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:

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.

Chapter 15 – A Quick Learner

 

It's still reasonably early when we finish the last line of fencing for the day, Ron says. I can feel the temperature beginning to dip.

"We've made excellent progress," Ron says. "I thought that we might have had to do that last section in the morning, but we've worked great together!"

We open the door to the hut and the warmth greats us.

Boots at the door, inside - so that no snakes find a comfortable home in one overnight.

 

"Do you know what they do in Japan before they have a bath?" Ron asks me, totally out of the blue.

"No. What?" I answer.

"They wash themselves first, then rinse themselves so that they are clean before they get into the bath. And all the men bathe together.

"What? They all get into the bath together? Naked? Everyone?" I ask. I think of Karl and me in the bath together, and with Dad when we were little. But a whole group of people?

"Yep," he answers, "and all naked."

"How do they stop from getting... what happens if their ... you know... what if..." I'm fishing for the right words.

"You mean, what if somebody has an erection?" he nails it.

"Yeah. Well, I'd be embarrassed in a big tub full of people," I say.

"I don't know," Ron replies. "I'll have to put that one to a man from Japanese one day. I imagine that it would probably happen so often that nobody would think anything of it. Just part of being natural."

"Why did you ask me that question?" I say to him.

"Well, if I heat up a pot of water, we can wash ourselves first, then we can spend more time in the shower together. What do you think of that idea?"

"I'll get the pot now," I tell him. "How big? And where is it?"

Ron insists in getting everything ready for dinner. "We can cook after we shower," he tells me. Then he fills the pot and puts it on the stove. Plus, he gets a couple of smallish basins. "One each," he says. "Use the face washer to soap yourself up, and then rinse it in the water and use it again to clean it all off. Keep going until you are clean of dirt, perspiration and soap."

We wait for the water to get hot enough without boiling. It doesn't take long on the already-hot stove top.

I'm about to ask Ron a question when he actually asks me the same thing. "Would you like to undress me?"

"And I suppose that you would like to take my clothes off too?" I ask, knowing the answer already.

"Of course," he says. "You OK with that?"

"Hell Yeah!" I tell him.

"Let's start by taking off our own socks," he says. We do.

"Can I start?" I ask.

"I'm ready when you are," he replies.

I really just want to rip all of his clothes off and play with his Moby Dick, but I surprise myself by going slowly. Something I learned yesterday.

Button by button, his shirt reveals the most amazing set of chest and stomach muscles. "Turn around," I tell him, and I slide his shirt down his arms, feeling his muscles as I go. "OK. Turn back to the front."

I get rid of his belt. And start on his jeans. Even before I get his zipper down, I can see how excited he is. I peel his jeans away from his underpants and slide them down. I kneel down to help his feet out of them. While I'm down here, his bulge is right in front of my face. I'm really tempted to do something, but I don't. I wonder, if I did, whether he would think that I'm disgusting! Instead, I just give him a good feel and jiggle as I stand up.

I leave him standing in his undies, cock bulging out in front.

"Do the same to me," I tell him, without getting him fully naked.

"You learn fast," he tells me, smirking. "Or, you're just a natural at this!"

By the time that he removes my shirt, I can feel that my own penis is rock hard, if it wasn't already. He rubs my chest and stomach.

"Nice firm muscles," he says.

They're nothing like his, though.

He undoes my belt and button and zipper. Instead of pulling my jeans down, he puts his hands down the back of my jeans and squeezes my butt cheeks. One side with each hand.

"Nice round muscles," he says. "They fit perfectly into my hands!" and we both laugh.

Then my jeans come off slowly. While he's on his knees, with my cock in front of his face, he looks up at me. Is he going to do it? But he shakes his head slightly, as if answering a question in his own head, and stands up.

He hugs me and our erections press against each other. He grips my `nice round muscles' and I put my arms around his hips to find a pair of rock-hard muscles, covered in soft skin and very short hairs. I rub them up and down.

"Nice!" he says in a very low voice, then starts to move his body from side to side, causing our two erections to mash backwards and forwards against each other. I think of two pirates practising sword fighting. Gently.

When he slides his thumbs into the waist of my underpants, I know that it's time for them to come down. I do the same to him. He pushes slowly. I copy him. His curly, pubic hair comes into view before my own hair does.

He pauses before rubbing my hairs. "Nice chicken feathers," he says.

"What kind of a chicken grows curly feathers like yours?" I respond, as I play with his mass of brown hair.

"Maybe a rooster?" he asks, smiling.

"Moby a rooster!" I tell him, laughing at my own words, and I reach lower, grasping his erection. "Cock-a-doodle-do!" I crow. His smile becomes a laugh.

