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 15:

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!"

Chapter 16 – Praise and Possums

Fifteen minutes later he parks the Land Rover between the main building and the bunk house.

At the sound of the Land Rover, Mr and Mrs Cameron both appear. "Welcome back, boys. Just in time for afternoon tea," Mrs Cameron tells us both.

Mr Cameron asks, "You're back sooner than I expected. How were the fences?"

Ron details, fence line by fence line, what repairs that we have done.

Mr Cameron is impressed by the amount of work that we completed and compliments Ron on his efforts.

"I couldn't have done it without our little Champ, here," Ron answers. "I've never seen anyone work so hard."

"Well, I'm sure that his dad would love to hear it all, over some tea and fresh scones," Mr Cameron replies. Then he turns to me. "Good work, young fella. I think we should get you up here every holidays. You and Ron seem to make a great team."

I'm tempted to say `Amen' to that suggestion. I can only hope!

Dad and Karl emerge from the bunk house. "I thought that I heard a familiar voice," Dad says to Ron. "How was the young scallywag? Any good?" he asks while, at the same time, extending his arms to me for a hug. "Missed you, son," he says.

"Come on, into the house," Mr Cameron says to the reunion of `workmen'. "Let's hear what everyone has done."

I'm surprised when Karl gives me a hug. "I missed you too," he says, then whispers, "And William!"

I can tell immediately what he has missed! I had wondered how he would get on, being with Dad 24/7!

 

While Karl and I devour a couple of warm scones with Mrs Cameron's raspberry jam and fresh cream, Dad, Ron and Mr Cameron `compare notes' on what has been accomplished so far.

Dad mentions Karl's help and my brother boasts, mainly to me, about learning to shoe a horse and asks what I've learned.

I can't tell him what I've enjoyed learning the most, but he's shocked when I tell him that Ron taught me to drive and that I've been driving the Land Rover for the past two days while Ron walked and checked the fences.

Karl, of course, questions Ron, who confirms my every word.

Ron then proceeds to list everything that I've done – driven the Land Rover, tensioned the wires, used the star picket ramming tool, cooked dinner, re-set the fire in the stove, oh, and saved his life!

Everyone looks shocked. Ron has their full attention, even Karl's.

He adds, "And learned how to treat snake bite and apply a constriction bandage."

"Ron, you were bitten by a snake?" Mrs Cameron asks, very agitated.

"No, but I might have been, if it hadn't been for our little hero here!" Ron says, then apologises, "Sorry, Kurt, anyone who can do everything that you did shouldn't be called `little' any more, eh, Champ?"

All eyes are on me.

I think that my aura might have just turned a shade of embarrassed red!

I tell everyone how necessary learning to drive could be if somebody was bitten by a snake. I also describe, in more detail than is really necessary, the procedure to follow to treat snake bite and what to do to get help. I ramble a bit, but they are all spellbound.

Dad hugs me and tells me that he is proud of me and he shakes Ron's hand and thanks him for `everything'.

In my mind I thank Ron for everything that wasn't mentioned.

I don't let on to my brother, that driving the Land Rover was just like driving the quad bike. I don't want to oversimplify and downgrade my achievement. I'm enjoying his apparent jealousy. I imagine that I can see a grey aura around him!

I mention that showering in the hut was all dependent on getting the timing right while the water temperature went from cold to warm and then cold again. Dad picks up on it and asks if I'd like a hot one before dinner.

"Yeah. Me too," Ron says. I stare at him and give him a slight frown as if to say, `Remember! Be careful!' He quickly adds, "You can go first Champ, if you like, while I finish unloading the Land Rover. Just leave me a bit of hot water, OK?"

Mr Cameron jumps in, "Don't worry, Ron. There's plenty of hot water here. You already know that because it's heated by gas, so you won't freeze your buns off.

Mrs Cameron, swats her husband with a tea towel for his `brazen language'. I'm glad that she doesn't hear the other language that people use outside!

Mr Cameron adds, "Maybe by next holidays I will be able to afford a small gas heater for the water up in the workers' hut. If you install it, then you can use it. I'll get a spare gas bottle in the meantime."

 

I'm a few minutes into a hot, soapy shower when I see the door opening, slowly. That tells me that it's not Dad. I'm hoping (for the best reasons) that it's not Ron.

Karl closes the door, pushes the towels aside and sits on one end of the wooden bench. He looks at me. Looks at my body. Same as his.

Then he launches straight in, "Did you get to jack off while you were away? It was murder here. Dad was with me the whole time. Even when I had a shower, he was always yelling for me to hurry up. The one and only time I got to do it was in the toilet. Even then, Dad called out a couple of times, asking if I was OK and why was I taking so long. At night, I had to stay with everyone in the house until it was bed time, and then Dad would go to bed at the same time. Right next to me." He finishes with, "What about you?"

