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 17:

"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!"

 

 

Chapter 18 – Poker Faces

 

Dinner is delicious. I must thank Mrs Cameron, but for now, I thank the cook! "Nice food, dude!" I say.

"So, you're a poet too, are you?" he asks. "I wonder what else you can do."

"I can wash up," I tell him. "But, if I do, then you have to wash up after breakfast. Deal?"

The deal is sealed with a fist-bump.

While Ron's putting everything away, I make us a cup of tea.

"I brought a pack of cards with me," Ron says. "Would you like to learn how to beat your brother at poker?"

Stupid question! Predictable response from me!

"The most important thing is to watch his face," Ron tells me. "I've seen him. He puts his tongue on his bottom lip when he has a good hand and he wrinkles his nose once if it's a bad one. Every time."

"How does that help?" I ask.

"Well, if you guys were playing for Monopoly money, or matches, or points to see who does the dishes or clean the toilet, you could fold if you had a bad hand and knew that he had a good one. Or if he was bluffing and you had a good chance of beating him, you could raise his stake."

"Can we try it?" I ask. "You be Karl, and do those things, and see if I get it right."

Ron deals the cards. I lose the first three hands.

"You weren't watching," he says. "I did it, just like Karl does."

"Yes, I did too watch you," I tell him. "But I didn't see you do anything."

"I did it while you were concentrating on your cards and shuffling them around. You missed it. This time watch my face before you focus on your cards."

I do. I win. "I've got it!"

"Second rule," he says, "is not to shuffle your cards around. I can tell straight away if you have a pair or three of a kind or a straight or a flush."

"But they're easier to see if I put the cards together," I protest.

"And easier for me to see too," Ron tells me. He adds, "You've got a pretty good memory. Can't you just imagine them being together, without actually moving them? There are only five cards."

"Let me try it. Deal again," I tell him.

"Remember," he says. "Watch my face first and then don't rearrange your cards."

I win again.

"One more," Ron says.

I win.

"How did you know I had a bad hand?" he asks me. "I didn't give you any signs."

"Yes, you did," I say. "They just weren't the ones that you told me that Karl does."

"What are you talking about?" he asks.

"I do have eyes," I tell him. "When you have good cards, you un-fan them and look at everyone else. When you have bad cards, you clench your fist."

"When did you see that?" he asks.

"Back at the house," I tell him.

"Then how come you didn't see what your brother was doing?" he asks me, looking confused.

"Apart from the fact that he was sitting alongside me, why would I be looking at my brother? I see him every day of my life. I much prefer to look at you, because ..." I don't need to finish.

"You absolutely amaze me!" he says. "Your brother's going to be totally pissed off when you beat him at poker! Just remember to sit opposite him. Better drink your tea before it gets cold!"

We rinse our empty mugs and leave them to drain.

No pyjamas. Just boyfriends snuggling, naked, together in bed. Feeling. Playing. Sleeping.

 

Thursday morning. Moby nudges me awake, but peeing takes priority over everything else.

Same routine as all previous mornings with Ron. Then, back to bed. With a towel. Moby between my legs from behind. Me on top of Ron with Junior between his legs from the front then between his glutes at the back. And this morning I try kissing his neck, seeing that I'm able to reach it. Same reaction as kissing his nipples in the shower! LOL. Our spurting this morning is far more electrifying! Could mucking around with a friend possibly get any better than this?

Ron and I decide to shower again considering that there is plenty of hot water. The tank is full, pumped from the nearby creek by the windmill. The purpose this morning is to clean up and freshen up. But I really love to feel him washing me with soapy hands and I love the feel of his wonderful body of muscles as he lets me wash him.

After we get dressed, I prove to him that I'm a quick learner. He has no complaints about my lamb's fry and bacon with toast and tea. I'm not sure that mine is up to Mrs Cameron's standard but pretty good for a first attempt. I think that the main difference is in the gravy.

Ron washes up while I use the outside toilet. The roll of toilet paper is nearly `empty' so I get two more from Ron and take them out to the toilet so that the next person doesn't find themselves in a very embarrassing situation!

Ron puts some things from the fridge into the Esky for our lunch, morning tea and extras for afternoon tea. "If we are close to finishing, we may as well stay out and get it all done," he says. Then he takes it to the Land Rover.

He doesn't have to ask. He just hands me the car keys.

We work hard all day. I somehow feel more like a man than a 13-year old school kid. Ron treats me as an equal and compliments me for everything that I do. And I really like just sitting with him, drinking a mug of tea and `chewing the fat', chatting about `things'. My school. His uni. My friends. His friends. Smoking is a no-no! The occasional can of beer is OK. The drought. His uncle's situation. The cattle. The mulga. Our bodies' `hot spots'. Horses. Fences. Highs and a low: the fact that tonight will be our last night alone together, for nearly 3 months.

