, but I'm afraid that I'm getting too close to spurting. "Stop," I tell him. And he does immediately.

"You wanna try that on me?" he says.

No need to ask a second time! I climb off his lap and copy his instruction. Slower more than faster. I can tell that it's working.

He groans a few times and tells me how good I am. "When I get close, I'd like you to finish me off, with my cock between your legs. Is that OK?" he asks.

"OK." I tell him and keep going. He's moaning more. I do the ball-tickling thing and he groans loudly.

"Now," he says, "sit on my lap like before, with my cock between your legs." I do what he says. He is very slippery, and he pushes his cock up between my legs, pressing under my balls each time. He starts pumping up and down. Very slippery now! I feel it sliding. It feels great.

"Now!" he tells me. "Reach down and grab my cock and go really fast, like you were doing the first time."

I do. He groans. He shudders. He lifts his hips, and me with him, up into the air. "Hang on to it," he says. And I feel his cock jump and spurt and spurt and spurt. My hand is full of his stuff. It keeps pumping out more. He puts both arms around my chest and hugs me.

"Fantastic!" he says. "You are amazing. Thank you." He pauses. "OK. Your turn. I'm gonna do something and I hope this works for you. Wipe your hand first, on this towel." I didn't see it over the back of the lounge earlier.

I can tell that his cock is still hard. "Relax," he tells me. He pushes my thighs together, and begins to push his cock up between them, making sure that he presses on the hard bit under my balls. He goes slower and faster but always pressing on the same spot. I start to feel it. He only has to run his slick hand down my cock twice and I know that it's happening.

"It's coming," I tell him. "It's coming." He starts ramming his cock faster and harder. "It's coming... now!" I tell him and squeal as I spurt, all over my chest. A lot of times. I think that we've finished.

"Wait!" he says, "I'm gonna spurt again," and as he keeps ramming his cock between my legs, and he does. His stuff goes straight up in the air. All over my balls and thighs.

Then he relaxes and pulls me against his chest. He rubs my stuff, and his, all over my chest and body, and cock and balls. "Can you spurt twice?" he asks.

"Not like you did!" I tell him. "How did you do that? I have to wait a while before trying it again. Sometimes I can do it, but not always."

"I suppose it depends on how excited you are," he tells me. "I was really looking forward to doing this with you, and I knew that I could cum twice. Thank you, Champ."

He takes the towel and rubs all his stuff and mine off our bodies. "Now would be a good time for that shower," he says.

I agree.

We go to the shower. It's a basic room. Single shower. No curtain. Two hooks behind the door for clothes or towels. There are already two towels there and we have no clothes to hang up. LOL.

"Like I said earlier," Ron tells me, "There will be about 30 seconds of cold water. Then the warm stuff will come through for about three minutes, then it will cool off again. If you like, I'll get in first. I don't mind the cold water. When it warms up, you can join me. We will need to wash fairly quickly, if you don't want to freeze."

He turns the taps, steps in, and I can tell that it's pretty cool by his shivering reaction and his shrinking cock. He quickly lathers himself up and begins to rinse. "Now," he says, and he steps aside to make room for me and hands me the soap. With his already-soapy hands, he lathers my back, neck to knees with the frequent squeeze of my butt, while I do my front. I rinse off front and back. He lets me wash his front which I enjoy as much as him rubbing my body. "Quick," he tells me. "Rinse the rest of you now, then hop out." I start to feel the temperature change, step out and grab a towel.

I give myself a quick rub to remove as much water as possible. I think of what Karl and I do at home in the cool weather and dry ourselves in front of our fire.

"In front of the stove would be nice," I say to Ron.

"Good move," he says. "Go on, and I'll come and join you."

He shuts off the water and I take my towel to the stove. With its door open, the heat is stronger than our fire at home, and I soon have to move farther away. I dry myself properly and spread my towel on the floor in front of the stove. Hopefully, it will dry soon. I sit on the lounge and enjoy absorbing the heat.

Ron stands between me and the open door and slowly rotates, while using his towel. Evenly roasting. LOL.

It is now dark outside and, without any electricity, all light is coming from the stove. I comment on it to Ron.