"No problem!" I say. "Every night." I think carefully what I can let on.

"Wow. Lucky you!" Karl says, then asks, "What did you do about Ron?"

"Well, it was pretty dark," I say. That's a half truth. It would have been totally black without the fire in the stove.

I add, "And Ron didn't sleep in the bed right next to mine." That's the truth.

"Do you think Ron knew what was happening?" Karl inquires again.

"Well, if he did, he certainly didn't ask me what I was doing." I say, choosing my words very carefully. That is also the truth.

There is a pause while I rinse the shampoo off my hair.

"Do you want to come for a walk with me after dinner?" Karl asks. He doesn't need to explain what for!

"Where?" I ask back.

"I know a place where it's dark and nobody will see us, but we will still be able to see the verandah of the house, so if anyone comes out, we'll see them under the porch light. I checked it out last night."

"OK," I tell him. "Besides, it would be even harder to do anything in bed tonight with Dad and Ron both hanging around. Why don't you tell everyone that there is something that want to show me, and we can go for a walk?"

"Already done! I know exactly what to say!" Karl says. "Don't worry. I even worked that out last night too."

I guess he really does miss `being gentle' with me! And William. And I am so thankful for the freedom that I have had with Ron. I've never had that at home, with Karl or William or anyone else. Hey, there isn't anyone else! Except... I will have to get Mr Grant to like me so that Karl can have William!

The door opens again. Not slowly this time.

"Here you both are!" Dad says. "What are you doing? Catching up?"

"I've missed my twin brother," I tell Dad. "It's probably the first time, ever, that we have been apart for so long." And I think to myself, `But he's missed me more!'

"I'm proud of you both," Dad says. "You've both learned so much in just a few days, and you've really helped out with the work. I know that Mr Cameron can't afford to pay for any extra help so what you two and Ron have done has made a huge difference around here." Dad pauses and then says, "Actually, guys, I'm not sure how much longer he will be able to keep paying me. We certainly need some rain. We're just lucky that we still have the river actually running because it's being fed by those underground springs."

I'm not sure exactly what it would mean for us if Mr Cameron couldn't pay my Dad, but I know that it wouldn't be good.

While I'm thinking about things, it dawns on me that I'm standing here naked and being looked at by my brother and my father. Them casually `checking me out' doesn't bother me at all. However, if Ron was here too, he would probably have an erection and then, when I saw his, I would probably have an `uncontrollable event' too.

"Dad?" Karl asks.

"Yes, son," Dad replies.

"Would it be OK, after dinner, if I showed Kurt where the possum lives? I could take a torch, so we wouldn't fall over anything and use it to find the possum in the trees?"

"Of course, Karl," Dad replies. "I know that Kurt and Ron haven't seen it yet. Why don't you take your brother straight after dinner, while Mrs Cameron clears up, as she likes to do, and while Mr Cameron, Ron and I plan the rest of the week."

"Thanks Dad," Karl says. "We'll go slowly and be quiet so we don't scare it. We might be away for about twenty minutes. Is that OK?"

"Sure," Dad replies. "You can stay even longer if you like. Where there is one, there may even be another. Who knows? You might get lucky."

I'm sure that he doesn't realise the double meaning of his words. Or is it just my newly-sexed-up, 13-year old mind?

Karl looks at me and winks. I can see it. Dad, next to Karl, can't.

Now, as well as `being gentle' we can use the words, `getting lucky'.

"Thanks, Karl," I tell him, and turn off the shower.

Junior is a bit chunky. Dad ignores it. Karl throws me a towel. "Thanks, again," I tell him.

Dad says, "Come over to the house as soon as you are dressed. We could play cards or Scrabble until dinner is ready. Then he leaves.

Karl appears to be waiting until he hears the outside door close.

"Can I dry your back?" he asks.

"Sure," I say, and hand him the towel. I know that he should have asked, `May I?' Mr Grant has given us the `Can I?' / `May I? lesson.

He rubs my back, my glutes and my legs. I think that if it was Ron doing it, he would say, `Nice glutes!' and give them a squeeze.

"Turn around," Karl tells me. He doesn't have to ask. We both know the routine.

He dries my arms, my chest, the front of my legs and then comes up between them. I part them for him, as usual. He spends some gentle time on my balls and lengthening cock.

"Does my body look as good as yours?" he asks me. He swaps the towel for his bare hand and gives my hardening cock a friendly squeeze and pull.

"Not sure!" I tell him. "Show me."

He smirks and is not slow in dropping his pants and undies.

I deliberately look at my erection, then study his.

"It looks like me," I tell him. "It feels like me too."