"You are amazing!" he tells me. "How old are you again? Are you sure you're not a sexy sixteen-year-old disguised as a very handsome thirteen-year-old?" He lowers my underwear and my cock springs free. Then, as he wraps his hand around it, he says, "Moby rooster Junior."

"Cock-a-doodle-do!" we both crow together.

We repeat the sword play. He turns me around. With his `sword' pointing straight down, I can feel his curly `rooster feathers' on my backside. I like it and I move from side to side so that his wiry hair rubs against my smooth skin. It tickles.

"Come on. Let's wash," he says. He gives me some soap and a face washer and only half-fills both basins with very warm water. I copy his movements. He rubs the soap onto the wet face washer instead of his body, then, starting high, `washes' his neck, chest, stomach, cock & balls and legs. "Don't forget between your legs," he says.

I know what he means.

I do the same. Then he rinses his washer and covers the same area, removing most of the soap. And again. I copy his every action.

"Give me your washer," he says. I do. I can't wash his back and backside while he's doing mine, but I get my turn when he's finished.

We take the basins to the shower and tip the soapy water in. He turns on the `hot' water tap and steps in. As the warm water starts to come through, he says, "OK!" and I step in.

"We're not wanking in here," he tells me. "This is just a fun, feeling-each-other time."

He massages my shoulders, back, arms and thighs. He plays with my balls and my cock. He holds his body against my back and also against my front. "This feels so good," he says.

I get my turn. I like the feel of his strong muscles but I don't think that I massage him nearly as well as he did to me. I put my palm under his balls and lift them and admire them, `sitting' on my hand. I give his erection a couple of quick jerks, in anticipation of what we will do later.

By reducing the water pressure, the warmth lasts about a minute longer than it did yesterday. We finish by hugging each other, front to front, and playing with each other's butt. He slips his finger between my legs and leaves it touching my hole, which sends a shiver right through me. I do the same to him and wonder if it has the same effect. I don't ask. He just grins at my copying him.

The water temperature begins to change and he lets the two of us `cool down' a bit before turning off the tap.

We dry away most of the water and move to stand in front of the stove. He does my back and between my legs. I do his. He tosses his towel onto the lounge (for later, I presume) and I get a chair to hang mine over to dry.

We hug each other and turn slowly so that no part of either of our bodies gets roasted. I love the feel of his chunky, not-soft dick perhaps even more that when it's really hard. Mine stays stiff while we feel all over each other's body.

"You wanna do stuff now, or after dinner?" he asks.

"Yes." I tell him. I think I want to do both. I'm too `stirred up' to just stop now and wait, but I do want to spend more time playing in bed.

"And we still have that appointment in the morning?" he asks.

"Hell, Yeah!" I say.

"Tell you what," he starts, "let's play a bit now on the lounge and I'll show you some stuff, but we won't spurt, OK?" Then he adds, "There's a proper word for spurting, you know. It's called `ejaculating'."

"OK," I say. "I'll add that to the dictionary in my head."

He ruffles my hair.

We sit side by side, our thighs hard against each other. I use my right hand on him and he uses his left hand on me. We play for a while and he says, "Swap sides."

I don't know why, but I do it. After a while he asks, "How does this feel?"

"Different," I tell him. "I always use my right hand. This feels sort of... weird. OK, but strange."

"Now do it to yourself, with your left hand and tell me what you think," he says.

I do. "Different," I say again. "It almost feels like somebody else's hand is doing it to me."

"Go back to your right hand," he says.

Without him asking, I say, "Now it feels like I'm doing it to somebody else. This is weird. When I'm using my left hand, it's like my dick is doing the feeling and thinking, but when I use my right hand, my hand is what's feeling and thinking."

"So," he says, "when you're alone, before I come back next holidays, if you want to imagine me wanking you, you can use your left hand, and if you want to imagine that you're doing it to me, use your right hand. What do you think?"

I swap hands a couple of times, thinking of what he has told me.

"Left hand, you're doing me. Right hand, I'm doing you. Neat!" Then, being a smart-arse, I ask him, "What if I want to feel like me doing me?"

"You won't anymore," he says. "Trust me."

I think that he might be on to something.

"OK," he says. "Here's a couple of other things. You always do it with your hand fully wrapped around your cock, with your little finger at the bottom, Yeah?" He shows me what he means.

"Yeah," I answer.

"Now try turning your hand around the other way. Upside down. Little finger on top. And if you squeeze while you're moving your hand, it's almost like milking a cow." He demonstrates.

I copy. "Different again," I say. "It's almost like not my hand but something else. I dunno."

"That's OK," he tells me. "Just showing you different ways to get a different feeling. The end result always feels good though!"

I practise swapping hands, turning my hand upside down and feeling the differences, even `milking the cow'.

"That's great!" I tell him. "Thanks!"

"We're not finished yet," he says.

I wonder what else he can possibly do.