"No problem," he says. "But, there are always strong LED torches in the cupboard in case we need them at night. Plus, spare batteries. But it's nicer like this, don't you think?"

Having said that, he takes out one torch and puts it on the round table, where it will be easy to find if anyone needs it.

"Absolutely!" I tell him, thinking how nice this situation is. He returns to warming himself and I enjoy watching his silhouette, especially when he turns sideways.

Ron slings his towel over the back of the lounge, adds another piece of wood to the stove then sits alongside me.

He says, "I'm sorry. I forgot to ask you if you needed to use the toilet before it got dark. I hate having to go in the middle of the night!"

"It's all good," I say. "I went this morning before we left. I should be good until tomorrow. But, if I need to pee, I could do what Karl and I do at home."

"What's that? Ron asks.

"We pee in the bath and turn on the shower to flush it down."

"I've been known to do the same," he says. "Or pee while I'm having a shower."

I laugh, "Yeah, I already did that. I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

"Me too," he replies, "while you were drying yourself." We both chuckle.

He puts his arm over my shoulder and I snuggle in next to him.

With my closest hand, I gently and slowly rub his leg, the top and the inside of his thigh, occasionally brushing against his round balls, more by intention than accident. Then I move higher. "I like your chicken feathers," I tell him. "When I had a conversation with Dad about hair growing down there, I thought that he called it `public hair'. It has become a bit of a joke between Karl and me."

"I know you mean `pubic' hair," he says Then he enlightens me, "Something is only `public' if it's shared with other people."

"Hey, I like your PUBLIC hair." I tell him, running my fingers through it. "Thanks for sharing with me."

He shakes his head. "You're unbelievable. You know that?"

While I'm just `playing' with him, his penis starts to grow. Not quickly. But definitely. Thickening. Lengthening. I actually love it when it's chunky but not fully hard. It's like a big squeezy sausage. I tell him so.

Until now, he has not touched mine. But, I suppose, with my feeling him and talking about pubic hair and sausages, he reaches across and places his hand on my `chicken feathers'. He rubs across my body and my own penis responds, predictably.

"I used to be about your size," he tells me, "when I was your age. It was a great time, and it grew pretty quickly, especially when I learned to wank. I think that you're well on the way!"

"And look at you now!" I say. "Moby Dick!"

He laughs and takes hold of my hardening penis. "Moby Junior" he tells me. We both laugh.

"I really don't feel like wanking again tonight," I tell him. "I'm pretty tired. I'm just happy with us playing with each other. Is that OK?"

"No worries, Champ," he tells me. "Whatever you want. The cook is always right!"

He's a lot of fun to be with. It feels good. I like him.

I feel myself getting very drowsy. "I think I'm gonna fall asleep," I tell Ron.

"Yeah, I thought so," he says. "Moby Junior has already dropped off into dreamland. Come on. I'll help you into bed. How about the one behind us, opposite the stove?" he asks.

"Yes. Thank you." I say, with heavy eyelids.

No pyjamas. It's warm enough. He tucks me in and does something that I would never have predicted. He kisses me on the top of my head, just like Dad does, and says, "Good night, Champ. Great day. Great work. Great dinner. Great wank. See you in the morning."

He adds one more piece of wood to the stove and closes the door to prevent it burning too quickly. There is a pattern of holes in the door and through them, the flames flicker and throw shapes of light around the room.

He turns down the bed next to mine.

I say, "Ron?"

"Yes, Champ?" he answers.

"This bed is big enough for two people."

 

I love the feel of his naked body lying next to my mine, and also the thought of Moby Dick and Moby Junior sleeping so closely together.

The last thing I remember is turning onto my side, putting my arm across his chest, snuggling against him and feeling his arm holding me firmly. Cosy.

 

Sunday morning. I experience what I now understand to be two of mankind's greatest conflicting problems.

Problem number 1: the need to pee. Problem number 2: morning wood.

I realise that, through the night, I must have rolled over. I'm now lying on my other side. Ron's arm is over my body. And, he's experiencing problem number 2 as well.