I look into his bright blue eyes smiling at me from under his swept-to-one-side blond hair, then I say, "Turn around." I pat each of his firm, round glutes a couple of times then say, "Yep. Just like me, I reckon."

He chuckles. We take hold of each other. "Want to do it now?" he asks. "I don't know if I can wait until later."

"Better not!" I say. "If we are not over at the house in a couple of minutes, Dad may come back looking for us." Then I add, "Or he could send Ron over."

That did it! Karl pulls up his pants and says, "See you over at the house! I'll get the cards ready."

Apart from our different auras (according to Ron) Karl and I have a real bond. A brother bond. A twin bond. A `gentle' bond. I will always have him. Ron is going back to his university in Sydney.

I get dressed in clean clothes and head over to the house.

At the coffee table between two lounges Karl, sitting opposite Dad, already has three hands dealt. I sit next to Dad.

We are about to start when Ron comes over and asks whether he can join us and play too.

Dad says, "Of course! Karl, please deal five cards for Ron."

Karl realises that Ron is about to sit next to him. You should see the look on his face! It's somewhere between disappointment and fear.

I think that Karl's imagination has really gotten the better of him! I'm going to have to ask him later what he really thinks of Ron. My guess is either Dracula or Jack the Ripper. I think he is still suspicious of Ron's murderous potential.

I don't get it! But then I'm OK with Karl thinking that Ron couldn't possibly be friendly! I wonder what colour aura Ron is seeing around my brother right now?

Ron sits next to Karl, who slides away from him as far as possible without looking ridiculous. "Don't look at my hand," he says, as if the guarding of his cards explains his movement.

Dad, Ron and I enjoy the game and the winning hands are pretty much spread around. I think that the only time Karl cracks a smile is when his full house of tens and sevens beats Ron's confident flush of spades.

"Oh, no!" Ron announces. "You've just murdered one of my best hands so far," perhaps choosing his words deliberately, knowing Karl's opinion of him.

I can just imagine these words in Karl's mind: `Do unto others before they do unto you!'

Watching our game but declining Dad's invitation to make a fifth player, Mr Cameron calls over his shoulder to his wife, "How's dinner coming, love?"

"Be patient!" the reply comes from the kitchen. "The lamb's not quite ready, and I'm just putting the apple pie into the oven."

As an alternative to poker, Mr Cameron teaches us to play euchre. I'm happy knowing a new card game, seeing that Karl doesn't like gin rummy. I learn about `tricks' and `trumps'. I like it. And it can be a quick game if there's four people. I think William might like it. Then he and Karl and Dad and I can play together.

The roast and vegetables smell delicious. Plus, there is an apple pie for dessert, probably with fresh cream or custard. Or both! Yum!

"We have time for one quick game of Scrabble," Dad says.

At this suggestion, Ron would probably see my aura brighten and my brother's dim even further.

"Swap places with me, Dad," Karl politely demands. "You always give me good words to build on."

He's right, but that isn't the main reason he wants to move, I reckon!

Karl and Dad are being totally outplayed by Ron and me. Karl usually isn't happy whenever I win, but this time I'm betting that he'd like me to `murder' Ron.

However, Ron beats me, scoring 22 points with his last-remaining tile, turning `JAR' into `AJAR' by adding his `A' on a `double word' square.

"Good game!" Dad announces. Then, to Ron, he says, "I thought he had you beaten until you played that last `A'."

I shake Ron's hand and say, "Congratulations. Well played, Sir!"

He laughs while still gripping my hand, "You play better than many of my uni friends! Congratulations yourself!"

 

"It's on the table!" Mrs Cameron announces.

Much to my brother's relief, Dad and Ron sit alongside each other, opposite Karl and me, with Mr and Mrs Cameron at each end.

At home, we don't say grace before eating, but Mr Cameron does, then we dig in.

Good manners: offer food that is nearest you to others first, elbows off the table, hold your knife and fork correctly, don't talk with food in your mouth. I remember. Thanks to Mum!

Mrs Cameron compliments Dad on his `two lovely boys'.

Ron looks directly into my eyes and mouths, `Lovely boy!'

A moment of embarrassment! I hope nobody else saw it. If they did, I hope they would think that Ron was just making fun of me. However, I know that It was more than that! I frown at him. He smirks.

After dessert I say, "That was delicious, Mrs Cameron. Thank you." Sincerely. She smiles.

Karl adds, "Kurt and I can help you wash up, if you like, Mrs Cameron." Not quite sincerely! Maybe he knows what her response will be.

"Nonsense!" she says, smiling and wiping her hands on her apron. "Hard-working young men don't do the dishes in my house! Go on. Be off with you! Go and find that possum you mentioned! And I'll make you a nice hot cup of chocolate when you come back."