"Put your fingers like this." I look carefully and he lines his fingers right along the tube-thing on the underside of his cock, with his thumb on the top side. "I think of this more as jiggling," he tells me. "Sometimes I like to start off this way, especially if I don't have any pre-cum yet."

I try it. Another totally different feeling!

"You can swap hands and do it like that," he says, "but don't try turning your hand upside down. You'll probably sprain your wrist!"

I try to do what he says that I shouldn't have, discovering why it's impossible.

"All right mister, you've got enough to occupy yourself for a while. I'll do dinner tonight," he says, leaving me to ponder all of the new positions and possible combinations. "Have a good play with yourself, but don't cum! OK?"

"Yes, sir!" I answer, like responding to one of Mr Grant's instructions. "I mean, No, sir!"

 

We eat the rest of the roast chicken from lunch and the salad. Mrs Cameron had also cooked some roast beef and vegetables. They are also nice, heated up.

Then an assortment of left-over muffins and cookies with a mug of tea.

"Wow," I say. "What a feast!"

We clean up, wash up and leave everything to dry.

I sit back on the lounge in front of the open-door stove. Ron takes a bag from the cupboard and places it on the ground in front of me.

"This is our First-Aid Kit, and it contains a special Snake Bite Pack," he tells me. "I've really got to show you how to do this."

He takes out some bandages which are rolled up.

"Most people get bitten on the leg or on the hand," he says, "so I'll show you what to do for both. The important thing is that every muscle movement of the body will help to circulate the poison, so a person who has been bitten should be kept as still as possible. They shouldn't even walk to a car after they've been bandaged. There are some rules. First, make sure that there is no danger of any helper being bitten. Second, bandage the arm or leg just like I will show you. Third, make sure the victim keeps very still. And fourth, get help to come to the victim, not the other way `round."

I hang off his every word. I'm shocked that I've never heard this from my Dad, or from any of our teachers. I'll bet that Mr Grant doesn't even know this stuff. I've got to tell him and to teach all of the other kids. This is something that I definitely will share with my brother.

Ron continues, "Because `Whispering Gums' is so isolated, my uncle has a special satellite phone that he can use to call for help. If something were to happen out here, in a life-and-death emergency, the closest help would probably be the Flying Doctor Service from Cunnamulla, or at least a helicopter with a doctor on board."

"I know about the Flying Doctor Service," I tell Ron. "We had a video about that once a couple of years ago when most of the kids went to spend a day visiting the school in Big Town. Planes can land on a good road, or even on a property if the land is flat enough. It would be much faster to get help here from Cunnamulla than for an ambulance to come from Big Town."

I've never seen a real helicopter.

"OK," Ron says. "The whole idea of the compression bandage is to prevent any spread of the poison in the `lymphatic fluid' around the muscles. It's not spread in the blood, and it's important that we don't cut off the blood flow to toes or fingers. Apart from the compression bandage, we use a splint to support the arm or the leg and to stop any bending movement which, again, would help the poison to spread."

He demonstrates on my arm. The bandages in the special kit have rectangles printed on them that stretch to a square to indicate when the bandage is tight enough, but not too tight.

Squares are special rectangles. There's that useful maths again!

Then he gets me to do his arm.

"Excellent!" he tells me. Then he adds, "I've also been told to mark a cross on the bandage where the snake bite is, to help the paramedics or doctors to locate the wound as soon as they arrive."

"I think I've got it," I tell him.

"Then let's see you do my leg," he says. "Out here, if people are bitten on the leg, it would probably be around the ankle or a bit higher if the snake has reared up."

He talks me through the process again and I bind his leg without him demonstrating on me first.

I keep checking that the shapes on the bandages are all squares.

Because his legs are so muscly and longer than mine, I need to use two bandages. I'm not sure what to do when I get near his balls, but he insists that I bandage right up as close to his hip as possible. He holds his `gentlemen' (as he refers to them) out of the way for me.

"Now, what would you do?" he asks. "Think about what I said first."

"Well, I don't want you to move," I start.

"Good. What if I was out in the sun?"

"You didn't tell me that, but I'd find something to keep the sun off your face and to stop you getting too hot. I suppose, if you or I didn't have a hat, then I could give you my shirt for shade. Next, I'd give you a bottle of water to drink. Then I'd warn you not to move or I'd scrunch your balls the next time that I saw you."

"Hey, I don't remember telling you that bit!" he tells me.

I smirk at him.

"Then I'd take off in the Land Rover back to the farm house to get them to ring for help. Then I'd come back to see if you were still alive."

"Still alive? Nice one!" he says sarcastically. "It's just as well that you know how to drive now! And would you remember to tell them where I was?"

"Of course!" I tell him. "I'm not stupid!"

"Not at all," he says. "You've done really well!"

