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 18:

"I can't believe that 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 at it anyway!

I add, "I think that Karl spent too much time checking whether they were detachable!"

At that moment, Karl emerges. "Well, he's still got two," Karl says. "Plus, 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.

 

Chapter 19 – Just Brothers Together

Dad spends a long time in the shower. I reckon that either he has the cleanest hair in town by now, or he is just jerking off because Aunt Lilly isn't around anymore for him to `spend time with'.

Dad emerges with his towel around him and I check out the bulge. When he drops the towel, I recognise the familiarity of his `condition'. He quickly pulls up his pyjama pants to cover his still-chunky penis. Then he adds a T-shirt.

He tells us, "I've brought Moby Dick with me."

I smirk but try to not let him see it.

He continues, "Would you guys like to hear the last two chapters tonight?" adding, "Cunnamulla has a public library. I thought that we could go and visit it tomorrow morning and see whether we can find that some books that might interest you. Lucky for us, it's open for a few hours on Saturday mornings."

Karl and I agree, and, in bed, we hear of the destruction of the ship, the Pequod, the death of Captain Ahab who became tangled in harpoon ropes and drowned, and the loss of the rest of the crew except one, Ishmael. Then there was the uncertainty of whether Moby Dick swam away and survived, or not.

Dad hugs us, tucks us in, kisses us good night and apologises again for everything that he suggested earlier, then turns off the lights.

So, he jerks off too! If he continues to encourage me to ask him personal questions, and if he meddles in my and my brother's private activities ever again, I should ask him about wanking, and how he does it! But, hey, I love him.

 

Breakfast is nice. Juice. Cereal. Toast. Our choice of how we want our eggs cooked. Bacon. Sausage. Hash brown. Mushrooms. Pastries. I don't choose everything, unlike Karl.

We go around to the shops, and other places, for all of the things that Mr and Mrs Cameron need. Dad gives them a list and says that we will be back shortly to collect everything.

This town is so busy! There seem to be many more cars than I saw yesterday afternoon, and a lot more people on Saturday morning than in Big Town. And what about the noise! Car engines; car horns; people – talking, shouting, arguing, laughing, little kids crying; dogs barking; occasionally parrots squawking as they fly overhead. I'm glad that I don't live here. I suddenly appreciate The Village a whole lot more!

Then we head to the library. Quiet. And peaceful. And, wow! So many books! The librarian asks whether we are members and Dad explains where we live and that this is the first time that his two boys have ever visited a library. She makes us plastic membership cards and tells us that we may choose three books each and keep them for a month.

Dad describes the sort of books that we might like and asks her where we might find them. She leads us to the fiction shelves.

We browse for a while but don't choose three each, just three between us.

Dad says that he thinks these will keep us interested for the next month, then we can come back.

The nice lady shows us how to check out our books with our card in the electronic scanner. The machine prints out a piece of paper with my name, my books and the date when they are due to be returned. I put Peter Pan and Huckleberry Finn on my card. Karl has Tom Sawyer on his.

We pick up everything from the shops and head back. It's my turn to sit in the front and I make a head start on Peter Pan because it was the one which Ron had suggested.

Karl, in the back, says that he will start on Tom Sawyer. Dad reckons that our `preview' of these during our 3-hour drive won't hurt his bedtime reading.

 

"Kangaroos!" Dad says, pointing.

I leave Peter, Wendy, John and Michael in Neverland for the time being and make a mental note of the page number. It's only then that I realise that Karl is asleep in the back. I reckon that his body is probably using all of its energy to digest his breakfast!

I watch the mob bounding along parallel (maths!) with the car, only about 20m away from us. I can see one joey's head protruding from its mother's pouch. The other young (but more advanced) ones are hopping faster to keep up with the big `roos, which cover an amazing distance with each single leap. They suddenly stop, almost all at the same time, and sit up, tall, and watch us continue down the road.

Dad and I chat for a bit about the dryness of the land, and that's when he apologises for a third time about last night with Karl.

"He didn't just count my balls, you know!" I say in the best hurt voice that I can muster. "I don't know what he was trying to do, but it wasn't gentle like when we agree to wash each other!"

I'm hoping that this will be the end of the matter and that Dad will never mention it again.

Dad says, "I told you that you could ask me any questions if you needed to."

"Yes," I answer.

Do you have any questions now?"

I'm tempted! But, "No." I answer quite flatly. "Not at the moment. OK?"

"Fine," he says, "And, again, I just want to ap..."

"Don't!" I tell him. "Enough. I don't want to be reminded of it."

I can't tell whether Dad thinks I'm weird, or not quite grown-up enough yet to be discuss `masturbation' (another word that Ron has taught me), if that's where his `talk' and suggestions were heading, but I'm happy for him to think whatever he likes. In the meantime, I'll go on `being gentle' with Karl and William. And, if I do manage to get Mr Grant to play with me, Dad would never suspect anything, with my apparent attitude towards `that topic' right now.

 

Mr Cameron greets us and then helps us to unload everything. Some stuff for the sheds. Mostly, stuff for the house.

`Sleeping Beauty' even helps me with a bit of stuff for the bunk house.