Dad tells Karl, "Take the big torch by the door. When I told Mr Cameron that you two wanted to look for the possum, he insisted that you use his strong one."

Ron looks at Karl and then, to me, He raises a questioning eyebrow.

I shrug in reply. And can't hold back smirk. He winks at me. He knows!

Karl takes the torch, flicks it on and heads out of the door. He jumps down, totally avoiding the couple of verandah steps and heads straight for a clump of tall gums close to the river, as I remember where things were in the daylight.

We must be about two hundred metres from the house when he stops. "This is it," he says, laying the torch on the ground, point back towards the house. "If we stay on the river side of the torch, nobody will see us in the dark, but we'll be able to see them," he tells me.

I can still see well enough in the reflected glow from the torch.

He undoes his pants and lets them drop to his feet. "Come on," he says, "give me a hand."

"Right or left?" I ask.

"I don't fuckin' care which hand, really. Just get on with it," he says, quickly growing an erection.

I wonder whether I should show him any of my new techniques, or not.

Not!

I drop my pants and we `are gentle' with each other, just the same way as always.

It's not long before he warns me and takes over from my hand. He points his cock away from us, pushes his hips forward to make sure that nothing drips onto the pants around his ankles, and he spurts.

It's exciting watching my twin brother shoot his stuff. It's almost like me watching myself do it.

I do myself. Slower, as Ron has shown me and, using my other hand, I imagine Ron doing me. I feel it coming. I go even slower but ensure that the feeling doesn't stop. Finally, I moan and shoot way farther than ever before.

I can see the amazed look on my brother's face. "Wow!" he says. "How did you do that?"

"Must be growing up!" I chuckle to him. "Or, I really needed it!"

We both milk the last drops out of ourselves and pull our pants up.

 

"I hear something," Karl says. He retrieves the torch from the ground and aims the beam above our heads.

What I see is two glowing eyes staring at me. Creepy! Like an alien!

"You thought that I was joking about the possum, didn't you?" Karl asks.

Karl moves the torch-beam around and I can see the possum more clearly.

For anyone who hasn't seen one, I'd describe it as sort of like a large short-haired cat with claws instead of paws, face similar a rabbit, pointed nose of a rat, ears like a bat and a long brush tail that it can use to hang onto things – sort of like monkeys do. Possums look cuddly, but their sharp claws and teeth can cause nasty gashes and infections.

It seems frozen in the torchlight.

Suddenly, caught in the light, another pair of eyes glare at us from a higher branch.

"Look!" Karl says. "There actually is more than one of them."

Sensing its friend, the first one waddles along the branch back towards the trunk of the gum tree and then climbs effortlessly to the higher branch and sits alongside its companion. Four eyes stare back at us.

Are we checking them out or are they studying us?

It almost turns into a staring competition. Karl moves the beam of the torch off them directly so that it appears that their eyes are glowing in the semi- darkness. As they blink, it's like lights turning off and then on again. I'm totally amazed. I could stay for ages and watch them.

Suddenly one of them pees, just missing both my brother and me.

I get the message!

"Hey, Karl," I say. "I think that one of them just told us to piss off!"

We laugh about it over and over as we walk back to the house.

The `oldies' and Ron all appreciate the joke of the possum's silent communication with us.

Mrs Cameron, true to her word, presents Karl and me with a mug each of hot chocolate and one of her fresh, larger-than-normal peanut cookies, and says to me, "I'll give you and Ron plenty of these to take with you on Wednesday."

I thank her and tell her that I really like her cooking. "Well, aren't you the little flatterer?" she says, and gives me a hug.

"OK, guys," Dad says. "Finish up and then it's bed time."

 

We say goodnight to Mr and Mrs Cameron.

Dad says, "I think I'll turn in too."

As we head for the door, Karl whispers to me, "See what I mean? He's coming with us."

Ron, intercepting us near the door, says, "Good night, Karl. Sleep well." He extends his hand. Karl shakes it, but reluctantly and only briefly. He pulls away then hurries to keep up with Dad.

We step outside. "Good night, Champ," Ron says so that people can hear him. Then he whispers to me, "I hope you had fun with your brother earlier. Your aura was glowing when you came back." Then he squeezes one of my glutes. He starts to say, "Nice..." when I cut him off.

"Yeah, I know. Yours too!" I squeeze his.

Mr and Mrs Cameron are inside and I can only see the backs of Dad and Karl. "Good night, Moby!" I say as I give the front of Ron's pants a quick jiggle, then scoot off after the other two.

We all get ready for bed, visit the toilet for a pee then Dad tucks us in and gives us a kiss good night. As he bends down, I put my arms around his neck for an extra hug. "Missed you," I say.