I struggle. I want to stay in bed with Ron and to feel his firm body against mine and to have his hard Moby between my legs again. But my bladder is stretched to its limit. I don't want to have an `accident' in bed. I have to get up.

I try to do it without waking Ron. Sort of like rolling out. I do it slowly and land on first one knee and then then the other. His eyes are still closed, but his mouth says, "Hey, Champ. What's wrong?"

I apologise and tell him that even though I'd like to stay with him, I need to pee, badly. Squeezing Moby Junior tightly so that nothing leaks out on the way, I hurry to the shower. I only just make it. And let fly. Almost as good as Ron jacking me off! It's easier to pee with an erection when I have the whole shower to aim at, instead of just a bath. I take my hand away and enjoy watching the fountain. Relief!

I hear the stove door squeak open and then clang shut. Ron has added another piece of wood. Or two.

He stands right next to me, points Moby at the ceiling and begins his fountain just as mine is dying down. I put my arm around his waist and look up from his peeing cock to his smiling face while he empties out. He has his arm over my shoulder.

He turns a tap and the yellow disappears.

"Now what?" he asks me. "Breakfast?"

Am I game enough to say what I want to do? To ask him? I take a deep breath of courage. "Ron, would you mind if we went back to bed for a little while?"

I am about to explain why when he says, "Good choice, Champ. At least then the fire can heat up again and be hot enough to cook breakfast." He smiles at me and guides me back to the bed with his arm still across my shoulders.

I lift the covers and slide in. The bed is still warm from our body heat. He gets in next to me and pulls the covers over us. He turns me onto my side and he snuggles up behind me.

"For months, I've dreamed about doing this with you," he tells me. It almost sounds like a confession.

He pulls our two bodies together and I feel his penis go from chunky to stiff. I lift my top leg and his erection finds its way between them. My top leg gently clamps down on it.

"OMG," he says. "This is so good." I feel him start to push back and forth. Slowly. Then it becomes slippery. `That's his pre-cum' I think to myself. Then he starts doing what he did in the swimming hole and what he did with me in his lap last night. Pushing. Very slippery.

"I hope you have a towel ready," I tell him, and giggle.

"No worries, Champ," he tells me. I take that as a `yes', although I didn't see him grab one.

Now that I know what's going on, I start to push my backside backwards as Ron's dick slides forward. I enjoy feeling it tickle the underside of my balls.

"Keep doing that," he tells me, and he stops pushing. "You're wanking me off using your body and not your hand," he says. "I love it!"

"Stop!" he says, "and let me push again." He holds me really tightly and I feel his hard cock going backwards and forwards, making me feel really excited. He moans. Junior is loving it too and doing a push-up every time Moby strokes him under my balls. I want this feeling to go on and on, but I know that it can't last.

"I think that I'm gonna spurt," I tell him.

"I'm ready to blow, any time too," he says, taking deep breaths. "Tell me if you want me to go slow or fast."

"Slow... Slow... Bit faster... Faster... Really fast!" He lets me control his speed.

I feel him pull the towel in front of us both.

"Faster! Faster!" I tell him. And I feel it coming. "It's coming. It's coming." I shout.

"Me too," he cries. "I'm cumming!" He moans loudly with each push. "Now!" When I feel him spurt from under my balls, Junior can't hold on any longer.

Each time I feel Moby jerk, Junior does too.

"Aargh!" I cry out as I feel my body let it all go.

The jerking slows and then stops. "Fuck!" he says. "That was so good! What a way to start the day!" Then he apologises for the f*** word.

"No worries!" I tell him, then, smirking, I echo his words. "Fuck, that felt good!"

There is a moment of silence before he bursts out laughing. I join him.

I let out a huge breath, and we both relax onto our backs and he uses the towel on both of our bodies.

"Same time, same place, same thing, tomorrow?" I ask, holding back a laugh.

"What an amazing, handsome and sexy kid you are," he tells me, giving me a hug. Then he apologises again. This time, very sincerely, for calling me a `kid', and he adds, "Kids can't do what you just did."

"No problem!" I say. "My Dad tells me that I'm growing up. I think that I just grew up a bit more."