"I told you that I was a quick learner," I say. But something is worrying me.

"Ron?" I ask.

"Yes, Champ," he replies.

"Ron, if you had been bitten, and even if I knew what to do, you might have died anyway," I tell him.

He stops in his tracks. "Whatever do you mean, Champ?"

"Well," I say, quite emotionally, thinking about it, "if we were so far away from the hut and the First Aid and Snake Bite Kit was back there, then how could I stop you from dying?"

He is silent. Thinking.

I continue, "The way I see it, from what you explained to me, if you got into the Land Rover and I drove back to the hut, all the bumping would have circulated the poison and killed you. Or, If I left you, to drive back for the Snake Bite Kit, you would probably be dead by the time I got back to you. Why isn't there a First Aid and Snake Bite Kit in the Land Rover?"

He hugs me. "OMG," he says. "You're the only one who has ever suggested that. I don't know why my uncle didn't think of it. Or me! I feel stupid. I'm gonna fix that as soon as we get back! I'll take the one from the bunk house and get Uncle Jim to pick up a replacement in Cunnamulla. You know, you might just have saved somebody else's life in the future, Champ! Not just mine today. You are one smart k..." He was going to say `kid', I know. But he finishes with `cool dude'.

I feel incredibly proud, but still sad at the thought of him possibly dying.

"Now let me get those bandages off you and pack up the First Aid gear," I say to him, "because there's something else that I want to practise some more on you."

"Hey, what I showed you earlier, you can practise on yourself," he tells me. "But I do have one more thing, or two, to tell you about."

"There's more?" I ask. "I'm gonna wear out my dick doing all this stuff!"

"You'll survive," he says. "I have. And nothing of mine is worn out!" He laughs and I get the joke.

"Now," he continues, before we jump into bed, or onto the bed, come over here." He leads me over to the cupboards and takes out the cooking oil and the butter and a small jar of Vaseline. Then he reaches into his bag and adds a bottle of hair conditioner and a bottle of baby oil. "What do you see?" he asks.

I list everything that he has put there.

"Oops. I forgot one," he tells me and gets the cake of soap that we used to wash ourselves earlier. "OK," he says, "try again."

Knowing that I haven't overlooked anything, I go through them again and say what they are used for. "The olive oil and butter are used for cooking. The soap and hair conditioner are used in the shower. You put baby oil on a baby's bum when you change its nappy. And the Vaseline, I've seen my Dad use it on his lips when they were dry and starting to crack. And my Mum used to put it on her skin if she burnt herself with the iron or on the stove."

"Do you think that all of them have anything in common?" Ron asks.

He's not gonna tell me! He playing the question game that Mr Grant uses to get us to work out an answer to things, without actually telling us.

He's making me think. "Umm, I know I would have to wipe my hands after using them."

"Why?"

Maybe I'm not so smart after all. "Well, they're all pretty slippery, you know!" I say as if that was my `I give up' answer.

"Hold that thought!" he says, then asks, "What else have you felt that is slippery since we came out here?"

I think. Slippery? Slippery? What is slippery? He's already got the soap. I don't imagine for one minute that he's talking about pre-cum, but in the end it's all I've got. "I can't think of anything else except our pre-cum!" I tell him.

He says nothing. He stares at me. He smirks.

"What?" I say.

"What's one plus one?" he asks.

"Two," I tell him, sounding a little annoyed. "What does that have to do with all this slippery stuff?"

"The answer's as simple as `one plus one' you know," he tells me.

Still no lightbulb moment.

He says nothing. He takes the baby oil, squeezes some onto his hands and rubs them together. He doesn't move his eyes. They're locked on to mine. He's waiting for the right answer.

Then he steps in front of me and takes my dick in one of his hands and begins to play with it. Moby Junior is a lot faster at responding to Ron's touch that I am at solving his riddles.

Ron tightens his grip a little and instead of just pulling my dick back and forth, he slides his hand backwards and forwards on my erection.

"Ooh, that feels so good," I tell him.

He stops moving his hand and stares into my eyes.

"I get it!" I tell him. "I get it. No pre-cum but use the baby oil."

"Try something else on me," he tells me.

I grab the cake of soap and lather up my hands in the sink. I walk back to him slowly, with my focus on Moby which is starting to lengthen and lift upwards. I take it in my soapy right hand and `milk the cow'. I feel it twitching when I push down. I slide up and push down. It keeps jumping.

"You like that?" I ask, smiling.

"What do you think?" he tells me.

Is that sarcasm? He takes hold of Junior and re-commences rubbing.

The soap starts to dry out but the oil doesn't.

He says, "Soap and hair conditioner are good to use in the shower, but I prefer the baby oil, or the Vaseline or the cooking oil. Butter as a last resort."