"Me too," he replies. Then he says, "I'll turn off the inside light but leave the outside one on so that Ron can see what he's doing when he comes in, through the glass panel in the door."

When Ron does come in a bit later, quietly, I can tell from my Dad's breathing that he is asleep. Karl is on his side facing Dad so I can't tell if he's still awake or not. If I was him and awake when I heard Ron coming, I would close my eyes and pretend to be sleeping. Or pull the sheet over my head.

I don't. I lift my head off the pillow so that Ron can see that it's me. He looks at Dad and Karl as he passes them, then squeezes my foot on the way to his bed.

Propped on one elbow, I watch him. He knows that I'm watching and he strips completely naked and stands facing me, playing with Moby a bit before putting on a T-shirt and new undies. He walks back to the door and switches off the outside light. In the blackness, he feels my feet, my legs and I lift the covers for him. He feels for Junior and gives him a jiggle while I do the same to a chunky Moby. Saying good night! It's daring, but it only lasts a few seconds then Ron ruffles my hair and goes to his own bed.

 

Tuesday morning. I wake when I hear the toilet flush. I look around. Ron's bed is empty. Dad and Karl seem to be still asleep. I see Ron cross from the toilet to the shower. He looks in my direction and beckons me with his finger. I think about the risk and shake my head.

I lie still until I hear the shower running. Still no movement from Dad and Karl.

With my heart pounding, I creep out of bed and head for the shower door. I stop, think about the chances of Ron and me being `sprung' and I divert into the toilet. When I flush and come out, the shower has stopped. I look at Dad. I was right. He's stirring and sees me and acknowledges me with a brief wave. He will most probably use the toilet before showering.

I wave back and open the door to the showers. Ron smiles, stops drying himself and gives me a hug. "Nice glutes," he says, hugging me and squeezing them.

"Dad's up," I say. He lets me go and I start to undress.

"Want to show me those possums tonight?" he asks quietly, while putting his clothes on. He's smiling.

"Sure!" I say, knowing what he really wants to do. Me too.

I'll bet that Karl won't want to venture into the dark with an assassin on the loose. Perfect!

Ron heads out before I hear the toilet flush. All good!

Then I think what a shock Karl will get if he wakes up now and sees that he's alone in the room with Ron. I reckon he'll jump out of bed and head for the toilet before he wets himself in fright.

I hear Dad say good morning to Ron and then he comes into the shower. "Good morning, son," he chirps. "Have you left me some hot water?"

"Do you think I'd still be in here, if it was cold?" I ask. Then add, "Besides I heard Mr Cameron tell Ron that the water is always hot."

As Dad strips off, I hear the outside door close. Ron's heading over to the house.

"Sharp as a horseshoe nail!" Dad says.

"What?" I ask.

"You're pretty smart, you know that?" he says. "And I'm very proud of you. Last night while you and Karl were looking for the possum, Ron told us how amazing and helpful you were. At everything!"

I'll bet that he didn't give them a full list of everything!

"Give me a hug!" Dad says, wrapping his wet arms around my soapy body, and pulling us close against each other.

This feels great, but totally different to hugging Ron or William. He washes my back, all of it. "You'd better do the front yourself," he laughs but doesn't explain.

Maybe he doesn't want either of us to be embarrassed if something were to `pop up'. Mine or his!

I rinse off and head back out to get dressed. I pass Karl going from the toilet to the showers.

Dad emerges not far behind me and I hear him tell Karl, "Hurry up, and you'd better get your sleepy arse over to the house for breakfast."

 

As we enter the house, Mrs Cameron says to me, "Ron tells me that you do pretty good scrambled eggs."

I look at Ron's smirk, then reply to her, "Yes, Mrs Cameron. My Mum showed me how."

Mrs Cameron says, "I wouldn't usually allow anybody else in my kitchen, but... how would you like to show me what you can do, while I look after the bacon and mushrooms and keep an eye on the toast?"

Now I'm nervous! Me, cooking something for a really good cook?

"I'm happy to help, if you would like, Mrs Cameron," I say.

"There's a dozen eggs there, Sweetie," she says. "Do you think that you can cook for six people?"

"I'll try, Mrs Cameron," I tell her. Then I add, "But it will be OK, if you're watching. You can tell me if I'm not doing it right. Do you have any parsley that I can chop and put in with the eggs? And pepper and salt and water and milk?"

She smiles and fetches everything for me.

She doesn't need to offer any advice but is very complimentary when I've finished. She gives me a hug. My third of the morning. Ron, Dad and now the boss's wife.

Everything is served on the table just as `sleepy head' rolls in.

We all sit down, same seating as last night (to Karl's relief, I'm sure). Mr Cameron gives thanks and we pass the food around and dig in.

We chat and eat and, at the end, everybody thanks Mrs Cameron for the feast.

