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 16:

"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.

Chapter 17 - Boyfriends

"Why not?" I ask him. "You like him; he likes you. You both have fun together. So, why not?"

"But what about you? Don't you like him?"

"Of course I do," I say. "I love mucking around and being gentle with him and with you." Then I think carefully before I let him in on one of my secrets. At least it doesn't involve breaking a promise to anyone. "Karl, you know that we are allowed to make a wish at Christmas. Right?"

"Yes," he replies.

"And that I usually tell you mine because, if you tell Dad, then he is likely to buy what I want. Right?"

"Yes," he replies again.

"And you know that I didn't tell you my wish last Christmas?"

"Yes. I wondered about that," he says, looking at me and obviously wondering where I am going with this.

"Well, I don't suppose there is any harm in telling you now," I share with him, "because it seems to have come true anyway."

"What has?" he asks, now looking very interested. At least his sobbing has stopped.

"Promise me you won't say anything!" I say. "It would just make me look stupid if anyone else found out."

"What?" he pushes.

"Well, I could tell way before last Christmas that you were William's favourite." He is about to interrupt and protest, but I hold up my hand. "Don't!" I say. "Please listen. You are William's favourite and I sometimes feel that I'm in the way of you two having fun together, so I made a wish to fix that."

If he was a fish, he'd now be hooked.

"What on this planet are you talking about?" he asks. His expression is one of total confusion.

"Well... I wished that Santa Claus or God, would make William have a twin, and send him here so that you could have William all to yourself, and I could have his twin."

"And...?" he asks.

He obviously doesn't get it. Yet.

"Think about it. You and I look the same. We're twins.

"Yes. And...?" he repeats.

"And, who do we know who turned up shortly after Christmas, looking exactly like William?" I speak slowly to let my words sink in, hoping that I don't need to explain further.

"The only new person who has turned up around The Village since Christmas is Mr Grant, and he..."

"Looks exactly like William," I finish the sentence for him.

There is a long pause – the time it takes for the wheels in his head to grind around to an explanation.

"But Mr Grant isn't William's twin. He's a lot older."

Then the rubber hits the road.

He adds, "Besides, he's our teacher."

"Well, William's older than you. So what, if Mr Grant is a bit older still?" I ask.

"But... but... but...!"

He's already used his two logical trump cards. Our teacher and our ages. So, he tries persuasion instead.

"But Mr Grant would never muck around with you, the way that William does! He's our teacher!"

"Don't you remember that Mr Grant was happy to muck around with us in the weir?" I remind my brother. "And I really felt that he might want to do it again. And he wasn't angry when I grabbed him by accident the first time, was he? And after we lost the horse-and-rider wrestling, he liked being gentle with me and me being gentle with him. He likes me."

"But...," Karl hunts for another reason why it wouldn't work.

I add, as if it makes any difference, "And, he's got a nice dick and balls, just like William's."

"Yeah, I know," Karl confesses to me. "I grabbed him once, under the water, as I was sliding off his back." He smiles, no... grins, with his teeth clenched.

"So! You see!" I tell him. "My wish came true. He's William's twin, just for me."

Karl has brightened up. At least he's happy now, even if it is only at my stupid claim and imagination. He wipes his eyes with both sleeves. "You're nuts!" he tells me.

"What about my nuts?" I ask, trying to be funny, and grabbing myself.

He punches me lightly on the shoulder, as he gets up. "Just nuts! It'll never happen. Let it go."

"What? My nuts or my idea of playing with Mr Grant?" I'm still trying to be funny, for his sake.

"Both. Come on. I'll bet that Mrs Cameron has dinner on the table," he suddenly realises and comments. "What are we doing out here anyway?"

"Playing with my nuts!" I tell him. "Beat you back!" I take off at a dash towards the house, but slow down purposely to let him beat me through the door.

"I beat Kurt!" he exclaims to Dad. "I caught him."

If he thinks he's suddenly developed superhero speed, I'll let him go on thinking that. Until next time.

 

Dinner is delicious.

"What do you want to play before dessert?" Dad asks us.

Karl suggests `poker' because he has a better chance of winning.

"Scrabble," I say, which is met with a pout and a thumbs-down from my brother.