"I'm sure that you did!" he tells me. "So, my growing-up, young-man friend, we have an appointment tomorrow morning then!"

 

We take some time to get up, clean up and re-make the beds, including the turned-down but unused one. Fortunately, nothing is wet.

"I'll rinse the towel out and hang it over a chair to dry," Ron tells me. "And a chair each for the ones that we used in the bathroom, too. They should all be fully dry by the time we get back later today."

We get dressed. Same clothes as yesterday.

"I, um, need to use the outside toilet," I tell Ron.

"There should be toilet paper out there," he says. "But you'd better check first."

Ron says, "I was joking about you having to cook dinner and breakfast. I'll cook us some sausages and eggs. I know how you like yours - turned.

"Thanks," I say. "Scrambled." I head for the door. "On toast."

I get to the doorway and turn to look at him. He has a slightly amused look on his face.

"What?" I ask. "You do know how to scramble eggs, don't you? You've already done a pretty good job on mine." I grab my crotch and laugh at him.

He stands like a wide-eyed statue. He doesn't know how to respond.

I'm surprised that the toilet doesn't stink. At least, it doesn't before I use it.

I go back into the hut and Ron has sausages cooking. "I'll do the sausages and toast. But, you can do the eggs, OK?" he says.

I'm tempted to joke about his `eggs' but manage to control my tongue!

The sausages are sizzling. Ron puts a slice of bread onto the end of a long fork and holds it in front of the open stove door. I look at him. "No electricity. Remember?" he tells me. He keeps turning the sausages and, as each appears to be cooked, he places it onto a separate plate. Same with the toasted bread.

When the last sausage is out, I use the pan to cook scrambled eggs, just the way Mum taught me. With a bit of milk and a bit of water added and mixed with a fork.

"You really do know what you're doing, don't you?" he comments, like last night.

"Like you do with other stuff," I tell him, and leave him to ponder what I am referring to.

We sit down and enjoy a great breakfast. "Mrs Cameron will be pleased!" he tells me. "Wait until she finds out that you are a professional cook! `Not just a handsome boy with nice manners' she will say. And I will agree with her!"

He looks into my eyes and adds. "Not just, eh?"

I have to ask, "Ron, can you be really careful what you say to people, especially if my brother is around? I don't want Karl telling my Dad that he suspects that you and I might be having fun and `doing something'. Do you know what I mean?"

"Would he do that?" Ron asks.

"Do you remember when you asked me to keep it a secret, what you did with me in the swimming hole? And you asked me whether I would tell my brother? And I told you `no, especially not him'. Well, I think, sometimes, that he is jealous of any attention that people give me; like Mum or Dad or our friend, William, or our teacher, Mr Grant. And, so that you know, I have been very careful not to make any comments or say anything about you that Karl and Dad hadn't seen for themselves or didn't already know."

"From what I can see," Ron says, "your brother has every reason to be jealous of you! You two might look the same on the outside and both have the same great bodies, but you have a lot that he doesn't. Remember what I said about your different auras? They are reflections of what you are like on the inside. You are positive and good. And people might probably be drawn to you more than to him for that. Even if they can't see it the way that I can, they would certainly be able to feel it. Like a warmth from the sun."

He gets up and before collecting the plates and cutlery, he gives me a hug. "Definitely a little ray... sorry, a growing ray of sunshine!" I feel his warmth too.

He stokes up the stove and closes the door. "That should have the place nice and snug for when we get back later. Then we can add more wood and toast ourselves in front of it."

I push our two chairs in and pick up the sauce, salt and pepper. I continue, "Of course, Karl still thinks of you as `the assassin' who tried to drown him. If I let him keep thinking that, he would never believe that you would want to teach me anything, other than how to mend fences so that you can have a personal slave to do all of the work."

"Speaking of which, let's finish here and get into it, eh? Some of the fence lines that we are going to look at today haven't been checked for nearly two years, so I expect that there'll be more work to do than yesterday."

 

He's not wrong!

Even Ron gets tired using the ramming tool on the star pickets.

I help him as much as I can, but he insists that he can't let me do the driving, tighten the wires as well as ram down the loose star pickets. And cook his dinner!