"I think you'll like what Mrs Cameron has prepared for us for dinner," Ron tells me. "It's one of her special stews with lamb and beef chunks, carrots, potatoes, onions and parsnips. Goodness know what other tasty stuff she puts in it but it's always delicious. I'll put in on the stove on low to heat it up. That should give us plenty of time to wash off today's grime in the shower." He grins at me.

`Plenty of time' tells me that he wants to play for as long as possible.

"I have an idea," I tell him. "Where did you put the pack of cards?"

He takes them out of a drawer. "What are they for?" he asks.

"Just to make things a little more interesting," I say, "why don't we each draw a card from the pack. The highest card gets to take a piece of clothing off the other person. And we keep going until one person is naked."

"What happens then?" he asks. "What if the other person still has lots of clothes on?"

"Good point!" I tell him. "I suppose they'll just have to take off their own clothes. Or... we can keep drawing cards until that person is naked anyway."

"That sounds better to me," Ron says, and we start to draw cards.

It doesn't take long for us both to get rid of each other's boots and socks. By that time, I have also lost my shirt. Ron still has his. Of course, we are going to leave the jeans and undies until last! It's much more fun that way.

I win the next draw and I make sure that I run my hands all over his muscly chest and abs before I take hold of the bottom of his shirt. He bends forward so that I can pull it over his head.

I also win the next one. Haha. I get to remove his jeans. Slowly. Feeling my way around them. And into them. Then lowering them over his bulge up front. This leaves him with a very noticeable Moby stretching upwards to the left in his undies.

My jeans come off next, and he makes sure that he has a good feel of everything too. Including my `nice glutes'.

He reaches for the waistband of my undies. "Uh-uh!" I tell him. You haven't won yet!

And he doesn't win yet! He thinks that he is onto a good thing when I draw a 6. Until he draws a 3!

I take my time. I run my fingers around the inside of his waistband. And around the elastic in each leg, brushing against his balls. I go around again, with my whole hand instead of just my fingers. I feel his balls and his patch of `possum fur' and his glutes. He has a wet blotch. Ready for wanking!

From the waistband at the back, I run one hand down his crack with a finger between his glutes, and give one side a squeeze. I use my other hand at the front to trace the hair from his belly button, aka `navel', down into his `pubic possum patch', around the bottom of Moby and up to the top. His splotch spreads. Bigger. Wetter.

Then, using both hands, I lower his undies, first at the back so that his glutes hang out, then down at the front, making sure that I take down Moby with the waistband. As I continue to slowly pull the front down, Moby goes with the undies until it is straining downwards. The farther I continue, more of Moby comes into view until Moby fully escapes and jumps upwards, flicking a blob of pre-cum into the air. It lands on my shoulder. He smirks at me.

I can tell that he wants to get on with it, so I pull his undies right down and he steps out.

He reaches for my undies, and I remind him of the `rules'. "You're teasing me!" he says.

It takes two more draws before he `wins'. He doesn't waste any time whipping them down, and I step out.

He checks the gas under the stew then takes my hand, and leads me towards the shower.

I think, `This is nice. My boyfriend is holding my hand!

We wash each other with soap, and I make sure that his possum patch is well and truly cleaned.

I discover that while soap is slippery, pre-cum is even slipperier.

"You go first," I tell him. I can tell that he wants to. Not impatient. Just eager.

Instead of holding me from behind, he faces me and slides Moby between my legs. "I want to see the expression on your face while I'm doing it," he tells me.

Suits me! I want to see his face too.

He holds my hips and I put my hands on his shoulders. He slides Moby in and out. He's watching it. I watch it too and I like the way it disappears and then re-emerges. Over and over I feel it.

Sometimes he grabs under my glutes, lifting me almost level with him and pulls me against him while he pushes his hips forwards and backwards. I reach up a little and am able to kiss his neck. He groans, leans his head back and closes his eyes.

I love the feel of Moby sliding under me. Ron lowers me with his hands and my full weight is resting on Moby and I feel him sliding hard under my balls and against the part of Junior that is inside my body.

Ron is changing between going slower and then faster. Sometimes looking into my eyes. Sometimes closing his.

I suddenly feel something!

"Ron," I start to say.

"Shhh!" he tells me and keeps pumping, enjoying every moment of it.

"But Ron," I try again.

"Wait," he says.

Unfortunately, I can't, and, leaning back, I spurt up between our bodies, hitting Ron under his nose and under his chin.

His throat produces funny noises and he grits his teeth as though he is trying to make a decision. He pushes a couple of more times and then pulls Moby right back out. "Aargh!" he calls out as he spurts up, all over me!

He checks out my huge smile, then pulls our two bodies together. I feel Moby give a couple of more jerks against my stomach.

He holds me tightly and we `dance' together for about a minute. Then we let the hot water rinse us off before we clean ourselves properly with soap.

"Oh, wow!" he says. "That felt incredible, and you should have seen your face! I think you were enjoying it as much as I was."

"If I hadn't been enjoying it, I wouldn't have spurted first," I say, "and you didn't even have to use your hand on Junior. He just exploded!"