"What about you, Ron," Dad asks. "What would you like?"

I'm expecting `Scrabble' but he surprises me. "Actually, Mr Andersen, I was kind of hoping that Karl and Kurt would show me the possums. I've never seen more than the one of them." He turns directly to my brother. "What about it, Karl?

I think that if there were no adults present, Karl would probably answer something like, `Fuck off!' Instead, he is far more polite than I could have expected. He's probably trying to impress Mrs Cameron. "If it's OK, Ron, I think that my brother can show you. I've seen a possum every night while you guys were away." He turns to me. "Do you remember where they are, Kurt?"

Ron looks at me and winks, hopefully so that nobody notices. He's smart. He asked Karl deliberately, knowing that he would refuse, so that there could be no hint of favouritism for me.

"That OK with you, Champ?" Ron asks.

"Are you sure that you don't want to come, Karl?" I ask my brother, adding weight to Ron's invitation. I hope he doesn't change his mind!

"No. It's all right. Just don't stand directly underneath them. You know what happened last night!" he warns us. Everybody laughs.

I bet he'd love it if Ron came back wet and smelling of possum pee!

"Take your time, boys," Mrs Cameron tells us. We can all have dessert when you get back.

Her husband fetches us his torch and we head off, trying not to look too excited about being allowed to venture into the night alone – with everybody's blessing, even Karl's.

We don't have any trouble finding the possums and we briefly exchange comments about them so that they can be included in our discussions over dessert.

Then, we also don't have trouble dropping our pants and undies and having a bit of close-encounter fun with each other.

Ron: "Nice glutes!"

Me: "Nice Moby!"

Ron: "Nice Junior!"

Me: "Nice possum fur!"

Ron: "Nice chicken feathers!"

Me: "Nice erection!"

Ron: "Nice technique! Ooh! Aargh!"

Ron spurts, then I do. No baby oil necessary. We were both ready for it.

"Tomorrow night will be more fun," Ron tells me. "Just you and me in the shower and plenty of hot water, thanks to the gas."

 

Dessert is pudding and custard. Oh, and fresh cream. Yum!

We let Karl win at poker. At least Dad and Ron do, I think.

I partner Ron at euchre. Karl has Dad. Two games each.

"Anyone for Scrabble?" I ask.

Led by Karl's stretch and yawn, everyone is suddenly tired and ready for bed.

We say good night to Mr & Mrs Cameron and I thank her again for dinner and dessert.

 

The four of us head back to the bunk house together.

Beside his bed, facing across the room, Dad starts to strip off his clothes, with no concern about the rest of us seeing him naked. It's as though he doesn't even think about it.

Ron, almost directly opposite and facing me, follows Dad's lead.

I start to undress, facing him.

Karl turns his back on Ron and me, as if he has something to hide. I know that he hasn't! We're identical! Even down there.

Ron's eyes keep glancing from my Junior Moby to Karl's `nice glutes'. I think it's funny that Ron can see the front of me and the back of me both at the same time. Well, as good as! He's smiling. He's thinking exactly what I'm thinking – I can tell.

As we are ready for bed, we take turns visiting the toilet. Karl first because he was the quickest to cover up with his pyjamas. Then me. Then Dad, who does an embarrassingly noisy pee into the toilet water. Ron goes last while Dad hugs my brother and me and kisses us good night.

Ron checks that we are all in bed then switches off the outside light followed by the inside one.

Total darkness, but Ron is still able to find my feet on his way and pulls one of my big toes. I'm disappointed that he doesn't try to find anything else before he calls goodnight to all of us, from his bed. But then, there's always tomorrow!

I know that I'm not going to wake up with wet pyjamas after our little `possum hunt' earlier, so I allow myself to recall what Ron taught me up in the old hut, and dream of how I might use those skills tomorrow night.

 

Wednesday. I wake up to the sound of the shower turning off. I hadn't heard it running and wasn't aware of it till it stopped.

I look around. Karl's bed is empty. So is Dad's. There's still a body-sized lump in Ron's bed.