"But we didn't need any of these last night or this morning," I say. "We had the pre-cum already."

"Yeah, well there may be times when you feel like having a wank, and your body hasn't given you any pre-cum yet, then..."

I get it.

"I get it!" I tell him.

"Now, let's jump into bed and play, properly," he says, "and I'm gonna put the baby oil and a towel next to us."

I wipe the soapy residue from my hands and feel a surge of excitement. Anticipation.

Ron spreads the towel on the bed and we lay, uncovered, side by side. Ron squirts some baby oil onto both our hands. We hold each other's erection and slide our hands up and down. He moans with delight, "You do that so well, Champ!"

I don't hold back, feeling the freedom to express out loud the pleasure that I am feeling too.

He pauses on my dick now and again to give my balls an oily grasp and massage. I copy what he does. We moan and groan and `ooh' and `aah' together.

"Stop," he suddenly says. I wonder why, when we were both enjoying it so much.

"Lie on your stomach," he tells me. I do. Then he explains. "You've felt me doing this to you..." and he slides a re-oiled Moby between my legs and pushes a few times. Then he pulls it back and lays his body on mine. Moby slides up between my bum cheeks, and Ron groans.

"You like doing that too, don'tcha?" I ask, as he rolls back off me.

"And I want you to see what it's like, too," he tells me, squirting more baby oil onto Moby Junior and rubbing some between his legs and cheeks. "OK. You've felt what I do. I'll lie face down then you can do what I just did."

He rolls onto his stomach and tells me to just enjoy myself. At first, I just feel great being on his back, and the feeling of his two butt muscles. Junior is sticking straight up between them so I start sliding up and down. As I slide, he squeezes his butt cheeks together. "OMG," I say. "This is great."

"Now, go between my legs," he says.

I point Junior down and it finds the gap under his cheeks and between his legs. Instead of sliding this time, I push right down and pull back up. Again, Ron tightens his muscles so that I get a better feeling. Junior isn't as long as Moby and doesn't go all the way through. But I'm really enjoying this!

"Having fun?" he asks, turning his head to the side.

"Oh, Yeah," I say, and keep pushing.

"Wait a bit," he tells me.

I stop.

He rolls onto his back. "Do it again," He says, "except, from the front this time." He lifts his two `gentlemen' and encourages Junior between his legs again.

In this position, I not only get to feel Junior sliding down and up, but the oily Moby is pressing against my stomach as well. I can feel Junior sliding along the hard part of Moby that is inside of Ron's body. When I push, Moby jumps and presses into my stomach. Every time. My pushing is controlling Moby's jumping! I love the feeling of both pushing and Moby doing push-ups.

"OK. Stop," Ron says, just when I am beginning to get `really excited'. Maybe he can tell from the noises I that was making.

"One final thing to show you!" he tells me. "Watch." He adds some oil to his hand, makes a fist and puts it on the bed. Then he presses Moby into it then pulls back out. "It's kinda like wanking the first way, except, instead of your hand doing the work, your cock is doing it, pushing in and out, like you've just been doing on top of me. Try it."

I give my hand a squirt of oil, wrap it around Junior then lay face down. And push. And pull back. And push.

Ron, on his side, is watching me. "You can pretend that your hand is me, when I'm not here," he says.

"I'm getting close to `ejaculating'," I tell him, using the grown-up word that he has taught me.

"You can say `close to cumming' or `close to spurting'," he laughs. "That's OK. But just wait a minute. Think of everything that I've just shown you. How do you want to cum? How do you want to do it?"

Too many choices.

"With me lying on your back," I say. "Is that OK with you? It felt terrific."

Ron oils up Junior and my hand and Moby. "Go for it," he tells me, and lies flat on his stomach.

I push down first between his legs. It feels terrific. Then I pull back and slide up between his butt cheeks. This is great too. I like this and I rest my full weight on his back and let my hips do the work.

"Reach around my and grab my cock," he says, lifting his hips, with me too, on his back.

I find Moby and wrap my oily hand around it. Ron lowers himself back down then starts pushing Moby in and out of my fist. I get a ride on Ron's back. When he pushes, his butt cheeks tighten and Junior loves it.

I don't want the feeling to stop. This is so good! But... "It's gonna happen, Ron" I tell him. "I'm gonna cum."

"Then really go for it, Champ," he says and, as I speed up and push hard between his butt cheeks, Moby speeds up too. Ron groans. I groan. I try to hold on as long as possible because it feels so good. Then I spurt. Between his cheeks and right up his back. Then I collapse my full weight onto him. Moby keeps pumping and Ron calls out, "Now!" and I feel Moby jerk and squirt Ron's stuff into my hand. Lots of times.

Ron collapses too. I take my hand out from underneath him, wipe it on the towel and we both just lie still, breathing heavily. Me on Ron's back. Junior nestled into his butt. My head on one of his shoulders.