"Until the next holidays, I'm going to remember your face, just the way it was tonight," Ron tells me. At first, I think that he is going to kiss me. Then he doesn't. Then he does, on my head and cheek and neck.

"And I'm going to remember watching Moby going in and out and feeling him rubbing against my body," I say.

I know that I will replay what I saw and what I heard and what I felt, over and over in my mind until I see Ron again. And I wonder whether there will be any new memories created in the morning before we head back to the house.

 

Fortunately, dinner is not burnt. Beautiful stew with buttered bread rolls.

Maybe I shouldn't have had two bowls. But, I enjoyed them.

 

Ron and I snuggle in bed. We change positions a couple of times but I prefer it with him behind me. `Spooning me', he calls it. And that's how we wake in the morning. Doing sexy stuff with Ron and spurting so strongly certainly helps me to sleep well!

Friday. We muck around in bed for a while but I ask Ron if we can repeat exactly what we did last night, in the shower.

We do. Except, Ron gives Junior a hand this morning because he shoots first. OMG. How great does this feel! So much better than just `being gentle' with Karl or with William. And way, way, way better than doing it myself.

I wonder whether it could possibly feel better doing stuff with a girl, like Dad did with Mum when they were young. And I remind myself that when Karl and I were born, Dad was younger than Ron is now.

I have a lot to think about. Including Mr Grant. I wonder what he does for fun? And who with? If he only does it by himself, I think that, now, I could make him much happier!

I cook breakfast. Ron cleans up.

With the gas fridge turned off and the Land Rover loaded with everything that needs to go, we head back.

I drive. On the way, Ron tells me that if he didn't know I was so young, he would think that I was an experienced driver. I want to hug him, but I steer around the remains of a dead sheep instead.

"Hello boys," Mrs Cameron greets us. "We were expecting you back for lunch. Good timing though, Morning tea will be ready soon. The others have gone for a short ride to exercise a few of the horses. I expect them back soon."

"Thank you, Aunty Daph," Ron says. "Kurt and I will go over to the bunk house and clean up a bit. We'll be back shortly."

We wash our hands and then Ron grabs me in a hug. "I'm gonna miss you, Champ," he says. "This might be our last few moments of privacy together until the next holidays."

"I've really liked being with you for the past week," I tell him. "Thank you for letting me drive the Land Rover and for all the fun that we've had, and for everything that you've taught me. I'm gonna have a lot of fun practising it all, but it won't be the same without you."

"Just remember," he says. "If you want to imagine me doing it to you, use your left hand. That way I can be with you whenever you want me to be." We both laugh.

"And, remember that you promised to tell me everything else when I turn 16," I remind him.

"I reckon that you could even find another boyfriend before then," he says. "You are a very handsome... young man. Nice glutes, too. Did I ever tell you that?"

"Not once!" I say.

"Clever too!" he replies.

"I'm going to have three birthday parties before the next holidays so that I can be sixteen when you come back!" I tell him. "I want to know everything else and do it all with you! Are we still boyfriends?"

"Yes, Champ. You're my boyfriend!" He squeezes his favourite, `cute', part of my body as if to `seal the deal'. I squeeze my favourite part of his body too. Moby likes me.

"I don't know about the `sixteen' thing, Champ," he says, "but I'm pretty sure that you'll have more `chicken feathers' by the next time that I see you."

We walk back to the house, just as Karl, Dad and Mr Cameron come cantering back. I mean, their horses do. They head straight to the shed for unsaddling.

I take a few steps to follow them. Ron says, "You can go over there, Champ, if you like. I'm going to see if my aunt needs any help."

"You mean, pinch some extra cookies or a muffin before we come over," I say to him.

"Smart arse!" he says, happily. He takes a couple of paces then turns and says, "But you're right."

"Hi Dad. Hi Karl. Hello Mr Cameron," I call to them as I catch up with them.

"G'day, young fella," Mr Cameron replies. "Been working hard, as usual, have you?"

"Yes, sir," I answer. "But I expect that Ron will tell you everything that we've been able to do."

Dad hugs me. "Missed you!" he says.

"Me too," I tell him. I turn to my brother. "Hi Karl, can I give you a hand?"

"Thanks, Kurt," he tells me. He takes the saddle and I get the rest. We put everything down then Karl gives me a huge hug. "And I've missed you, too," he says. "I wish we could have had more time together."

"We can share everything in the car on the way home," I reply. He nods. Then I add, "Mrs Cameron has morning tea ready. Ron and I have already washed up, and he's gone to get a head start on the food."

Karl opens his mouth to say something and then, realising that Ron's uncle is with us, he closes it again. Then Mr Cameron heads off, ahead of us, allowing us some talking time together.

"Pity we won't be able to look for the possums again tonight," Karl says to me as we head for the bunk house.

I know what he's hinting at. I'll bet that he's really horny (another word that Ron has taught me). "Maybe we can see one near our place tonight," I reply, conveying to him what I'm sure he wants to hear: him and me in private, wanking.