Dad comes out of the shower, still drying his back, his penis swaying from side to side with the movement of the towel. He ignores my looking at him and says, "Karl woke up early to use the toilet and has already had his shower. He's gone over to the house. We'll see you guys over there for breakfast in about 15 minutes." He drops his towel on the floor and puts on his undies, socks and shirt, in that order

Stirred by the sound of Dad's voice, Ron emerges from his cocoon of blankets and says, "Morning, Jan. Morning Champ. Did I oversleep?"

"It's OK," Dad says, pulling up his jeans and fastening his belt. "Just don't be late for breakfast." He slips on his boots and leaves.

"Just you and me, Champ!" Ron says. When he stands up and removes his undies that he wears instead of pyjamas, his erection looks enormous. "Morning wood!" he laughs, and heads for the showers.

I need to do a poo, but I am faster than usual. By the time I toss my pyjama pants onto the bench I'm hard. "The temperature's just right on your side too," Ron tells me. "I've fixed it."

I have no sooner stepped under the water and started soaping myself up when Dad bursts back into the room without warning. Was he trying to catch me out with Ron? Is he suspicious of us?

"Sorry guys. I left my watch on the bench when I had my shower," he says.

He looks at Ron and me, both sporting hard erections. Has he caught us? I quickly indicate Ron and me to him and say, "Morning wood! Penises have a mind of their own some days, haven't they?" This is almost a repeat of his words to me last Friday when he and I were in the shower together.

Dad shakes his head and laughs, "Growing up!" Then he leaves.

"What just happened?" Ron asks me. "My heart nearly stopped when he came in and saw us... like this!"

"Long story," I tell him. "But it's OK." Then I add, "He gets erections too! Don't you remember last week when you came in and we were singing `Rub-a-dub-dub'? And Dad saw yours when you took off your undies and he commented to me that it was normal for us guys to have `morning wood'."

"Yeah. Well, I'm glad that I wasn't hugging you from behind! Because I was definitely thinking about it!" he says, recovering from a major attack of nervousness.

"Go on!" I tell him. "Hug me. From behind."

"What if...?" he starts.

"If he'd forgotten anything else," I say, "he would have picked it up just now. And Karl won't come back over here."

I enjoy the feeling of soaped-up Moby between my legs and Ron's hands feeling my pecs and abs and playing with my `chicken feathers' and hard Moby Junior. LOL.

I know when he holds me really tightly and Moby starts going backwards and forwards really fast, what is going to happen. Except, this time, he takes Moby out from between my legs, turns me to face him and then spurts all over my stomach. It's amazing to watch his stuff pump out onto me.

Then he `milks my cow' with his soapy hand, and I spurt all over him.

"Come on," he says, "Let's get cleaned up and dressed. You go over to the house first. You can tell them that I was in the toilet when you left, just so that we don't look like a pair of..." He pauses.

"Boyfriends," I say.

I don't know where that came from, or why I said it.

"Is that what you think?" he asks.

"Sorry, Ron" I apologise. "I didn't know what I was saying. It just popped out. I know that I can't be your boyfriend. You've probably got a girlfriend in Sydney."

"Let's talk about that tonight," he says, sounding rather serious, as though this is something that he wanted to avoid.

I walk over to the house wondering exactly what it was that changed Ron's mood. Was it the `boyfriends' remark or my comment about having a `girlfriend in Sydney'?

"Is Ron coming, Kurt?" Mrs Cameron ask me.

"I'm sure that he is, Mrs Cameron," I answer, "but he had to go to the toilet first."

She must spot him through the window, coming across the yard, because she starts serving breakfast.

It smells good, but I don't recognise it all – only the bacon.

She must have noticed me staring at it and says, "Well, don't tell me you've never had lamb's fry before?"

"I don't think so, Mrs Cameron," I say. "I just don't remember. But it smells really nice!"

After Mr Cameron gives thanks and prays that we be kept safe for the next couple of days, I watch the oldies dig in. Karl is watching me. I cut off a piece and tentatively put it into my mouth. Then, it's almost like somebody has said, `Ready, Set, Go!'

"And Mrs Cameron has made some fresh bread rolls so you can soak up the gravy," Dad comments and hands me and Karl one each before taking another mouthful of the bacon.