Karl, attempting to get into her good books offers, "I especially liked the scrambled eggs, Mrs Cameron. They were delicious. Thank you."

Everyone looks from Mrs Cameron to me. Nobody says anything.

"What?" Karl asks.

"Your brother cooked the eggs this morning, love," Mrs Cameron tells him, smiling.

Karl stares at me. His `brown-nosing' has backfired! Now he has actually paid me a compliment. Something he would never do intentionally.

"Mrs Cameron?" I ask, "Could you please teach me to cook apple pies like you do?"

"What?" she says and chases me around the table with a wooden spoon. She catches me and gives me a couple of friendly smacks on the backside. "Next you'll be asking how to do a lamb roast! Are you trying to do a poor woman out of a job, young Kurt Andersen?"

She taps me again, and then laughs, "I suppose if ever I was to get sick, all of the vultures wouldn't starve!" She looks around the room menacing everyone with the wooden spoon. "Now, just don't any of you offer to do the washing up!"

"Come on, lads," Mr Cameron says. "We'd better get into the work while we're all still in one piece. Lucky she's holding a wooden spoon and not her carving knife."

We laugh. Mrs Cameron stares at her husband, lays the spoon down heavily, and takes deliberate paces to the knife block. Testing the sharpness of a few with her thumb, it looks as though she is trying to choose which one to use on him. It's all very good-humoured.

 

We five `men' head across to the sheds. Dad reminds us that he and Ron will be cutting and stacking firewood, some of which will come with us in the ute for the other workers' hut.

"You boys go with Mr Cameron." Dad tells Karl and me. "He'll give you paint and brushes and show you where to start painting, while he is servicing the quad bikes."

Dad checks the chain saw for fuel, plus the tension on the chain, and gives it a trial `burst'. Ron grabs an axe for splitting what Dad cuts, and they head off.

"Want to come and see what I'm doing with the bikes before you start painting?" Mr Cameron asks.

His question is answered with a `Yes, Sir' and a `Yes, please'.

He explains the use of air filters and why it's even more important to keep them clean out here where it's dusty. He does one while we watch. He lets Karl do the next one while he gives step-by-step instructions. He then lets Karl and me do one each while he looks on.

Something else learned.

He then gets a couple of cans of paint, opens them, tells Karl and me why it has to be stirred carefully, which he gets us to do. Then he replaces the lids and carries them to one of the sheds. He brushes one part of a wall with a broom before painting "so that we're putting paint on the walls and not over dust" he says. He demonstrates the side-to-side strokes to use and how to not get splattered in paint.

"Both of you can start here," he says. "Just paint as high as you can reach. Ron will do the high bits later. Karl, you can go to the left and Kurt, you can go to the right. You'll probably meet near the opposite corner. If you have any problems, come and see me with the bikes. I'll also be doing some mechanical stuff to them." He adds, "I've left you a number of different-sized brushes, so you can see which ones you are most comfortable with."

Karl says, "I'll start painting where Mr Cameron has already brushed the walls. You can use the broom and then let me have it so I can do my next bit." We agree on our bit of a routine, and start.

I alternate between brushing and painting. As we give each other the broom, we inspect what the other has done. If it was a race, I think I'd be ahead. Maybe I'm doing longer strokes or using a bigger brush.

Pretty soon, Mr Cameron comes out to inspect our work. He points out a couple of spots that each of us should go over again but compliments us on our progress.

We are about 2 hours into the painting and I can see that the opposite corner is in sight.

I'm aware that the chainsaw has stopped, and pretty soon Dad and Ron stroll over. They take up a position at the corner of the shed where they can see Karl and me at the same time, both heading for the `finish line' from opposite directions.

Ron tries to stir me. "Having fun yet, Champ?"

"Of course I'm having fun!" I tell him. "More fun than swinging an axe to split firewood! And easier. Why wouldn't it be more fun?"

"Aren't your arms tired though?" he says, trying to put a negative thought into my head."

"No!" I tell him. I anticipated something like this, only not from him. "I'm enjoying working on my muscles – deltoids when I go this way, and pecs when I go that way. And I swap hands every now and again so that the other side doesn't get jealous! Besides, I'm ahead of Karl!"

"Maybe not!" Dad says and picks up one of the spare brushes. "Move over, Karl," Dad tells him. "We're gonna beat your brother to the corner! Give me the big brush."

"It's good exercise for muscles, is it?" Ron asks. He picks up the largest of the remaining brushes and dips it into the paint. "Side-to-side. Just like the Karate Kid," he adds and starts some long strokes.

I saw that movie when we visited Ma and Pa. Ron smiles at me and I know that we're working as a team again. I use the broom to sweep to the corner and take a peek at Karl and Dad. We're gonna kill them. Not literally.