"I heard what you said to Dad," he tells me when we are inside. I'm expecting him to be annoyed, but it's exactly the opposite.

"Brilliant!" he tells me. "That should shut him up and keep him off our case!"

"I didn't know that you were awake," I tell my brother.

"My brain heard my name, and my ears woke up," he laughs. "I just listened with my eyes shut."

I put to him, "What did you actually do in bed at night, while I was away?" Then I launch into giving him the third degree: "Were you wanking? Or just playing with yourself? How did Dad find out about it? Were you doing it in the bed right next to him? What were you thinking? Were you making noises? How come you weren't more careful? Why didn't you go down to where the possums are and do it there?"

He condenses all of my questions into one answer. "Well, the lights were off and I thought Dad was asleep so I just started `playing' with everything. I didn't spurt. It just felt nice. I really miss you and William."

I change one of Mum's sayings to: `A brother in need is a friend indeed!' We hug and agree to `make up for lost time' once we are by ourselves at home.

 

Another delicious lunch!

"Is there any more work to be done, Dad?" I ask. "I don't mind staying and doing more. Without Ron, I could join `your team'. I'm sure that me, you and Karl would work well together."

Was that bad English? Sorry Mr Grant! And Mum.

"You boys and Ron have done so much this week,' Dad answers. "Mr Cameron reckons it's over a month's work in just, what was it, only seven days? So, he's told me to take this afternoon and three more days off to spend with you both. Tomorrow, we'll clean up around our place and get the place smelling good. Monday, we'll pretend it's Sunday and we'll sleep in and you can try out your version of lamb's fry on me. Tuesday, we'll go into Big Town and see if there's anything you need for school next week then I'll come back to work on Wednesday. "You boys are old enough to look after yourselves now, aren't you, for a few days? I'll be home each afternoon. You could always keep reading the library books that you have started, if you get bored."

"We'll find something to do," I say to him. "We always do. Besides, William might be back later in the week. I'm sure that Mr Grant will want to spend a few days up at the school before the next term starts."

 

We say goodbye to Mr & Mrs Cameron. She gives me a hug and says, "It has been wonderful getting to know you, honey. You're a wonderful young man. Look after yourself."

"Thank you, Mrs Cameron. I hope that I see you next holidays, so that you can show me how to make an apple pie. By the way, Ron didn't complain about my lamb's fry!"

She has a tear in her eye and tells me, "Next time I see you, Kurt, I promise that I will teach you how to cook an apple pie!" She gives me another hug.

It's a bit of a strange farewell. Sort of like how she said goodbye to Ron.

Mr Cameron grips my hand and shakes it well. "Goodbye young fella. You're a really hard worker. I trust what Ron tells me. You'll make a terrific farm hand one day. Wouldn't be surprised if you were boss of your own spread by the time that you're 21."

 

Karl takes his turn at being in the front on the way home.

Dad pulls up outside our home. Nothing looks different. But when we go inside it stinks. Like smelly socks and stinky underwear. "Oh, no," Dad says. "I forgot to do that last basket of dirty washing. I'll put it on now. Karl, can you please go around and open all of the windows. Kurt, can you please get the room deodorant from under the sink and spray it around."

He suggests that we eat at the pub.

 

I could get used to this amazing food. Mrs Smith's. Mrs Cameron's. I make a mental note of how the food looks before we start eating it. I'm gonna try to make what I cook look like this. Mrs Smith's apple pie is delicious. Mrs Cameron's was better. Mine will be nearly as good, I hope.

When we get back, the house still smells, but nowhere near as bad as it did earlier.

Dad asks whether we want him to start on Huckleberry Finn, or for us to continue reading our Peter Pan and Tom Sawyer.

We're both into our own books, so we choose those.

Dad makes coffee for him, tea for me but just tells Karl that he can get himself a soft drink from the fridge.

Karl and I sit in the two lounge chairs with our books and rest our drinks on the floor. Dad sits at the table with the Newspaper that he bought in Cunnamulla.

"Almost time for a shower, then bed," Dad tells us.

My brother says, "You go first, Kurt. Call me when you're done. I'll keep reading."

"What's up?" Dad asks. "You guys always have a bath or shower together."

"Not tonight," Karl replies. "Not after the last one. It was painful."

"I'm sorry," Dad says, "but that was all my fault. Don't stop being friends because of me."

"No problem," I say with as little emotion as possible. "We're still friends!"

Dad looks upset. Guilty.

Karl winks at me as I get up.

I must admit that I miss somebody else soaping me up in the shower, whether it's Karl or Ron. Even Dad.

 

"Shower's free!" I call. Without Dad seeing it, Karl and I bump fists and smirk as we pass each other.

The one benefit of showering alone, is that I'm not in there for as long.

Neither is Karl.

I emerge from my bedroom, dressed in my pyjamas, while Karl is still under the running water. I flop back down with Peter Pan and pretend to be... unhappy? Not really. Chucking a tantrum? No. Not interested in talking. That's it!

Dad starts to apologise again, for the potential rift that he has caused between his two sons. But I cut him off. "Hey! Don't worry about it!" I tell him. Then I add, "It'll be OK... eventually."