Even though I was the second-last one started, I am first finished. "There's more, if you want it, love," Mrs Cameron says to me. Seconds! And I make sure that there is no gravy left on my plate.

Mrs Cameron hands Karl and me a mug of hot chocolate each.

"Lamb's fry is easy to make," she says to me. "If you'd like to see how."

"Yes, please," I reply. Then I could make some for Dad on Sunday mornings."

"You are a very thoughtful young man," Mrs Cameron says. "One day you'll make somebody a wonderful boyfriend."

That word!

With my mouth full of hot chocolate, I nearly choke as I cough and I feel it go up my nose.

"You OK, son?" Dad asks, coming around and patting me on the back.

"It must have gone down the wrong way," I manage to say. "That happens sometimes. Usually with fizzy drink though. Either that or I was drinking it too fast."

Ron is staring at me. I can't read his face. Is he amused or angry?

"I'm sorry Mrs Cameron." I apologise. "It's just that everything you make is so delicious that my body can't seem to get enough of it."

I glance at Ron. He's grinning and rolls his eyes when he sees me looking at him. I think we're OK again.

"Tell you what." Mrs Cameron says. "Mr Cameron, your Dad and Karl are about to go and cut some more mulga for the cattle in one of the northern paddocks. Why don't I show you how to do lamb's fry while Ron is packing up the Land Rover?"

I thank her and drink the rest of my chocolate without any further problems.

I listen carefully and observe. Gravy. Sliced lamb's liver. Flour. Onion. Pepper. Bacon. Oil. Pan. Got it!

Mrs Cameron lets me do a few, to add to her couple, and thanks me for preparing her lunch. LOL.

Ron comes in and gathers the couple of boxes and the Esky that Mrs Cameron has prepared for us. She adds, "I've put some bits in the Esky for Kurt to practise his lamb's fry for your breakfast tomorrow."

She hugs me 'goodbye' but doesn't squeeze my glutes. Haha. I guess I just expect that now whenever I get a hug from Ron.

"You want to drive, Champ?" Ron asks. My grin is enough of an answer so he tosses me the keys.

We head south and I follow Ron's directions. We pass the paddock where we had seen the horses mating during the previous holidays. I was hoping that they would still be at it! I don't see any.

We check all of the wooden fences that were not done the first time when we were here. Then we stop for morning tea.

"So, `everything you make is so delicious that my body can't seem to get enough of it', eh?" Ron says to me, mocking my words to Mrs Cameron, as he unloads the thermos and some fresh muffins.

"Well, it's true," I tell him.

"I know something else that your body can't seem to get enough of!" he tells me, grabbing the front of his own jeans.

"You ought to talk!" I say. "You can't seem to get enough of my backside!"

"I don't hear you complaining!" he says, patting my glutes.

"Of course not!" I tell him. Then I pause and say, "Because I like it too!"

When I put my hand on the bulge in the front of his jeans, he asks, "Hey, Champ. Can we wait until tonight? Let's get the work done and then muck around as much as you like when we get to the hut."

"Deal." I reply. I gulp the rest of my tea, washing down my muffin. "Come on then, let's get the work done!"

Star pickets and wires. Fixed.

Lunch. Then we pee together.

More wire fencing. Done.

It's late afternoon when we get to the southern hut.

Ron shows me around. It's kinda like the old one up north. And, also, like a mini-bunkhouse. Toilet, shower, big beds, small table and chairs, stove – except this one is more modern and runs on gas, like the hot water. And, as a bonus, there is a small gas-powered fridge that Ron kicks into life and stows some of the perishable food in it.

"So, what's for dinner, chef?" Ron asks. He stares at me long enough to be amused by the expression on my face. Then he adds, "It's OK, Champ. Mrs Cameron has given us some roast pork and vegetables. All we have to do is heat it up. Oh, and there's apple sauce too. Plus, a custard tart each for dessert."

"It's too early for dinner," I say. "But I could use a good shower, after a hard day's work." I exaggerate wiping my forehead. "I'm sticky from perspiration and would really like to be clean for dinner."

"You don't have to sell me on having a shower!" Ron says. "Let me undress you, and you can do me."