"Sorry boys," Dad says. "We won't be staying at home tonight."

"Why? Are we staying here?" I ask, and multiple possibilities run through my mind. Karl & Me. Ron & me.

"No. Ron needs to get back to Sydney, so I offered to Mr Cameron that we would drive him to Cunnamulla so that he can get a bus to connect with the overnight train to Brisbane, then fly to Sydney tomorrow morning."

"Brisbane?" Karl asks, brightening. "We could go too and see Mum!" Then, I can tell from the sudden change of expression on his face that he has just realised that would mean travelling overnight with `Ron, the assassin'.

"Sorry, boys," Dad says again. "We'll be staying at a motel in Cunnamulla tonight and picking up some things for Mr Cameron in the morning, before we come back here for lunch. Then we'll head home."

Karl's expression is one of disappointment, and yet, relief about some potential travelling arrangements.

Dad says, "Besides, I wouldn't want my boys travelling back all alone. Maybe another time, eh?" I think that Karl doesn't know what I know about Dad and Mum and Pa's and Ma's attitude to him.

"When we are a bit older," I say to my brother, putting my arm over his shoulder, "Dad might let us go by ourselves, together."

For some reason, what I have just done, or said, stops Dad dead in his tracks, and he looks at me. Weirdly. "You've changed!" he says. "You're different. What has happened in the last week since you've been away?"

I'm suddenly fearful that Dad might somehow discover what Ron and I have been doing together and that we have become boyfriends. I can feel my heart thumping. My head hurts too.

"Maybe Ron tried to kill him!" Karl says.

I see an opportunity. "Yes, and he succeeded!" I say. Then, in my best impression of a pirate, I tell them in a slow, mysterious voice, "Ye be talking to the ghost of Kurt Andersen! Yous'll never find his body! Ran him through with a cutlass, the murderous dog did, then fed him to his pet white whale, Moby Dick, he did."

Dad isn't finished. "Very funny," he says. "We'd better finish off Moby Dick and find a new book, and something a little less bloodthirsty than Treasure Island, which seems to have had a great effect on you. No, what I meant was that you are somehow more mature than you were a week ago."

"I have no idea what you mean, Dad," I say, "unless working hard in a team with Ron and learning to drive has changed me in some way."

"Maybe I should ask Ron," Dad says.

That's the last thing I need! Who knows what information Dad will worm out of him!

"Wait! I know what it is!" I say. Dad and Karl both look at me, waiting for some revelation. "I can now cook lamb's fry and bacon. Ask Ron about that!"

Karl says, "Hey, Dad, can you teach me to drive?"

I add, "And can you teach me how to shoe horses?" I want to attach some value to what my brother has learned from Dad.

Dad calls out, "Aargh! My boys are growing up. Too fast! Soon they'll be Shaving. Hey! Slow down you two!"

I'm on a roll! "As a matter of fact, Dad," I say, "can you look at my chin? Do you have your razor with you?"

"Cut it out!" he says and swats me on the tail as I go up the two steps onto the verandah. I've learned to enjoy being swatted! By Mr Grant, Ron and Dad.

Subject of my altered personality... is closed! I hope!

"Dad's right," Karl says coming up close behind me. "You're different! What happened?"

Subject is not closed! I know that Karl will be far more persistent than Dad in getting to the bottom of it. I smile to myself and think, `getting to the glutes of it'! My heart starts to pound, again.

 

Karl looks at the dining table. "You didn't leave much for us!" he says to Ron.

I feel embarrassed that he is even saying something like this, as if it is an insult to the amount of food that Mrs Cameron has provided.

"Don't worry, love," she says. "It's just something to stop your stomachs growling until we have an early lunch, so that you can be on the road to meet Ron's bus in Cunnamulla."

I hope that Karl feels ashamed of his comment. Maybe Dad is right. Maybe I am more mature.

I enjoy my mug of tea and orange muffin.

 

"Anyone like a game of poker before lunch?" Ron asks. "We can use the Monopoly money. Everybody starts with $100."

Karl brightens.

Ron gives me a smirk and a wink.

"Why don't you sit with Dad," I say to Karl. I'll sit next to Ron.

I imagine, `The horseshoe team and the fencing team'.

I watch Karl carefully, sitting opposite him. I confirm Ron's observations of him. He sticks his tongue out just enough to wet his bottom lip. He has a good hand.

Next hand, he does it again and I fold.

Next hand he wrinkles his nose. I call his bluff and up the stakes. I win.

Next hand, Ron wins.

Next hand, Karl loses again.

His next hand is a good one, but Ron and I both fold. Karl displays his straight flush, which won him nothing from Ron and me.

His poker face is not its usual, happy self.

I begin to feel sorry for him. But I know now that I can beat him. Anytime, if I concentrate.

His next hand is a good one and I pretend to get sucked in and lose more money than I normally would. Ron half-turns and looks at me questioningly. I wink at him. He gets it and smiles.