In fact, I'm sure that it'll be OK tonight! Maybe even twice. LOL.

Karl joins me, on his own seat, and continues reading his own book.

There is a tense silence for over ten minutes!

I look over the top of my book and catch Karl's eye. I nod my head and eyes towards the bedroom. He waggles his head, almost unnoticeably in agreement.

Karl and I haven't discussed any of this, but I can tell that my twin brother and I are `on the same page'. I feel it.

He closes his book noisily, gets up, says, "Good night, Kurt," and goes to Dad. "Goodnight, Dad," he says. "You want to tuck me in?" He heads straight for the bedroom.

"You coming too, Kurt?" Dad asks, getting up from the table.

"In a minute," I answer.

I wait for a while then stroll in and put Peter Pan down next to my bed. I turn the covers back and slide in. Dad turns from Karl's bed to mine. "Goodnight, son," he says, and kisses me. "You want to be tucked in?"

"No thanks," I say. "I'm OK like this."

Karl says, "Dad, when you turn off the light, can you please close the door. Kurt and I need to talk."

"See you in the morning," he says, switching off the light.

"Good night," Karl and I say together.

Dad closes the door.

"Don't you think that we are being a bit too hard on him?" I ask my brother quietly.

"We're teaching him a lesson!" Karl replies. "And I'm sure that he's getting it. But I think we should `let him off the hook' in the morning. OK?"

"I think he was only joking," I tell Karl. "It all just sort-of got out of hand somehow."

"Yeah," he replies. "But I wasn't happy with him telling you that I was jerking off in bed, even if I was. And then he embarrassed me by telling everyone that I was `playing with it' when I was only taking a pee.

I'm feeling really guilty about punishing Dad for just being a cool dude, and funny, if that's what he thought he was doing and being.

I hear Karl move. Then I feel him slide in beside me. "Making up for lost time," he tells me. He's naked. He slips his hand down the front of my pyjamas and starts to fiddle with Junior. No reaction. He keeps going. Junior stays asleep.

"What's up?" he asks.

I feel Karl. He's stiff. "Obviously you're up, but I'm not," I say.

"Why? What's wrong?" he asks me.

"I'm worried that we've really hurt Dad's feelings," I tell him. "I couldn't live with myself if he was so upset that we made him cry."

"He won't be crying," Karl says. "Don't worry about it."

No matter how much he feels or tickles my balls and plays with Junior, nothing happens.

"I'll be back," I tell him, and roll across the top of him to get my feet onto the floor. "Don't go anywhere!"

 

I open and close the door. Dad is lounging in the comfy chair where I was, just staring straight ahead of him.

I go over to him. He looks up. "Can I have a hug?" I ask.

He sits up and pulls me sideways onto his lap, holding me tightly, just like Mum used to do, and he rocks backwards and forwards.

"Just don't say `sorry' again," I tell him, "or I'll scream."

I'm sure that he doesn't know whether to smile or not, so I do it for him.

I decide to use language that I know he'll understand, even though Mum would not approve. "Karl's really pissed off with you, you know!"

"What have I done?" he asks. "Was it because I basically told you that you could play with his balls, and you guys were a bit rougher with each other than I thought that you'd be?"

"That might have been the straw that broke the camel's back," I say. "But, he said to me that you were really hard on him while he was working with you and that you kept telling him that he wasn't listening. And then you told me that he had been playing with himself in bed. And then, when we were all peeing out on the road to Cunnamulla, you made fun of him, saying that he was `playing with it'... in front of me and Ron."

"I wasn't being serious, you know," Dad say, quite emotionally.

"Dad," I tell him, feeling as though it's me giving him some adolescent advice, "we're growing up and, at the moment, Karl is very sensitive about the changes in his body. The last think he needs is people making fun of him, especially you, Dad."

"What about you?" dad asks.

"I'm OK. Remember when Karl was upset and stomped out and I went to ask him what was wrong? He told me some things and, in the couple of days afterwards I asked Ron about it when I was alone with him. He was really helpful. So, leave it with me," I say. "Karl will be fine."

"Thank you, son" Dad says. He hugs me and kisses me. "I'm glad that Ron was there for you, when I couldn't be."

"You're always there for me," I tell him. "And for Karl. We both love you. So, don't beat yourself up about his mini tantrum. He'll sleep it off. Trust me."

I hug him, get off his lap, and he swats me affectionately on the tail. "Love you!" he says.

"Me too!" I tell him and head back to the bedroom, feeling proud and really grown up.

Karl hasn't moved. Almost. I'm sure that his hand has.

I take off my pyjamas and drop them next to the bed. Karl lifts the covers and I roll over him. Well, half-way over him. I stop rolling with him and me face to face, dick to dick. I rest my weight on him and rock my hips from side to side, enjoying the feel of his erection, encouraging Junior to now wake up. He does.

I roll the rest of the way and lay myself next to Karl and we enjoy playing with each other until slipperiness tells us that we are `ready'!

Now Karl may not be Moby, but, being identical to me, I know that whatever I do to him, is like doing it to myself, so I can easily imagine that I feel exactly what Ron experiences when he plays with me. In fact, in my mind, I pretend that Karl is me and I am Ron.