We take turns removing a piece of each other's clothing. By the time all of our clothes are off, we are both rock hard.

One thing this place has, which the other one and the bunk house don't have, is a full-length mirror, beside the shower room door.

Ron and I stand side-by-side and I look at our reflections. I can't help comparing him and me. He's bigger, with big muscles. But, I note that I have muscles too. I run my fingers over them. He is handsome. I guess that I am too; that's what he tells me, with my blond hair, swept to one side by my new haircut. Then there's my blue eyes and my `chicken feathers' and my Junior Moby. Everything looks just like a slightly smaller version of Ron. Even our nice pair of erections!

Ron can probably see and sense what is going through my mind. He teases me with, "...and you'll probably make someone a wonderful boyfriend!", echoing Mrs Cameron's words and imitating her voice.

There is a moment of silence.

"About that boyfriend thing," I say, seeing that Ron has mentioned it. I attempt to explain myself. "I wasn't saying that we were boyfriends. I meant that if we came over to the house together just after Dad saw us showering, and both with erections, we could have looked like... umm, `really close' friends, but maybe we didn't want Dad and Karl and your aunt and uncle to think that we were being too friendly with each other."

"Do you think that we are being too friendly with each other?" he replies.

More thinking time.

"Maybe," is all that I say at first. Then I add, looking at his face, "I like mucking around with you. Maybe we shouldn't be doing it, but I really like it. And I like you. As a friend. That doesn't make us boyfriends. Does it? What do you think, Ron?"

"To be honest, Champ," he says, "I know that what I am doing with you is not only wrong, but I'm breaking the law. I'm eighteen and you're thirteen, and the law says that it's wrong. If anyone found out, I could go to prison. That's why I nearly shit myself when your dad came in and saw us, in the shower together, both with erections."

"But, he knows that guys have morning wood," I reply.

"Yes, but you and I both know that it doesn't happen only in the morning, don't we? Look at us now."

I look at us in the mirror again. I don't know whether to smile because I like what I see, or to frown at the idea of us being so naughty together that something bad could happen to Ron.

"Do you mean that I shouldn't do this?" I take hold of Moby and try to smile.

"Not even this." He takes hold of one of my glutes. He's not smiling. But he's not frowning either.

"But I like doing this stuff," I tell him. "Why is it wrong if we both like it?"

I think of mucking around with my brother and William. Is that wrong too? And I want to muck around with Mr Grant. Will that cause him to end up in prison?

"Just because we like doing it doesn't mean that it's OK. The law is there so that an older person doesn't take advantage of a younger person or hurt them just to please themselves," Ron explains. "Sometimes people can't help themselves and can't stop once they get started."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Could we just get dressed now and not have a shower together, even though we want to?" he puts to me.

"Probably. If you say so. But I wouldn't be very happy," I answer. Then, I feel Junior go soft, and I ask, "Ron, are we still going to have a shower together?"

"Do you want to?" he asks, rubbing my back and shoulders, instead of gripping my backside.

"Yes," I answer. "I do."

"Why?" he asks.

Is he joking?

"Because I want to. And it feels good. And I want to make you feel good. It does make you feel good, doesn't it, Ron? Like the first time in the swimming hole."

"Yes, it does, Champ," he tells me. "And I especially like doing it with you," he adds. "We brighten each other's aura."

"I wish I could see your aura," I say. "I want to make it glow like you say mine does when you're near me."

"Oh, well," Ron says, "seeing that we are `dressed for the occasion', we may as well have a shower then." He smiles.

Ron adjusts the water temperature and steps in to test it. "Perfect!" he says and beckons me to him.

I put my arms around him and just hang on, my head on his chest, almost on his shoulder. He takes the soap and rubs my back from my shoulders to my glutes. I expect him to say `it' but he doesn't. He just keeps rubbing, massaging.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"What for?" he asks, and his massaging stops.

"For mentioning `boyfriends'. It seems to have made you very sad. And, I'm sorry for making you sad. I just want to make you happy, like you make me happy."

He steps back away from me and soaps up my front. His too. Then he puts the soap down and hugs us together. He sways from side to side, holding me, and with my arms around him again. It feels like we are dancing, the way old people do, but without any music.