 

After `refreshments', we stroll back to the bunkhouse and pack our bags then put them into our car. We fill in the time before lunch with euchre and gin-rummy.

Lunch is a feast. I thank Mrs Cameron and she gives me a hug and a kiss, just like Ma used to do. "See you for lunch, tomorrow," she tells Dad, Karl and me.

Dad reminds us all of the work that he and Karl have accomplished together. Ron does the same for him and me. Mr Cameron thanks us, shakes all of our hands strongly and tells us that we are welcome, anytime.

Ron receives a hug from both his aunt and uncle. Ron tells them that he hopes to see them both well next holidays. I think that it's a bit funny that they don't say they are looking forward to that too, as Ma and Pa would have said to Karl and me. Instead, they each give Ron a gift and tell him that he shouldn't open either of them until he gets back to Sydney. Oh, well, I suppose that different families have their own way of doing things.

 

Dad drives. Ron `rides shotgun'. I sit behind Dad so that I can see Ron.

Dad toots the horn as we leave. Everybody waves.

I imagine that we are going to drive back to The Village and then out to Cunnamulla. However, Dad says that there is a road through the property that heads east to Cunnamulla and will save us an hour of travel. The way he describes it, I see a triangle, with one side being shorter than the other two together. (Maths!)

I comment that in 24 hours, Ron will have ridden in a car, a bus, a train and a plane. He says that there will probably also be another train and a bus back in Sydney too. He says that the reason he's going home now is that he has `assignments' to finish off.

I'm glad that Mr Grant didn't give us homework to do during the holidays. In fact, he doesn't give us homework at any time, like Mr Grumpy and the other teachers used to. We do all of our work at school. And he helps us. Once, Mr Grant told us, when we asked him about homework, `If I can't teach it to you at school, I don't expect you to be trying to learn it at home. You should spend the time enjoying your families.' I told my Dad and he said that Mr Grant was a smart man.

Dad asks Ron where he is staying in Sydney because he knows, from previous discussions with Ron, that his parents live in Canberra... the capital of Australia. "If you threw in that last bit for our benefit," I tell Dad, "Karl and I do know our Australian geography!'

Ron tells us that he rents a room in a hostel near the university and that he shares with a `roommate'.

Dad says, "I suppose that would halve the cost." The he asks, "What's his name?"

Ron answers, "Pete." Then, after glancing back over his shoulder at me and seeing a disappointed face, he adds, "Pete is a girl. Her name is actually Peta, P-E-T-A, but it's easier just to refer to her as `Pete'. That way people don't ask questions."

"Nice move!" Dad says.

Karl asks, "Is she your girlfriend?" then he turns to me and moves his eyebrows up and down. I know what he's suggesting. I'm shocked. Devastated. Ron is supposed to be my boyfriend. Not Pete's!

Ron answers him, "Well, she's a girl and she's my friend." I've heard this line before! Recently. Ron half-turns in his seat and looks at me. I cross my arms and pout. Has he only been mucking around with me twice a day because he can't be at home mucking around with her? Fucking her? I'm not happy! I turn and look out of the window so that nobody will see my eyes. I think that I'm going to cry.

However, obviously concerned by the effect of his information on me, he says, "But, there's something that I should tell you guys. Peta only likes other girls." He checks out my confusion. "Your dad can explain that to you sometime. So, there's no risk of anything happening between us. Pete's happy with the arrangement."

"Pity!" Dad comments. "Sort of like your sister, eh?"

Whatever! I'm still annoyed that he didn't mention `Pete' while we were sharing our lives with each other over a mug of tea. He could have told me then, and explained it to me himself.

I blow my nose as more of an excuse to wipe my eyes, so that it's not too obvious.

 

There is a lot of conversation between Dad and Ron as we drive along a `road' that I've never been on before. More like a defined track. Karl has fallen asleep. I have too many things on my mind to go to sleep!

If Pete only likes other girls, what and who does Ron like? Ron and Pete obviously don't do stuff together. Do they see each other naked? Do girls have `chicken feathers'? Does Ron have a boyfriend in Sydney that he does stuff with? He must have! Why didn't he tell me that too? He did say that a friend at school taught him everything that he has taught me. Do they still see each other and do stuff? What's the other stuff that he won't tell me until I'm sixteen?

I'm still trying to make sense of it all when Dad announces, "Sorry, guys. I need a pit stop."

"Thank goodness!" Ron adds. "Me too."

"Me too," I say, undoing my seatbelt.

"Men to the right; ladies to the left," Dad says. He looks at my puzzled face. "It's what we always say," he tells me. "Ladies need to pee too, you know."

"We don't have any ladies!" I tell him, "in case you haven't noticed."

"I know. But I thought I'd say it anyway," he jokes.

Ron stands next to Dad and I stand next to Ron. None of us is too close to the other, but three lots of pee hose the dry, red earth.

Sleepy-head has woken up and joins us. He stands on the other side of Dad, away from Ron and me.

I finish first. Probably because I have the smallest bladder.