I pretend that he is playing with me in the swimming hole, and in the shower, and in bed, morning and night. Those thoughts help me to a really fast ejaculation in his hand.

"Use my pyjamas," I tell him. He feels for them with his other hand then wipes both of his hands with them.

I milk the remainder of spunk from myself and use it on his penis, slow and steady, as I have now learned. I back off every now and again to increase his urgency to blow. `A nice Junior Moby' I think, playing with him, as Ron would have thought. When it finally happens, Karl shudders and shakes and fills my hand too! I have to put my other hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

Heavy breathing and a long pause.

"Wow!" he tells me. "That was different... and it felt so terrific."

We cuddle for a long while. His penis is still fat and hard. So, I do him again, `milking the cow' as Ron showed me.

"OMG!" he says. "I have missed you! I didn't know that a week without you could be so long! Have we done it like this to each other before? I don't think so."

I lie. "I just thought it up – especially for you!" I don't care whether he believes me or not. He's happy.

I wipe him and my hands.

"Do you want me to do you a second time too?" he asks

"Nah!" I say, "Once is enough for me," which is another lie. "Besides, you're happy, which makes me happy!" Which is the truth.

He hugs me and I turn him around so that I am behind him, `spooning' him, like it's Ron holding me. We snuggle for a while then he goes back to his own bed. I spread my spunky pyjamas on the floor and hope that they will be dry by the morning.

 

I'm not surprised, when I wake up, to see Karl still `out to it'.

Even though it's Sunday, today is going to be a working day, and we'll do the sleep-in bit tomorrow. Although, it seems that Karl's body clock is not so easily fooled. Either that, or cumming so powerfully, twice, last night has had a huge effect on him.

I close the door quietly behind me, pee up in the air over the bath and rinse it away, then put on the jug for a cup of tea and take out the bread and toaster.

Dad heads to the bathroom to relieve his bladder as well. I can't help noticing his horizontal sausage and think to myself, `yeah, I guess that morning wood really is normal for us guys'.

I hear the shower turn on, eventually, then off. Dad emerges, a bit chunky but otherwise normal – swinging instead of pointing. He makes no smart-alec comment about my body, and I make none about his.

"Nice of you to cook some toast for your Dad," he says to me as he snavels my two newly-buttered slices.

"Hey!" I tell him. "That's gonna cost you! Looks like you get to do the bacon and eggs and I'll make the coffee – and two more slices of toast, for me!"

"No problem, kiddo!" he mumbles through a mouthful of toast, and immediately starts to clunk around with one hand while holding a mostly-eaten slice in the other.

"You'll wake Karl up with all that noise," I say, putting my finger to my lips. In vain.

That seems to have the opposite effect on Dad He seems really tense and he bangs the selected frying pan with a wooden spoon. "Anyway, where is that lazy..."

"Dad!" I say, raising my voice to be heard over all of the noise that he is making. "Remember what I told you last night! Go easy on him," Then I add, "or he'll take it out on me, for sure!"

I see the acknowledgment on his face.

Even though I would never say this to my Dad, my brain thinks the words, `Why don't you go back to bed and take it out on your dick, seeing that you can't go and fuck William's mum?' I'm certainly glad that my thoughts don't leak out through my mouth.

Talk about `raising the dead', or `speaking of the devil'! Karl emerges!

"What the hell are you...?" he starts, looking directly at me. Then, when Dad again activates the percussion section in the orchestra, Karl realises that I was not the source of his sleep disturbance.

I can tell by what he's holding that he needs to pee.

"And here's my other hard-working son!" Dad says, looking at my brother. "How do you want your eggs this morning? Scrambled or fried?"

"Fried will be fine, thank you, Dad" Karl tells him and heads for the bathroom.

I feel any tension disappear immediately. Almost normal again.

It's amazing what the words `hard-working' and `thank you' can achieve.

Bladders relieved. Jug boiled. Eggs and bacon cooking. Toaster on, again.

We sit down to a simple breakfast almost as though the past week and all of its events never happened. Conversation is happy. No taunts. No criticisms. No `assassins'.

"Hey. I love you guys!" Dad says. "This is nice. Just the three of us. A nice happy family."

Nobody mentions the `elephant in the room'. We are a family minus one. Mum isn't here. And, yet, I feel more of a mate to Dad than ever previously, having done a week of work alongside him and Ron; almost like another adult. The words that describe how I feel about myself are `more mature', `more experienced' and `growing'.

It's a weird age, I'm sure. I could still act like a young schoolboy, if I wanted to, and throw the odd tantrum, sort of like Karl. However, underneath, I feel much older, and can behave `older' and can `hold my own' in adult conversation. And at cards. And in bed. LOL.

It's going to be hard to live without Ron, even though it's only for another ten weeks. I'm sure that my left hand is going to get a lot of exercise during that time.

I think forward to next week, and what it might be like having William back, and Mr Grant.

During the next term, I'm going to give in to Mr Grant. I can feel his desire for me, even if he doesn't want to make it obvious at the moment.