Moby and Junior are not hard. But they are not fully soft either. Just chunky. Just the way I like Moby to be and to feel. We `dance' together for a long time and we keep turning to share the hot water on our backs.

Suddenly he asks, "Would you like to be my boyfriend, Kurt?"

I want to ask him why. But I don't. But I want to know. So I do. "Why?"

We stop `dancing'.

"Because I want us to be friends. And you're a boy. So, you could be my boy-friend," he says.

I've heard that stupid stuff before! It's not really convincing, and I tell him so. Then I look up at him and smile. "You'll have to do better than that!"

"OK," he says, and I feel him brighten. "How about this? Even though a boy usually has a girlfriend and a girl has a boyfriend, I suppose that a boy can have a boyfriend. And, there's something special about boyfriends. They want to be together and to do stuff together and to make each other happy."

"That's not bad," I say. "But I expected more from someone who goes to university!"

"You little smart-arse!" he says and starts tickling me under the arm with one hand and holding me with the other so that I can't get away."

"Aargh! Stop! Stop! I'm too ticklish there!" I squeal.

He stops tickling but still holds me and asks, "So, what should I have said then, Mr Smart-Alec Eighth-grader?"

I start, "What you should have said was, `You have a sexy body and I want to muck around with it, and with you, and make you happy when I muck around with you, and when you muck around with me'."

"Yeah, that sounds like eighth-grade!" he tells me, making fun of me, but laughing. I like it when he laughs. He has a special glow! Maybe I'm beginning to see his aura too.

"OK, then," I say. "I guess that makes us boyfriends. But... we have to be secret boyfriends. You're not allowed to tell anyone. And you have to be careful not to give anybody hints when we are together. And you're not allowed to kiss me like boys and girls do. Deal?"

"Deal!" he says.

A pause and then I ask him, "Ron, what else do boyfriends do?"

"Why do you want to know?" he asks.

"Because I want to be a really good boyfriend for you." I say it and I mean it, and I want to know.

"Well...," he starts, "boyfriends like to be together a lot of the time."

"I like being with you," I tell him.

"And they like to do things for each other," he continues.

"I like doing things for you, Ron. I like cooking your breakfast and helping you fix fences," I say.

"And, they like to touch each other," he adds.

I'm quick to answer, "Well, I really like touching you Ron. All over." I grin at him. He knows what I mean.

"And, sometimes but not always, boyfriends like to play around in bed together."

"I especially like playing around in bed with you," I tell him. "And I like you teaching me new stuff."

"And you don't like kissing," he says, repeating my earlier comment, but I can tell that it's really a question that he's asking me.

"No," I tell him. "I don't like people mashing their lips together and sucking on each other's face and smelling the other person's breath, like I see men and women do. Boyfriends wouldn't do that, would they?"

He doesn't answer that question but asks me one back. "Do you like it when your Dad kisses you good night?"

"Yes," I say, "but that's different. Because he kisses me on my head or cheek, and he tells me he loves me and that feels good."

"Would you let your boyfriend kiss you like that, if it wasn't on the mouth?" he asks.

I think about it. "I suppose so," I say.

Before he says anything else, Ron turns me around, hugs me from behind and holds my body against his. I can feel his chunky Moby and curly pubic hair on my smooth glutes. It feels good. Then he kisses me on my head.

"That OK?" he asks.

"Sure." I answer.

Then he kisses me on the side of my face. "What about that?"

"That's OK, too," I tell him.

Then he starts to kiss me on the side of my neck under my ear and down to my shoulder, then up again. It sends shivers through my body and I hear myself moan, "Ooh. That feels really good!"

"So, kissing like that is OK?" he asks.

"Absolutely, if it feels like that!" I tell him.

"Then, I guess we can be boyfriends!" he announces. "What do you say?"

"Yes!" I answer. "Definitely." Then I have to ask something that has been running around in my head. "But two boyfriends can't do what a girlfriend and boyfriend do, can they, Ron?"

"What do you mean, Champ?" he asks.

"It's hard to say it," I tell him. "but you know what we saw the horses doing last holidays? The stallion has a `pole' and the mare has a `hole'. And the stallion puts his pole in her hole and then he spurts and pulls out, and a year later she has a baby foal."