Then Dad and Ron zip up and climb back in and join me. Dad gives Karl a hurry up. "Come on! Stop playing with it and get your arse back in here!"

I don't know how Karl feels, but I'm shocked by what Dad has said. He never talks to me like that. Is he just being a smart arse, for Ron's benefit – men being men with men? Or does he really think that Karl and I `play with it'?

Dad and Ron laugh. I think I'm too embarrassed to join them, out loud, anyway. But when Karl gets back in, I make wanking motions near my crotch to him. He punches me. I probably deserve it so I don't complain!

"About half an hour to go," Dad tells us. "We'll go to a café and have a coffee or orange drink if you boys want one of those, maybe something to eat, then we'll drop Ron at the bus terminus.

Ron, obviously wanting to display to everyone that he doesn't bear the same negative feelings towards Karl that my brother shows towards him, asks, "Hey, Karl, what did you like best about working with your Dad this week?"

"Well, I knew that I wasn't going to be drowned in the water tank!" he snaps, without hesitation.

"Hey! Enough!" Dad reprimands him. "I've told you about that attitude this week. Now, answer Ron's question... politely."

"Sorry," Karl mumbles.

I'll bet that his aura is really dark at the moment. I can't see it, but I can certainly feel it, helped by his distrust of Ron and being first ridiculed and then told off by Dad. In front of Ron and me! My make-believe wanking wouldn't have helped either. And I know how much he hates apologising for anything.

He begins at the beginning. "Well, I enjoyed being with Dad and helping him." There is a pause, and he continues, "And learning how to shoe a horse, and Dad helping me do one hoof. Then all four later on."

"Is that all?" Dad asks.

"No. I really enjoyed Mrs Cameron's food, and playing cards after dinner... and winning!"

"Well, I know that you're good at playing poker. You must have just had an off-day before lunch, eh?" Ron tells him, trying to be nice, but reminding him of his loss. Ron winks at me. Karl can't see it.

"I suppose," he replies.

"What about the tanks and pumps?" Dad asks him.

"Well, I can't exactly say that I enjoyed that," Karl answers. "It was hard work, but I learnt a lot."

His mood seems to have lightened with the re-telling of his successes.

"What about you, Kurt?" Dad asks me. "What did you like best about being with Ron for most of the week?"

I can't actually tell them what I enjoyed most, can I?

I start, "Well, I almost came back alive until that pirate chopped me up." I know that I'm making fun of Karl's obsession with Ron's homicidal tendencies, so I don't dwell on it. "But I really loved being able to drive the Land Rover and being able to give Ron a hand in many different ways."

Ron looks at me, tilts his head a little and raises his eyebrows. All of which says to me, `Be careful with the words, Champ!'

I go straight on. "I helped him with the star-picket tool, and the wire-strainer, and cooked breakfast including Mrs Cameron's lamb's fry and bacon. And I even climbed the main mast and took a turn in the crow's nest, looking out for poisonous sea snakes and other monsters."

I think my venture into the world of pirate fantasy might have just terminated their interrogation of me.

Then Karl asks, "What about at night? What did you do at night?"

Ron looks at me and I can tell by his face that he hopes I have enough information to fill up an acceptable answer.

"Well, up at the first hut, after we washed up the dinner things, we sat on the lounge in front of the wood-burning stove with mugs of tea and just talked about the day's work and other stuff. Sort of like how Dad and Mr Cameron talk."

"Nice!" Dad says. "What else?"

"Down at the second hut, I REALLY enjoyed the hot water in the shower. And Ron and I played cards, too. Didn't we, Ron?" I throw the conversation over to him.

"We sure did, Champ," he says. "Maybe one day, you'll even be as good at poker as your brother."

I know that he's joking and just trying to help lift Karl out of his mood.

I look at Karl. He's grinning a superior grin. He won't be grinning when I play poker against him at home!

Dad says to my brother, "I know that I pushed you pretty hard, Karl, and you called me `a slave driver' once, but I'm really proud of you for not giving up, even when you had to paint the shed. And Mr Cameron saw how hard you worked and thought that you were really doing a man's job. He told me how lucky I was to have two hard-working sons. I'm proud of you both."

Ron adds, "Yeah, and Kurt, here, worked really hard every day. I must have really flogged him because I didn't hear a peep out of him all night, from where I was sleeping."

I think that Ron's comment is really smart. I also know what he means by `flogging' me. So does Junior. But Dad and Karl would think that he's only referring to himself as a bit of a slave driver, too. And then there's the `from where I was sleeping' bit to really have the other two thinking that we were beds apart! Technically, though, he is correct. It's not a lie! Just carefully misleading.

He looks at me and I wink. He winks back.

"And he didn't call you a `slave driver'?" Dad asks Ron.

"We don't stand for mutiny on my ship, Admiral Jan, sir," Ron answers, picking up on my bedtime fictional fantasies. "We cut off their balls and throw them to the sharks."