He's no slave driver! Just great fun to be with and to share stuff with, and I now have a feeling that he thinks of me as more than just a sexy kid that he can muck around with! And I like him more than just for his Moby Dick! `Mutual respect' I once heard Mr Grant say. I think I understand now what he was talking about.

When we stop under a gum tree for late morning tea, we are both pretty much tired and very sweaty. We already shed our shirts an hour ago. This tree is casting half-shade because of the thinness of the foliage. Not all gum trees are thick with leaves.

He doesn't ask. He just makes me a mug of tea from the hot water in the thermos that he filled before we left the hut. He hands it to me. "Here you go, Champ."

He opens a container of Mrs Cameron's muffins and we sit on a log. Together. I feel a pride in being next to him. Two workmen together.

"We're just about as far away from the main house that we get along the fence lines," Ron tells me. "But the property continues way past here. There was no need to fence beyond where most of the cattle go. Besides, if we let them out to find more feed, we know that they'll always head to where the water is anyway. They've never been too hard to round up in the past."

Mrs Cameron's muffins are delicious. This one has white chocolate chips and blueberries. I love the sweetness! I also have my eye on one that has a slice of orange on top. Orange is my favourite. Even Jane knows that, which is why she baked me an orange cake for my birthday and Karl got chocolate. Bit of muffin. Sip of tea.

I close my eyes to rest. I feel the heat of the sun on my skin through the leaves. I hear the caaaw-caaaw complaining of crows in the distance, and the squawking of galahs. And some cattle somewhere, which means that they can't be too far away from us. I even keep my eyes closed while I chew and drink. Fortunately, both hands know exactly where my mouth is! If I concentrate hard enough, I can even hear Ron swallowing.

"You really knocked out, Champ?" I hear, and I open my eyes to see Ron staring at me.

"Pretty much," I tell him. "I wouldn't mind resting a bit longer."

"Sure thing!" he says.

He fetches the rug that he used when we had lunch yesterday and spreads it in the densest patch of shade that the tree is throwing.

"Lay yourself down for a while. I'll join you. A quick nap wouldn't hurt me either."

I hug him, say `thanks' and spread myself on the ground, face up. He drops down next to me. I know that I'm falling asleep. He puts his palm on mine and interlocks our fingers. I'm gone.

 

I wake to see Ron sitting on the log, drinking another mug of tea. The sun has moved and there is less shade on my face than when I laid down.

"There he is!" Ron says, pointing at me. "Welcome back. I guess we really drained your energy last night, eh?"

"And this morning," I reply, shielding my eyes from the sun and stretching.

"So, I suppose we'd better cancel our morning appointment for tomorrow then?" he asks.

I get a feeling that he's honestly more concerned for my well-being than the satisfaction of his own pleasure. Either that, or he's just teasing!

"No way!" I shoot back at him. "I want to do it again, just like this morning! If I collapse when we get back to Dad and Karl at the main house, I'll just tell them that you were a real slave driver. My brother would love that!"

He laughs. "Yes, well, that would be a good excuse. And totally believable."

"And you said that you'd teach me more ways of doing it. I want another lesson tonight after dinner."

He smirks at me.

I smirk back and add, "Or before!"

"As you wish, Champ!" he laughs. Then he asks, "Are you going to teach your brother anything new that I show you? Wouldn't he ask how you knew about it?"

Ron's got me. "Umm. Maybe I'll just keep it as a secret. I'm good at keeping secrets, you know."

I think of all the secrets that are already in my head. I'm sure that there's space for a couple more.

"OK. C'mon, let's get into it. The more we do now, the less there will be left to do later or tomorrow." He adds, "Then we could spend longer in bed, if you like."

Well, that thought just kick-started my motor!

Ron looks at me, then ruffles my hair. "Why don't you just concentrate on the driving, and I'll do the heavy stuff. You've already been doing a whole lot more than I expected of you."

"Deal!" I say. "But if you start to look tired then I'm gonna help you. Got it?"

"OK, Champ. Got it!" he says.

I add, "Besides I don't want you falling asleep before I do tonight."