"You mean `mating' or `fucking'?" Ron asks me.

"Yes. That's what I wanted to say." I think of what Dad told me about him and Mum, and his `one big mistake' that ended up with Karl and me being born. "Boyfriends can't do that, can they? Because they both have poles, not holes."

Again, he doesn't answer me directly but says, "Kurt, there are somethings that boyfriends do, that I think we should not talk about. At least until you are older. Maybe sixteen."

"Why not?" I ask. "Why can't you tell me now?"

"Kurt, when you are sixteen," he says, "I promise that I will tell you everything. Just not now. OK? Can you trust me on that?"

"Will we still be boyfriends, when I'm sixteen?" I ask him.

"Of course, if you still want to be boyfriends then. Maybe you'll find another boyfriend by that time." He says. Then adds, "Or a girlfriend."

Another boyfriend?

I think about it.

I can still muck around with Karl. He can't be my boyfriend. He's my brother. And I don't think William will be my boyfriend. Maybe he'll be Karl's boyfriend. There's nobody else whose boyfriend I could be. No boy and no girl. I wonder what it would be like to `fuck' a girl. Like Dad used to do with Mum. And Aunt Lilly.

"Will I still see you every holidays? So that we can do more boyfriend stuff?" I ask, hoping that holidays will keep coming around very quickly.

"Yes, I'd like to see you, every holidays," he answers.

"Then I can wait. And I do trust you," I tell him. "Because you promised."

He kisses my neck again and I shiver. I feel Junior start to grow. I reach behind me a grab hold of chunky Moby. He's still soft enough to squeeze and I love the feel of him getting hard in my hand.

"So, are we gonna do it here or in bed?" Ron asks. I don't have to ask him `do what?'

"Here!" I tell him. "And I'd like you to keep kissing my neck. On the other side too."

He backs away, reaches for the soap and lathers up Moby, my glutes, between my legs and then, with soap all over his hands, he holds Junior in one hand and my balls in the other. "You are so smooth and slippery and you feel wonderful," he tells me, and starts to play. Junior. Abs. Pecs. Nipples. Kisses my neck. Both sides. Feels each of my balls with his soapy hand. Then his hand slides up and down Junior.

"Keep your hand still," I say after a while. When he stops moving it, I push Junior in and out of his fist. "Ooh," I moan. When he kisses my neck again, I tell him, "I'm going to cum soon. Keep your hand still." He holds his arm against my body and allows me to push in and out. I can feel Moby resting straight up between my glutes. He starts pushing up and down my crack while I'm pushing in and out of his hand. This feels so good!

He kisses my neck again and my balls tingle. "Here it comes!" I tell him. He spins me around and I spurt all over him, like we did with each other this morning.

I feel weak. I tell Ron and he holds me against his body. I part my legs so that he can put Moby between them under my balls. Then I close them again and grip Moby with my thighs. Ron holds my chest against his, almost lifting me off my feet, and starts pushing Moby in and out. Slowly. Faster. Slower. Faster. Slow. Fast. Faster. Very fast. He freezes but Moby doesn't. He throbs between my legs and I know that he is spurting.

I can't reach Ron's neck so, for no apparent reason, I kiss his nipples which are close to my mouth. "Fuck!" Ron calls out and I feel Moby give a huge jump and another spurt.

"Are you sure that no other boyfriend has been teaching you stuff while my back was turned?" Ron asks me, joking of course. "That was incredible. Where did that come from?"

"I don't know," I tell him. "It just felt like the right thing to do, seeing that I couldn't kiss your neck."

"I'm so looking forward to when you're sixteen," he says.

"I'm going to be sixteen next holidays," I tell him, smirking.

"Sorry, Champ," he says. "But nice try!"

We clean up and dry off.

"Why don't I be the cook tonight?" he tells me. "Seeing that you're cooking breakfast."

"Deal, boyfriend!" I say, and slump onto one of the beds. This place doesn't have a lounge like the other one.

"Hey, don't over-do it," he warns. "Because, if you do, one day you are going to slip up. Then... disaster!"

 

(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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