After a long while, Ron says, "Do you want to clean your front and my back, before I roll over? It felt like you really squirted out a lot of stuff."

I accept that as a compliment and take the towel and clean him up. And myself.

"I'd better rinse the towel out and hang it to dry," he tells me. While he is at the sink, he adds more wood to the stove and closes the door."

He climbs back into bed, turns me on my side and cuddles up behind me. I love the feel of his bigger body hugging me tightly. And of one of his arms under my neck and onto my chest. And of his other adult-sized hand gently holding Junior and my balls. And of his curly rooster feathers on my backside. And of Moby nestled into that space where he seems really comfortable.

We talk quietly about what he has taught me.

"Where did you learn all this stuff?" I ask him.

"From a mate when I was at school, who said he learnt it from one of his older brothers," he tells me. Then he adds, "And from lots of practice."

That has us both giggling like some of the little kids at school.

We talk. Just before I know that I'm going to fall asleep I say, "Thank you, Ron."

He replies, "You're welcome, Champ. And thank you, too. For the fun. And for saving my life."

I enjoy his tight hug. But a tear comes to my eye at the thought of him possibly dying, and of me not knowing how to prevent it."

 

Morning. Monday. I wake to the feeling of Ron gently playing with Junior and of Moby pressing against my backside.

"I need to pee," I say quietly Ron, assuming that he is actually awake.

"OK. Me too," he says, and we both head to the bathroom together, erections leading the way.

We stand at the shower and I look at Ron. "I bet I can pee higher than you can!" I tell him.

"Are you joking?" he asks confidently.

Then I tell him, "You just have to do it with your hands behind your back."

I do exactly what I told him, and let fly. Junior is pointing up. Moby is sticking straight out.

I think he realises that he is beaten even before Moby starts peeing.

"Cheeky, smart arse!" he tells me.

He finishes after me, of course, and turns on the cold water tap to rinse out the shower.

"I think that there's enough heat in the stove for breakfast, without adding more wood," he suggests. "Before we leave, we need to clean it out, and re-set the fire for the next people who stay here."

We snuggle back into bed and he makes quick work of having Moby spurting between my legs, with the help of some baby oil. He uses a face washer to make sure that nothing is spilled onto the bed. I do it to him the same way, but with him face down on the bed. I think that I cum even faster, because he already had me all stirred up.

We clean up and get dressed.

I make breakfast – scrambled eggs and toast, while Ron strips our bed of its sheets, plus another one, to take back to the farm house to be washed.

"But we only used one bed," I say to him.

He replies, "And what would I tell my aunt when she only asked why there was only one set of sheets to wash?"

"Good point!" I tell him, and add, "Are you going to take the two pillow cases too?"

"Good point!" he says. "And two towels." He bundles everything into a laundry bag that he fetches from the Land Rover.

He re-makes the beds with fresh linen from the cupboard.

Even though the fire has burnt down to glowing red coals and ashes, there is plenty of heat left in the stove to boil the kettle – enough for a cup of tea, and hot water for later.

Ron makes the tea and fills the thermos. The rest of the hot water is poured from the kettle into the sink to wash up everything.

While Ron is tidying up, I use the outside toilet.

I come in and stand with my back to the still-hot stove and drink my tea while Ron uses the outside toilet.

"OK," he says, re-entering the hut with a small shovel and a metal bucket. "Now, we get to put all of the ashes and coals into the bucket, then take it outside, dig a hole and bury it, so there is no risk of fire."

He `lets' me dig the hole and then shovel the dirt back over the ashes. Oh, well, I'll tell Karl that Ron is still a slave driver. He'll enjoy that!

Ron tells me how to re-set the fire in the stove. Kindling, crumpled paper and some thinner pieces of wood so that everything looks like a tent. The thicker stuff comes later. Ron says that the cone shape (maths!) draws the heat and flames upwards and it all catches alight faster.

I don't interrupt him and he's surprised that I get it `spot on' first go. What I don't tell him is that, at home, Karl and I take turns of getting the fire ready in our fireplace. We've been doing it for years. Dad showed us how. I just let Ron think that this is something else that he has taught me, and I thank him.

Ron checks the unused food and separates the tins and cartons to leave in the cupboard from what we will take with us – for morning tea and to give back to Mrs Cameron. He packs the Land Rover, and we're ready.

He throws me the keys. "Here you go, Champ. She's all yours."

 

The `first mate' takes the helm of the ship and the `captain' gives the orders. Fair weather. Smooth seas.

I tell myself to `keep a lookout for pirates, and that white whale, Moby Dick!'

"OK, Champ. That's far enough. Let me out here and I'll start checking," Ron says.

"Aye, aye, captain!" I say, and salute.