He laughs, grabs me in a headlock, and ruffles my hair. In this position, I slip my hand onto his crotch and give it a good feel and a bit of a jiggle, which he doesn't object to at all.

He points me in the direction that we are to go. I drive. He walks. This next long line is in pretty good shape, so there is not much mending to be done. And the next line. Then I spot a flash of light on the ground ahead. I toot the horn and Ron looks around. I hold up my hand in a stop-sign fashion. Ron walks back a few paces to the car and sticks his head through the open window. "What's up, Champ?" he asks.

"Get in," I tell him, "and look there!" I point.

Ron opens the door and jumps up into the passenger's seat. "What am I looking at?" he asks.

I point. It moves, and the variation of the light off its skin catches Ron's eye too.

"Snake!" he tells me. "Not too big, but it could be a taipan, from what I can see of its head shape from up here. Strange for it to be out at this time of the day. Even though the ones out west where we are, are often called a `fierce snake', they aren't as aggressive as the ones nearer to the coast. But I certainly wouldn't want to be bitten by one because they are supposed to have the deadliest venom in the world, but it's rare for a person to actually be bitten by one." We watch it move, hardly noticeable on the similar-coloured earth, and sliding in and out of patches of dried grass. Every now and then there is a flash of light, as the sun behind it catches its shiny scales.

I look at Ron. His face has an unusual, worried look on it, and the perspiration on his forehead appears different to the sweat that he works up when he's working.

"You, OK, Ron?" I ask, looking straight at his eyes. "You don't look too good!"

He takes a couple of breaths and says, "You know, Champ, that the snake and I were both heading for the same place along the fence, and if you hadn't spotted it, I may not have even seen it with the sun in my eyes. You might have just saved my life."

"What?" I half call out. My eyes fill with water.

Ron says, "Even though they're not known to attack people, it might not have liked me getting so close to it, and, to defend itself, it would probably have tried to bite me. And they're lightning fast too!"

I don't know what to say but manage, "You gonna kill it?"

"Probably best that we just watch where it goes," he says. "I'll stay in here with you, little buddy, until it's well away from the fence on the other side."

"I don't know what I would have done if it had bitten you, Ron," I tell him, just as concerned about what action to take as well as how it would have affected me.

"Do you know how to treat snakebite?" he asks me.

I reply, "My Dad has always told Karl and me to keep a watch out for snakes and to steer well clear of them. If there is an adult around, we are to call out `Snake! Snake!' and to back away from it very slowly. Unless it's coming straight at us. Then, we have to run and weave and dodge as quickly as we can."

"Do you know any first aid?" Ron ask me, very seriously.

"Umm. Insect bites and cuts and disinfectant and Band-aids and stuff," I reply, suddenly feeling very stupid.

"OK!" he tells me. "Tonight, I'll teach you something a lot more useful than wanking! How to treat a snake bite. One day it might save a life. Maybe mine. Maybe your brother's. Maybe your Dad's."

I'm still feeling very emotional about the possibility of Ron being bitten and me not knowing what to do about it!

We work till well past noon, covering a lot of ground. Then stop for lunch, having pulled up next to another convenient log for a seat.

I don't have the same appetite that I had yesterday, even though Mrs Cameron's chicken drumsticks and salads are delicious.

"It's OK, Champ. More for dinner, and probably nicer heated up anyway," Ron says, packing up.

But I do enjoy my mug of hot tea. And being next to Ron.

I go to sit down again after taking a pee when Ron says, "Hey, little buddy. Come here." He puts his arms out, inviting a hug, and parts his knees so that I can get close to him. With him seated and me standing, it's now my head that is higher than his for a change. Nothing much is said except his `Thank You!' Then he adds, "Now you are a real Champ!"

He has his arms around me, pulls me in close and he drops one hand onto my butt and squeezes it. I rub his back.

I kiss the top of his head. "I like you." I tell him. Then, I add, "And I prefer you alive! Despite what my brother might think!"

We joke about it as we pack up.

 

(to be continued)

 

The parallel version to this story, is told through the eyes of Tom Grant, the `Schoolie'.
Find it at https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/schoolie

If you'd like a full picture of their lives and thoughts, you should read both concurrently.

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