And I know, now, how to make him happy while Karl is `being gentle' with William!

Ron might be able to see auras, but I can feel magnetisms.

I haven't really contributed much to the conversation between Dad and Karl over breakfast. Maybe it's just as well, for their sakes. They have been recalling all the positives of working together (thanks, Dad) and what we will do this week.

"It's amazing how dusty the place can get in a week," Dad comments, regaining my attention. I think today that we should do a complete clean, right through." He adds, "And the spider webs outside. And the toilet."

Much to his and Karl's amazement, I offer to start with the toilet. Dad looks at me with that `growing up' expression, and his smile feels as good as anything that he could possibly have said to me.

Work. Lunch. Work. Poker – sorry for winning, Karl! Dinner.

"I suppose that you guys would like to finish your books, before we start on Huckleberry Finn?" Dad asks us.

Karl and I agree. Then I suggest, "Dad I like you reading to us. Would you please read me my next chapter of Peter Pan? How about you, Karl? Would you like Dad to read you a chapter, too?"

I receive that `growing up' look again from Dad.

And so, with chapters read, good-night hugs, and a kiss each for each of us, it's lights out.

"You want to come over and jerk me off tonight?" Karl asks softly. "And I'll do you."

We play, and then it's really `lights out'!

 

It's Sunday-on-a-Monday. It's quiet. Karl is asleep and I can hear no noises from the bathroom or from the kitchen. I guess that Dad's making the most of a `free day'. I don't even want to think about what he could be doing in bed, apart from sleeping. That stuff is for a young guy, and his brother, and their friend, and his boyfriend, and, maybe his #2 wish.

I lie in bed and think about me and Karl, and William, and Ron, and Mr Grant. And Ron. And Mr Grant.

Finally, my full bladder can't wait any longer. No morning wood. Not anymore!

My pyjama pants are dry, so I leave them on and fish my penis out over the elastic waistband as I head as quietly as possible to the bathroom.

It's a great relief to let go. Powerfully. It's almost as great a relief, almost as great a pleasure, as ejaculating. Ron would be proud of me for using that word. I'll have to compare those two pleasures more often.

And it's easier to pee without an erection. That hasn't happened on too many mornings lately. I rinse as quietly as the taps allow. Bath taps instead of the shower.

OK. Today it's gonna be `lamb's fry à-la-Kurt'. Mrs Cameron told me that I could call it that. My version.

I work as quietly as possible to prepare everything ready for cooking. Once the aroma finds its way into both bedrooms, I won't be alone for long.

Still no sound from Karl or Dad. Jug ready. Coffee mugs ready. Toaster and bread ready.

3-2-1-Go!

I work quickly and quietly. As soon as the lamb's fry hits the pan, I can smell it. Nice!

I wonder how long it will take, now, before the other two get up?

About one minute for Dad! And an extra two for my dear, `sleepy head' brother.

"Good morning, chef!" Dad smiles as he crosses from his room to the bathroom. He is about to pound on our bedroom door as he passes it, but doesn't. He looks at my worried face and gives me the `thumbs-up'. He doesn't want to annoy Karl. He knows that there is still a bit of `mending' of relationships to be done.

Good timing by Karl. Dad has just finished in the bathroom. They pass at the doorway. "Morning, son!" Dad says, ruffling his hair. Karl, on the way in, greets him pleasantly but has a more urgent need to deal with.

"Looks like you have everything under control," Dad tells me, standing behind me and giving me a hug. "Anything I can do?"

If it had been Ron, my answer would be different. "Maybe set the table please, Dad?"

That done, he makes the coffee while I deal with moving the food from the fry pan to the plates.

The toast and Karl pop out at the same time. Dad points one towards the other. No words. Just an exchange of smiles, all `round.

Now you wouldn't imagine that there would be too much to talk about over breakfast that hadn't already been shared, at least once before. But we manage.

The food's good. The coffee's good. My brother's good. Our reduced family is all good!

Normally by this time on a Monday, Dad would be hard at work and Karl and I would be into a maths lesson.

I'm a little surprised when Dad asks, "Karl, would you like to come for a walk with me?"

My brother looks at me for any hint of clarification, and I shrug. I wonder whether Karl is going to hear the Mum-and-Dad story.

Dad adds, "Let's go down to the pub and see if Mr Smith still has a copy of the previous weekend's newspaper lying around."

I watch them walking, much as Dad and I did. Dad's arm over Karl's shoulder and my brother's arm around Dad's waist. It looks like Dad and me, but I'm glad that it's my brother. He needs some Dad-love too.

They're not gone for long. Dad has his paper and Karl has his Dad back.

Neither of them mentions what they might have spoken about and I don't ask. And I won't ask. I now respect secrets, if there are any between them.

It becomes a reading day, interrupted only by eating and drinking. And the occasional comment about an article in the paper. Sport. Drought. Politicians. Earthquake.

I decide, apart from making a light sabre from some plastic tubing that I saw under the house, `Ssshhvrmmm!', that I'll keep my wooden sword. I might need it to fight Captain Hook. Or Long John Silver. Or the ghost of Captain Ahab. Or the Sheriff of Nottingham. Or alongside King Arthur and Sir Lancelot.