While Ron is making great progress, I stand back and watch. I catch Karl's eye and motion him to come to me. I hand him the broom and he sweeps right to the corner on his side.

Then, we both stand back and watch Dad and Ron going for it. I think that they're not even aware that Karl and I have stopped. We strike a pose, leaning on each other, the broom between us. And we watch.

Ron's getting close to the corner when he looks up and sees us.

"Yes, I'm still having fun," I tell him. "And my arms aren't tired at all!"

"Why you..." he starts, then he puts the brush down and heads for Karl and me, making menacing actions with his hands.

Karl shrieks and runs for Dad, who has quickly caught on to the humour of what is happening. He picks up Karl and slings him over his shoulder. He starts to walk in my direction and I see him wink at Ron.

Ron's response is to pick me up and put me over his shoulder.

"Look what I found," Dad says, "A sack of spuds. Do you reckon they'd be any good for eating? I see you have one too. I wonder how firm they are." With that, Dad swats me on the tail. "Yep, pretty good!" he laughs, and turns Karl's backside towards Ron.

Swat!

"Aaargh!" my brother screams. "Get him away from me!"

"I wonder if my spuds better than yours." Dad says Ron, and he swats Karl's backside. "About the same, I'd say," he laughs. "Well?" he asks Ron, which is nothing more than giving him permission to swat me. Which he does. Hard!

"Hmm. Can't tell the difference," Ron laughs. "Maybe we should test them both again." Karl squeals louder than before. Then, again, after he gets swats from both Ron and Dad.

Dad swats me. Then Ron does it, but more gently this time, with a squeeze thrown in for good measure. "Nice glutes!" he whispers to me.

I'm not easily defeated. He's forgotten one thing. Over his shoulder, my arms are hanging way down his back. I grab the back of his jeans and heave them upwards. Giant wedgie!

He must be uncomfortable up front, because he immediately puts me down to adjust his scrunched `gentlemen' and Moby. He takes it all in good humour.

Dad puts Karl down, who, by the expression on his face, doesn't know whether to hit back, scream, punch Ron in the nuts or to cry in frustration!

Dad says, "This painting of the shed reminds me of another good book that I must read to you, called The Adventures of Tom Sawyer."

"Sounds good!" I say. "But I have a wall to finish and be first to the corner."

Between Ron and me, Dad and Karl, we make short work of the rest of the shed.

After being beaten to the corner, even with Dad's help, and as if to have the last word and some kind of victory, Karl sneers at Ron, "Anyway, Mr Cameron says that you have to do the bits we couldn't reach. And, there was an awful lot that I couldn't reach!"

I stand at the corner and observe both walls, his and mine. Even though we're the same height, I've painted about 30cm higher than Karl. And his side got lower and lower, probably intentionally, as he went along.

Ron picks up his paint brush, winks at Dad and, taking a step towards Karl, says to him, "I wonder how you'd look with your arse the same colour as the shed?"

That's enough to have Karl bolting back to the bunk house. He just found the ability to run almost as fast as I can!

"Look at that boy go!" Dad says to Ron and me. "He must have grown some leg muscles since I last saw him run!"

Dad starts after Karl, but at a walking pace.

"Nice glutes, too," Ron whispers to me.

"You'd better not try anything with him," I warn Ron. "He'd probably kick you in the balls then and run straight to my Dad and tell him."

"Of course I wouldn't," Ron whispers back. "I only said it because the sight of his backside while he was running reminded me of yours. And I like yours."

"Yeah. I've noticed." I tell him. I freeze and stare into his eyes until we both burst out laughing.

We head for the house.

"Nice glutes," he says to me, giving one side a squeeze.

"Nice Moby," I say to him, gripping his crotch, but not squeezing.

"Hey Dad," I call. "Wait for me."

I can still run faster than my brother.

 

After morning tea, Dad says that he will have Karl help him check the windmills and tanks while I can help Ron finish off the higher bits on the shed walls. Dad says, "A plank across a couple of barrels will enable you to paint all the way up. It shouldn't be too hard."

Karl points at Ron and me and pretends to laugh at us, one hand over his mouth and the other on his stomach.

Dad intercepts his little bit of `suckers!' torment and tells him, "I wouldn't laugh to soon if I were you, son. You won't be standing around while I do all the work!"

I'm tempted to mimic his making fun of me, but I display a little `more maturity', as Ron compliments me, much to Karl's annoyance.

"C'mon, Champ," Ron says. "Let's knock this over." We walk back to the shed.

From the inside he rolls out two large barrels, standing them on end almost against the painted wall. Then he lays a long plank over them.