He looks at me very strangely, then smiles, perhaps tuning in to my fantasy.

"Man overboard!" I call out as he steps down and closes the door. He turns and smiles at me.

Ron walks. I drive. He whistles. I stop. He rams. I tighten.

As far as I can make out, we're heading back towards the farm house. At a walking pace.

We stop for morning tea and my moistened finger helps to ensure that there are no muffin or cookie crumbs remaining.

Ron unzips to take a pee and I call, "Ahoy, captain! The white whale! Moby Dick! Thar she blows!"

He smiles at me and shakes his head. Then he adds as I relieve myself too, "And the white whale calf".

I think, then have to say it: "Ron, if Moby Dick was a male, would he have a calf? Wouldn't he have to be a female? And then her name wouldn't be `Dick', would it?"

"You are altogether too grown-up and smart for a thirteen-year old! You know that?" he says, ruffling my hair. He adds, "Sometimes I think you might be Peter Pan; a smart boy who never grew up, or an older guy in a younger body. Has your dad ever read you the story of Peter Pan and his adventures in Neverland with the lost boys? And their battles with the pirates?"

"No," is my simple but wide-eyed reply. "I'll have to ask him to get that one from the library in Cunnamulla. It sounds like something that I would enjoy."

Ron tells me briefly about Peter and Wendy and the boys and the pirates and the Indians and Tinkerbell and being able to fly, but he doesn't tell me the ending. "You'd better get that from the book," he says. "I don't want to spoil it."

We continue working for a long time until we reach a familiar place. I know that we're not too far from the farm house, at least by quad bike.

"It's probably too cold to go swimming," he says.

I feel the water. It's only as cold as the cool shower water in the hut.

I agree. "Besides," I tell him, "you don't need to hide me under the water any more just to play with my dick."

I look up at the weird expression on his face. I wonder, did I just say something wrong? Did I just offend him?

"I'm sorry, Ron!" I apologise. "I think that came out all wrong. What I meant was..."

"It's OK, Champ," he interrupts me. "It should be me apologising to you. I'm so sorry if I upset you that day, or scared you, or..."

"Hey! Cut that out!" It's my turn to stop him. "I love the stuff that you and I have done together. And we have both promised to keep it a secret, right?"

He almost looks worried. "Can I hug you?" he asks.

I reply, "As a wise man said to me a couple of days ago, `Sure. But no need to ask. Anything you want'."

That puts a smile on his dial. Then I add, "But be careful whenever you want to do anything, OK? You know... in case someone is around."

I enjoy his strong arms pulling me against his body. It's just how Mum used to hug me. Tightly, but gently. Safely. Warmly.

While he goes back to the Land Rover to gather all of the lunch things, I decide to quickly strip off all of my clothes and I stand facing in his direction.

He turns, takes one step then stops in his tracks when he sees me. "What the..." he starts but doesn't finish. Then he says, "What are you doing, Kurt?"

This is the first time in the past couple of days that he has actually used my real name. It takes me a little by surprise. Doesn't he want to see me naked in the middle of the day? Does he disapprove of my forwardness? Does he think I'm a bad person?

He repeats (almost), "What are you doing, Champ?"

That sounds better!

I tell him, "Do you remember that this is the place where you first saw me naked? And where I saw you too?

"Of course," he replies, still looking confused. "But why have you taken all of your clothes off, now, when we've been naked together for the past two nights?"

It's hard to answer. What was I thinking? Does he think that I'm really just some weird, over-sexed kid?

"Don't you like me naked?" I ask him.

"Of course I do!" he says. "I just have no idea why you've stripped off all of your clothes, now. Did you want to muck around again, like this morning? You could have just asked me."

"No. That's not why," I tell him. "I just thought that if I took my clothes off, then you would do it too."

"And then what?" Ron asks, smirking. "What do you want to do?"

"Umm," I start. "Would you think I was crazy if I said that I wanted to see all of your muscles in the daytime, instead of just quickly before we jumped into bed? And, maybe, feel all of them? And you can tell me what they are called."

"Are you saying that you want a touchy-feely anatomy lesson?" he asks.

"Yeah, I guess," I answer, hoping that he doesn't think I'm a werido. "I know that some muscles have proper names, and I want to know what they are. And who better to teach me than the person with the best muscles? You do know all of their names, don't you?"

He smiles for the first time in the last few minutes. "You're serious, aren't you?" he asks.

"Yes, Ron. Would you? Please? I want to know," I answer.

Could he refuse a cute, handsome, sexy, naked kid his request? Especially with the way my blue eyes are pleading with him from under my blond fringe?

He says nothing but puts down all of the lunch things that he is carrying and strips.

"I like you, Champ," he says, walking up next to me. "Anything you want! If I can do it for you."