May the force be with me!

 

Tuesday. I've never been to Big Town on a weekday before, so I'm not sure how different it will be to a Saturday morning.

Not much! Fewer people, though. I suppose that many of the people who come to town on Saturday are working today. More kids, though. It is school holidays, after all. More mums today. On Saturday, it's usually more dads.

It's polite to take off your hat when you enter a building. Mum told us so when we were younger. The shopkeepers in the Men's Emporium recognise our hats and shirts – their hats and shirts – and they say good morning to us, and tell us how `grown up' we look, dressed in all of our new gear.

Karl and I look around to see if there is anything that we might need for school. Nah. Maybe next Christmas when, just maybe, our jeans will have become too tight! LOL. Growing!

Maybe there could be something that we need from over in the General Store. They have all sorts of stuff.

On the way out, I stop and look at the dominoes. I pick a couple up to admire the different wood grains. Beautiful!

The shopkeeper comes up to me and says, "Yes, they're still here, young fella. And, for you, they are still $10, if you want them."

"Thank you, Sir," I tell him. "I'll have to ask my Dad."

Karl and I catch up with Dad in the General Store and start looking around. There's really nothing that we need that we don't have already or that Mr Grant doesn't give us at school anyway.

But I do have a quiet word to Dad while he is getting the last few items on his list.

 

After dinner, we play dominoes instead of poker.

In this game, I think that it's really just the luck of whatever pieces you pick up, and which ones you choose to put down, unless there is some strategy that I haven't worked out yet.

Dad, Karl and I all seem to win about the same number of games. Dad tells us that, whenever somebody `goes out', we could count up how many `spots' the others are left with, and then keep track of our scores. That way, the game becomes a longer one. It sounds a bit complicated, but I'll get it right pretty quickly, I'm sure.

When we start scoring, I realise that it's really just like gin-rummy. Got it! No problem!

"Where are you guys up to with your books?" Dad asks. "Nearly finished?"

"I can probably finish mine tonight, if you want to read me the last chapter," I tell him.

"Mine's bit longer," Karl adds. "Maybe I'll finish it off tomorrow when you're at work," Karl says.

"Then I'll do the same," I say. "We can have an early night. One more game of dominoes first, then?"

There is a strategy after all! Dad follows my turn and I note when he has to `pick up', so, I can tell from the domino at each end what numbers he doesn't have, and what I won't put down. I'm happy with my win.

 

"I thought that I'd do the visiting tonight," Karl says, chuckling and sliding into bed beside me. He wants a quick wank. Normally that would have been my preference too, but tonight, recalling what Ron has taught me, I suggest some slow play. We compromise.

The slow wank, fast at the end, feels great. Karl agrees.

"You're getting really good at this," he tells me. "Maybe even better than William."

"Maybe we're just getting more practice," I giggle at him.

"I think I need even more practice," Karl says, nudging me.

"Why don't we wait until tomorrow, when Dad's at work?" I suggest. "Then we can have all the practice we want."

He laughs, "I hate to admit it, but, for my twin brother, you are pretty smart, you know!" Then I wonder whether he has just insulted himself.

We hug and he goes back to his own bed, taking his `spunk cloth' with him. We each have our own face washer that we keep for these `special occasions'. They get washed every day, while we shower.

Sometimes, however, it's just as easy to use our shucked pyjama pants.

Wednesday. It's unusual for Karl to be up before me. I hear the shower turn on and off, then I wait to see if he comes back into the bedroom. He doesn't, but the clanging in the kitchen tells me where he's gone. Maybe he wants to demonstrate that I'm not the only one who knows how to make breakfast, with Dad already having left for work.

I didn't put my pyjama pants back on last night, so I stroll out naked. Morning wood. Need to pee. "Morning, Karl," I say.

He looks at me, and focuses his eyes on my erection. "Ready for some practice already, are you?" he asks.

He's left his pyjamas behind too. I walk up behind him and hug him. Junior is still at attention, and nestles between Karl's bum cheeks. Sorry, his glutes. I reach around and take his soft willie and his balls in one hand. "After breakfast," is all that I say, then head for the bathroom.

I finish peeing, turn on the shower, and decide to leave it running. I step outside the bathroom door and ask, "Hey, Karl, I don't suppose you need a shower before breakfast?"

He hasn't started cooking anything yet, so he immediately leaves everything on the bench.

By the time Karl comes in, I've got the water temperature just right. He steps in alongside me, grabs the soap and tells me to "turn around."

He soaps up my back, top to bottom, literally, then hugs me, sliding himself around on my slippery body. It doesn't take long for me to tell that he is fully hard too.

"My turn," I tell him. He hands me the soap and turns his back to me. I soap him up and go farther down than his glutes. I lather up his thighs and bring my hands up between his legs. Without grabbing them, I can feel his soft balls touch my hand. I do each leg. I also run my soapy fingers back and forth across his hole. We've cleaned each other down there before, but not for as long as I take. His only comment is, "Hey, that feels nice."