I nearly choke at what I hear come out of Ron's mouth. But Dad thinks it's hilarious and tells my brother, "You'd better check him out, Karl, the next time you guys have a shower – just to make sure that he's still all there!"

"Aye, Aye, Sir," Karl answers. He makes ball-scrunching motions at me. I answer him with wanking motions.

We arrive in Cunnamulla in pretty good spirits. Even Karl.

The first thing that Dad does is re-fuel the car, even though he says that he could have used more of Mr Cameron's supply from a 44-gallon drum in one of the sheds.

Then to the bus terminus where Ron pays for his ticket.

We head to a café with a Greek name, and Greek pictures all over the walls, just like the Acropolis café in Big Town. Dad orders coffee. Ron and I have tea. Karl has lemonade. Four custard tarts disappear in a couple of bites.

While we are talking, Ron checks his timetables for the bus and the train, and also for the plane. All good!

He tells us that, as a student, he gets discount prices on all three modes of transport. That's how he can afford to travel up and back every holiday.

Dad asks him about money and Ron tells us that he has a part-time job as a waiter at the Student Union and gets lots of tips, but he's also paid good money as a still-life model for some art classes once or twice each month.

"Do you wear a jock strap or a G-string while you are posing?" Dad asks?

"Nope," Ron answers. "All the tools come out of the shed." I know he means that his dick and balls are on show for the artists to draw. Naked. Totally.

"Does it ever get... embarrassing?" Dad asks him.

I'm interested too. I thought that Dad was going to say `stiff'.

"It's only ever happened once," Ron replies. "I just ignored it, but the class thought that it was a novelty, and I noticed some frantic sketching taking place before `things changed' back to normal."

I get it!

He continues, "Usually I just think of dead cattle, or sucking ice cubes, or imagining I'm standing in a cold shower. That works at keeping everything under control."

Karl is actually smiling. He understands all of Ron's meaning.

I smile too, but it's because I'm one-up on the art students – I've handled every part of the model's amazing body, instead of just being able to look at it and attempt to draw it.

Dad checks his watch and it's time to go. We head back to the terminus and the bus is waiting.

Ron collects his bag from the back. Dad shakes his hand and gives him a bit of a hug, so I don't worry about doing the same. Ron whispers, "Remember the left hand, Champ and I'll see your nice glutes next holidays."

Karl shakes his hand, at arm's length. No hug.

I'm suddenly very emotional about Ron going away. What an amazing, growing-up week I've had with him! If Dad notices my eyes and asks, I'll tell him that I've just had a memory of Mum going back to Ma and Pa's and that it made me very sad. He won't want to continue that conversation.

I blow my nose and dry my face.

As the brakes noisily release on the bus and it accelerates slowly, the three of us wave. Ron waves back, but he's looking directly at me, I'm sure.

"OK, guys," Dad says, let's go and check in to the motel and see what there is to do around here before dinner on a Friday night.

Dad pays, and the receptionist hands him the key. I hear her tell Dad that breakfast, in the morning, is included. He chooses for us to have it in their nice-looking café instead of being delivered to our room. Dad moves the car so that it's next to our room and we put our bags inside. Three beds. Dad lets us choose whichever one we want. Karl jumps in and picks first, of course, but I don't care anymore: if he's happy, I'm happy.

Dad checks out the motel information folder on the coffee table and tells us that Cunnamulla has a cinema and that, if we like, we can catch the afternoon screening of an old Star Wars movie.

What a treat! I've only ever been to the movies once before and that was with Ma and Pa and Mum in Brisbane years ago when we saw the Karate Kid.

Choc-top ice cream. Lemon squash. Popcorn. The theatre is crowded. It's strange being with so many people in the one place. It's exciting, but a totally different excitement to being alone with Ron.

And the sound is amazing. It's loud and seems to come from all around us, and I can feel my whole body vibrate when there are fighting scenes and weapons cracking.

 

Star Wars is sort-of just like a pirate story, only in space ships, with lots of noise and `special effects' and weird characters. I can see the similarities even more with the Knights of the Round Table.

 

When I get home, I'm going to be Luke Skywalker and trade my wooden sword for a light sabre! "Ssshhvrmmm! Ssshhvrmmm!"

Karl ducks as I wave my arms around.

It takes us a whole lot longer to walk around and have a look at all of the shops than it does in Big Town. And, we find something which Big Town doesn't have, a Chinese restaurant. "We're eating dinner here," Dad tells us.

He orders what he thinks we would like and four different dishes are put in the middle of the table so that we can choose what we want and take as much as we like.

Dad shows us how to eat using `chopsticks'. He is really good at using them. Karl calls them `knitting needles' and ditches them for a spoon and fork almost straight away. I sort-of get the hang of it after a while. (I've become good at using one hand this week. LOL.) Picking up pieces of meat is easy. Vegetables too. Dealing with cashew nuts is harder. Fried rice is impossible until Dad shows me the way to clump it first.

I've never had Chinese food before. I love the taste. At least, using chopsticks, a person would not suffer stomach pains from eating too much, too fast. Unlike Karl.