"If you hand me up both cans of paint and a couple of brushes," Ron says, "I'll start at this end of the plank and you can hop up and start at the other end. We'll meet in the middle and then move the barrels and plank along and do the next bit. Easy!"

We work as a great team again, and we're done in about 90 minutes, even though there are only the two of us.

"Nice work, again, Champ!" Ron says, as we put the barrels, plank and paint away. Ron soaks the brushes and we use some awful-smelling stuff to remove some paint splatters from our hands and arms. Mine are worse than his.

"Let's go and clean up properly and wait for lunch." Ron says. "Karl and your dad won't be finished yet. I know how much had to be done with the windmills and tanks, and I can't wait to hear what your dad got Karl to do."

"Want to have a shower with me?" Ron asks.

"Better not," I tell him. "Dad might finish early."

"OK," he says. "But, tonight, I want you to show me where the possums are. My guess is that Karl won't want to come with us... in the dark. Eh?"

I understand what he's saying, and smile. We bump fists.

We remove our shirts and wash from the waist up. We `fool around' with each other's erection for a bit, with our pants on, then put on clean shirts and head over to the main house.

I play Ron at Scrabble. At one game apiece, we agree not to play `a decider'. Mrs Cameron keeps us well supplied with hot chocolate and things which Ron tells her will ruin his boyish figure. The result of that is that she only brings us more. Fresh from the oven!

Saying `No' to Mrs Cameron's fresh goodies isn't an option. Self-control doesn't get a foot in the door. Like mucking around with Ron in the hut.

We lounge back in two of the large, comfortable chairs and chat about everything that we've achieved in a couple of days and what still remains to be done tomorrow and Thursday.

Mr Cameron joins us in his favourite chair. "So, young Kurt," he starts. "I've seen and heard all about your amazing work. I think you have the makings of an excellent farm hand and farmer. If I could afford to pay you and Ron for everything that you've done, I certainly would. Who knows, if the rain comes, and we can re-stock the property, there would be a lot of paid work for the both of you during school holidays. And, when Ron finishes his uni work, he may even want to manage the place."

"Thank you, Sir," I say. "I would love to work with Ron during school holidays. Without being paid anything. I enjoy doing the work and learning new things." Ron and I look at each other, knowingly.

I don't know whether it is the smell of dinner that brings Dad and Karl into the house, but I can tell that they've cleaned up after working all afternoon.

"Easy work was it, Karl?" Ron asks, knowing that it wasn't.

Karl gives him a filthy look but says nothing. If there were no adults here, I bet that he'd `give Ron the finger' and a four-letter word, or three!

"Nice job finishing off the shed," Dad says, plonking himself down in one of the other comfy chairs. Karl sits on the floor next to Dad, legs crossed.

Dad tells us all, mainly for my benefit of the greasy, grungy, wet and stinking work that he and Karl did. "It's just as well that we've had a good scrubbing before coming inside," he continues. "Karl stunk worse than usual."

Now my brother doesn't like being made fun of. He doesn't say anything but just gets up and stomps off, out of the door. Bit of a silent temper tantrum!

"Don't worry about him," Dad says. "He'll get over it. He basically said the same thing about me. I thought that we were just joking around."

I feel a pang of brotherly empathy and get up. "I'd better go and talk to him," I say. "I think that we've missed each other."

I go outside and look around but don't see him. Just a hunch, but I head back towards the bunk house and find him sitting on the step, hunched over with his head on his arms which are crossed on his knees. Even as I get closer, I can tell that he's been crying, or still is.

"Hey, bro," I say, sitting beside him. "Is everything OK?" I put my arm over his shoulder.

"Everybody hates me!" he sobs. "It's not fair!"

"No they don't," I say, trying to comfort him. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, Ron hates me. You know that. He's already tried to kill me once. I think that he'd likely try it again if he had the chance."

I don't attempt to defend Ron. I know that it's all Karl's mind but I give him the chance to get everything off his chest.

"And Dad doesn't think that I work hard enough. He's even a worse slave driver than Ron. And he's always making fun of me and everything I do. Even Mr Cameron told me off for not listening carefully enough to what Dad was telling me to do when he came by to see how we were going."

"And you..." he starts. "I'll bet that you hate me too, because William spends more time with me than with you!"

"I don't hate you, Karl," I tell him, rubbing his back. "I'm happy for you and William to spend time together and make each other happy. Don't you remember me telling you that? And the couple of times that I left you two alone together, on purpose."

"Yeah. Why?" he asks, looking up at me as if expecting some supernatural revelation.

 

 

(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.

-----

If you like the story, and haven't said 'hello' yet, please take a couple of minutes to email me.

rob.zz@hotmail.com

I try to reply to everyone. Please be patient.

-----

Please support the efforts at Nifty. Every little bit helps to ensure that

our stories are posted. Do it here: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html