I hug him and allow Junior to slide up and down his soapy glutes. Then I push junior down between them and poke him in and out of the tight gap through to under Karl's balls.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"I just thought of doing this to see how it feels, seeing that you were all soapy and everything." I tell him, as though I'd never done this before. "Wanna try it?"

I turn my back to him again, hand him the soap, and part my legs to make it easier for him. He spends a lot of time down there soaping my glutes, soaping my thighs, rubbing over my hole and massaging my balls, gently. He puts the soap down and presses his body against mine, rubbing, squirming and finally poking his erection between my legs. I close them to make it tighter for him.

He holds me around the chest with one hand and holds my thigh with the other and then starts doing it. In and out. Through and back. "Oh, wow!" he says. "I could do this `till I spurt."

"Can I have another go?" I ask him.

We swap back and forth a couple of times and then I can feel that surge begin to happen. I hold him really tightly and go for it. Fast. I explode. Karl can tell from my groans that it felt good.

"Lemme do it," he says. I turn around and he is quick to get going. I can tell from how strongly he holds me when he's getting close. Suddenly he freezes and his cock pumps out a huge load of spunk. "Shit!" he says. "That's the best feeling ever! He pauses and breathes deeply a few times, then says, "I think I need a lot more practice at doing that!"

We both laugh.

"Sorry," he says, "I forgot to wash your front." More laughing.

We clean up. Turn off. Step out. Dry each other. "Yep!" I say. "I reckon we're clean enough for breakfast."

I wasn't going to do this `new' stuff with him, but it's hard not to do it when you know how good it feels. I'm glad that he doesn't ask where I learned to do it. Hopefully, he'll just think that it's `something different' that I made up.

He makes a pretty good breakfast for the two of us. I deliberately avoid any discussion (or questions) of sex and ask him about Tom Sawyer.

"It's pretty neat," he says. "Tom is like you and me and Aunt Polly is sort of like Dad. You should read it."

I give him a quick run-down on Peter Pan without giving away any of the good bits.

For the next couple of hours, we sit in the lounge chairs and finish our books.

Mine is done first, so I make us both a cup of tea and scrounge some cookies that were left over from somewhere. Leftovers in this house are pretty rare! Especially after William has been around.

To fill in the time, while Karl finishes his book, I go through Dad's newspaper, spending more time in the comics and puzzles than the other bits.

We have lunch. Play a game of dominoes. And poker.

 

It's mid-afternoon.

"Hey, want to go exploring?" I ask him.

"What do you mean?" he asks. "There's nothing left to explore around here. We've been here for years! We've seen everything, haven't we?"

"What about down the other side of the river?" I put to him. "How many times have we been over there?"

He pauses to think. "Well, when we've played in the weir, we've got out on the other side and looked around a bit."

"Yes, but we really haven't explored that side, have we? Mum never let us go down there." I've got his interest. "What if we make ourselves a sandwich for if we get hungry and take a can of drink? We can walk up along this side, past the weir, across the bridge towards `Whispering Gums', and then down the other side."

"Shouldn't we have asked Dad first?" Karl says.

"It's OK. He trusts us." Then I try to humour him. "It's not as though we're going for a walk with a murderer and that we may never be seen alive ever again."

I know the one word that will flash into his mind!

"All right," he agrees. "Seeing that Ron isn't here, I guess it'll be OK."

I knew that it would be `Ron'!

"We have our watches, so we'll walk for an hour and turn around and come back. Agreed?"

We bump fists and we each make our own sandwich. I'm going to enjoy my Swiss cheese and plum jam! However, where did he ever get the idea to have baked beans and honey together on a sandwich?

We put our two sandwiches into Karl's lunchbox so that they won't get squished, then put that with our drinks into my backpack and head out.

My idea. My backpack. Me wearing it. Karl smiling.

I take my wooden sword. No telling what pirates or Indians that we might encounter exploring `Neverland'!

I like the sound of the water spilling over the weir. Karl and I talk about some of the things we've done here. I remind him of the fun that we had with William and Mr Grant.

I think he's finally starting to get the idea that I'd like to play with Mr Grant while he plays with William. However, `A snowflake's chance in hell' is one of the expressions that he uses.

We comment to each other about the eddies in the river upstream of the weir which are a sure indication of hidden logs and other things below the surface, as Dad has warned us.

The gum trees, `Scribbly gums', have markings on their trunks that look like some of the little kids' scribbles. I'll have to remember to ask Mr Grant, or Dad, what insect or bug causes them. I'm sure that I heard it once, but that was a long time ago and I was pretty young, which is possibly why I don't remember exactly.

We cross the bridge carefully, even though there are probably no cars on the road. Anyway, we'd be likely to see their dust first, or hear them, especially if it was Mr O'Brien's Land Rover. We both laugh about that.

I go first, in case there are any `nasties' lurking about. I have my sword. Karl has picked up a stick and is waving it around.

We stop near the weir and look back across the river to the school. It all looks totally different from this side!

A little bit farther on, we can see our place. The closest thing to the river is the `stinky toilet'. That has a weird effect on my body. "I need to pee," I tell Karl. We both hang out together and water one of the trees.