 

When we get back to the motel room, I'm starting to feel drowsy after a very full day. I think that Dad can see it, and asks, "You two want to have a shower before bed? I'll find something to watch on the TV while you're in there. Don't be too long, eh? Then I'll have one too. I need to wash my hair."

Karl replies, "Yep," and starts to strip off his clothes. "You coming too?" he asks me.

"Don't forget to check his balls!" Dad tells him, laughing.

"Aye, aye, Captain," Karl replies, saluting and strolling naked into the bathroom.

"You are joking, aren't you?" I ask Dad quietly.

"Would it matter?" he asks me. "Besides it'll make a change to him playing with himself at night when he thinks that I don't know what he's doing."

"What? You actually want me to let him play with my balls instead of his own?" I ask, as though I've never let him do that before.

He replies. "I know that you are growing up, and I've told you what things were like for me as a teenager. Close the bathroom door if it worries you that I might hear the pair of you checking out each other's body. It's possible that you might even discover that you enjoy it."

I shake my head as I strip off. Junior behaves himself in front of Dad. I head into the bathroom and close the door. It has a lock, so I lock it.

"You won't believe what Dad just told me," I say to Karl, who is already under the hot water."

Nice body! Now I see what Ron sees in me. The running water highlights Karl's muscles.

"What?" he asks.

"He said that it was OK, if I let you feel my balls and you let me feel yours, and that we both might enjoy it. And he knows that you play with yourself at night." I tell him, nudging him aside.

"What?" he exclaims. "Bullshit! You're just telling me that so that you can play with mine because you haven't jacked off all week, except that one time with me!"

I'm happy for Karl to think that!

"Go and ask him, if you don't believe me," I say.

He never believes me. He goes to the door, unlocks it, sticks his wet head out and says, "Hey, Dad, did you just tell Kurt that he and I could...?

He doesn't have to finish. "Yes, I did," I hear Dad's voice say. "So, don't be long."

Karl locks the door and gets back in with me. "I can't believe it or understand why he said that! But, I'm not complaining," he says. He picks up the soap. "Turn around."

 

He quickly washes my back, spends a bit of time on my glutes, and I part my legs for him so that he can clean between them. Then I turn around to face him. Junior is swelling up at his touch. Karl's is already standing at attention. It doesn't take long, with his soapy hands and my memory of Ron, for Junior to be identical to his.

I take the soap and do the same to him. Back first. Glutes. Between his legs. And I do something that he didn't. I reach between his legs and soap up his balls from underneath.

"That feels good," he says. "Let me do that to you."

I turn around, part my legs and bend over to make it easier for him. It does feel good. As he pulls his soapy hand back, he runs his fingers across and around my hole and I experience a shiver. That's something that Ron didn't do to me.

I don't do it to him.

We face each other and, with soapy hands, proceed to `milk the cow' for each other. He follows my lead. He says, "Doing it like this is fun! Great new idea! You have no idea how much I've missed this stuff... with someone else." He adds, "And it's only been a week."

It doesn't take long for us to both be spurting. We hug each other and clean up. "That was nice," I say to him. "Thanks!"

"Do you think that Dad is OK with us jerking each other off?" Karl asks and he turns off the taps.

"Well, I am going to pretend that I just let you play with my balls, and, only because he said so," I tell my brother. "But, that doesn't mean that we can't do this when he's not at home. I certainly wouldn't want him to think that we might be doing anything with William, either."

"True!" Karl replies. "Good point. So, as far as Dad is concerned, this was a one-off, feel and count each other, OK?"

"Yeah. But I'm gonna find it hard to pretend that I didn't enjoy it," I tell him.

"Leave it to me," Karl says. "If he knows that I've been feeling myself at night, then I'll fix things." Then he adds, "I thought that I was being careful in bed, and with him in the room. Obviously not!"

We dry ourselves and I go out first, with my towel draped down the front of me to hide Junior who is still pretty chunky, still wiping my face and head.

"Well, that didn't take long!" Dad says. "Did you enjoy that?"

"I can't believe you wanted me to let him play with my balls!" I say with disgust. I don't need acting lessons. I've become pretty good anyway! I add, "I think that Karl spent too much time checking whether they were detachable!"

Right then, Karl emerges. "Well, he's still got two," Karl says. He adds, "And, he insisted on counting mine too, like you said, but he wasn't too gentle about it. I think that we'd both prefer to check our own in future, thanks."

"OK," Dad says. "Sorry that I suggested it in the first place." He looks embarrassed. I think that it's not the sort of thing that a father should encourage his children to do with each other, even though Karl and I had already started doing it, ourselves, anyway, a long time ago.

"And," Karl continues. "Is there a problem with me scratching parts of my body if they are itchy at night? What did you think I was doing?"

My brother doesn't need acting lessons either.

Dad pulls an `oops' face, says nothing, and goes to take his shower, shutting the door behind him.

Karl and I hug, then high-five each other and put our pyjamas on. He has nice glutes 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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