There is an awkward moment when it seems like he doesn't quite know how to start. "Tell you what," he says. "Why don't you touch my muscles that you want to know the names of, and I'll tell you."

I think about it. That would be good. But I've got an even better idea.

"How about," I start, "you touch my muscles and tell me their names, and then I will touch yours and repeat their names."

"But which ones?" he asks.

"All of them," I tell him. "And you can start anywhere you like."

"There's too many altogether. What if we just cover the main ones?" he suggests.

"That'll do!" I say. "If you miss any that I want to know, I'll ask you."

He stands, almost facing me, but a bit to one side and starts by rubbing my chest. "Pecs"

I repeat the word and rub his.

"Nipples," he says, pinching one.

"Hey!" I tell him, pulling a face. "This is serious! I'm not joking!"

"Sorry, but I thought that you should know, so you don't have to call them `tits'," he says.

He gets a slightly-harder pinch back. He winces then we both laugh. He continues down through `abs' and `quads'. He doesn't just touch them; he rubs them, which I enjoy. It reminds me of Mr Grant's version of my birthday bumps.

"I know about `penis' and `testicles' so you don't have to do those," I tell him.

He pouts in pretend disappointment, and again we both laugh.

He runs down my arm; `deltoids', `biceps', `triceps'.

"Turn around," he says. He starts at `trapezius' and then turns his back while I repeat the word and copy the brief massage that he gave me.

He says, "erector spinae," and I have to ask him to repeat it.

"I though you said `erection' something," I tell him, then getting the words right.

"Well they both come from the same word meaning `stand up', because that's what these ones do, stand up right along your spine."

"That's as funny as `public hair'," I say. He looks at me, smiles and shakes his head.

He squeezes my butt and says, "Glutes".

"Glutes?" I ask.

"Short for `gluteus maximus' actually," he says, "but it's easier just to say `glutes'."

"I have wondered if there was a better word instead of `bottom' or `backside' or `butt' or `buns' or `bum' or `arse'," I tell him. "You've got nice glutes, Ron." That brings more laughs.

"So have you, Champ," he says. "Really nice glutes." He squeezes them.

"Yeah, I kinda worked out that you like my glutes," I tell him, squeezing his in return.

We have an extended lesson on `glutes'.

He finishes on `hamstrings', even though he says that there are many more muscles that he could tell me.

"OK. Let's see how good your memory is," he tells me. "I'll touch one of your muscles and you have to tell me its name, OK?"

"Then I'll touch yours back," I say, offering my preferred process.

I get them all right. Some occur more than once, including `glutes' and `penis' and `testicles'.

"Erection," I tell him, taking the initiative. He copies that.

 

"OK. Lunch," he says, and we spread the blanket and the food.

We eat and, probably because there is no more sex talk, including our night-time fun, our erections shrink back to their normal sizes.

We discuss, instead, what we have accomplished. Star pickets. Wires. My cooking ability. The snake and the first aid lesson. And the fact that I can now drive the automatic Land Rover.

We finish eating and pack everything up. Ron says, "You know, even when Junior is not excited, you are very handsome. And at the moment your aura is really shining!"

"Thank you, Ron," I tell him. "As a matter of fact, I like your whole body when Moby is his normal size too. I know that I can't see your aura, but I do feel something instead. It's sort of like you're a magnet and I'm a piece of metal. Mr Grant taught us about magnets in Science at school."

I can't explain what I feel for him any better way.

"That's interesting," Ron says. "I would have said that it was the other way around. You're the magnet, with your blond hair and blue eyes and small, perfect muscles. Nice glutes, by the way! And your smile, and your aura. No, I think that I'm the metal and you're definitely the magnet, attracting me."

"Mr Grant also showed us that two magnets can attract each other," I say.

"That settles it then," he says. "I guess we're just a pair of magnets!"

"But we're still two white wales as well," I tell him. "A big one and a not-so-big one."

"How about a grown one and a growing one?" he asks.

"Deal!" I say, and we bump fists on it.

"OK," he says when everything is packed. "Time to return the whales to where they belong."

"Why don't they belong out instead of in?" I ask, smirking.

"You know why!" he tells me.

My mind plays a debating game between `out' reasons and `in' reasons. I think of people whose bodies I would like to see naked, including Mr Grant. `Out' is leading. But when I count all of the people whom I wouldn't like to see my willie, soft or hard, `in' wins! Jane is top of that list.

We dress. I continue driving. Ron continues walking and checking. We both continue our mending jobs.

By mid-afternoon Ron says, "OK, Champ, we're finished. The rest of the fencing from the farm house up to here was done last week. Do you mind if I drive the rest of the way?"

We cross, by walking around the front of the Land Rover. He stops me and gives me a squeezy hug. "Nice glutes!" he says.

"Yours too!"

 

(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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