We see a variety of animal poo, and challenge each other to say what animal it's from. Cows are easy. So are horses. Kangaroos' poo is like that of horses, only smaller. Sheep are smaller still, like marbles. There's one that I don't know. Like sheep's poo, only longer instead of round. Karl tells me that it's from a possum, because Dad pointed it out to him at `Whispering Gums'.

Not a good time to eat our sandwiches after thinking about animal poo!

The land which we know all looks so different from this side. We follow the river as it bends around behind The Village and heads south.

Karl and I both hear noises like really deep grunting. Well, sort-of like a snort or a grunt but a lot lower sound. We look at each other, then, stop and listen. We can't see anything so we keep walking, but slower, looking out for strange animals, like giant pigs or something. My sword is ready.

Suddenly there is movement. We have disturbed a small mob of emus which go thumping off away from us. Big feet. Big tail feathers bobbing up and down behind them as they run. Little ones trying to keep up.

We walk for another fifteen minutes and see a big log near the river bank. Karl suggests that it would be a good place to sit and eat, and have our drink. I reckon, from what William has said, that we should be somewhere near Marty O'Brien's house.

Looking across the river and through the trees, we see a tall windmill and water tank. Farther along, Karl points out what looks like another old stinky toilet. It's bigger than ours, and I can make out about five or six holes in the wall facing the river. Little ones and bigger ones.

I mention them to Karl. "What do you suppose they are for?"

"Probably to let the stink out," he laughs.

I can see another building a fair way past the stinky toilet. "Do you reckon that's where William and Mr Grant are living?" I ask my brother. "Is that Marty O'Brien's place?"

I think again that it could be, as William says, where he and Mr Grant `sleep together'. Fat chance of them doing more than sharing a room! William just wants my brother, and Mr Grant wants me. I know that he does. I can tell.

"Dunno!" Karl replies. "Maybe we should come back here with William and he can tell us whose place it is."

I look at my watch. "We should probably head back."

My brother double-checks my telling of the time, of course!

"Yep," he says. "I reckon you're right." Then he adds, "For once!"

He laughs and takes off, running.

He doesn't look back, and I decide not to chase him. I'll scare the shit out of him instead!

I yell, "Hey! Don't leave me with the river pirates! Or the ghosts of people that they've killed will probably take me and drown me too!"

There's a tall gum tree a few metres away, with lots of nicely-placed branches, excellent for climbing. Low boughs are unusual for most gum trees, so, I clamber about half way up the tree. I hide amongst a bunch of leafy branches and keep very still. Good view! I can see the house across the river quite clearly from up here.

And I can also see my brother, slowing down. He must sense that I'm not chasing him because he knows that I'm a faster runner than he is and he would have expected me to catch him by now.

He glances over his shoulder then stops.

He turns and looks around. He stands and waits. Waiting for movement. Waiting for me to jump out and scare him. Waiting for me to dash past him.

None of the above happens and he begins to walk slowly back towards where he left me. Slowly. Slowly. Watchful.

"Very funny!" he calls out, expecting some acknowledgment. "River pirates and ghosts, eh?"

As he re-traces his steps, he looks behind every tree, and then begins to check in the river below as he walks along the top of the bank.

I remain motionless.

Watching. Watching the expression on his face change to one of concern and fear.

"Kurt?" he calls. "Where are you? Are you OK?"

Silence.

He calls my name twice more and, as luck would have it, stops almost directly beneath me.

He doesn't have eyes in the top of his head. Haha!

I decide to pay back his insult by acting like a possum. I quietly unzip my jeans and expose Junior to daylight, then let go, just one quick burst of pee, while squeezing Junior to turn it off.

"Hey!" he yells. "What the ..." without finishing.

I can't tell whether it hit him, or just landed near him.

I see him look around. I let go another short spurt.

This one must have got him, because, this time, he adds the final word to his sentence!

Karl looks up. Big mistake because I'm not finished yet. I release my grip on Junior and empty my bladder.

"Aargh!" he screams. "What's that?"

"Just possum pee!" I call out.

"Aargh!" he screams again. "I'm really gonna rip your nuts off for that!"

I begin to laugh so much that I have to grip the branch tightly so that I don't fall. If I was down there, I'd be rolling around on the ground, laughing and cackling!

Karl is dancing around, yelling and brushing any pee off him. "It went down my neck!" he screams at me.

I decide to climb down before I end up going down the quick way, gravity assisted.

The second that I hit the ground Karl grabs me and wrestles my feet out from underneath me.

"You're a bastard!" he tells me, trying a variety of wrestling moves.

"That would make you one too," I say. "But you can just call me `possum' if you like."

He is not amused.

Our wrestling skills are pretty evenly matched, and we roll around, with each of us spending time either on top of or under the other one, exerting our strength, but without hurting each other. Wresting with William has been excellent practice for this.

It's only when he manages to rub my face in wet dirt that I realise what he has just managed to achieve.

I push hard, roll him over and sit on his stomach, pinning his arms to the ground.

He looks at me and bursts into laughter.

"What?" I ask.

"Your face looks more like possum shit instead of possum piss," he chuckles.

 

(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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rob.zz@hotmail.com

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