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 chapter aligns, partially, with Chapter 39 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 20:

"Sorry, guys," William says to Karl and me. "I'd love to stay, but we promised to help Marty with some stuff." He climbs up the bank and it's like Mr Grant doing it all over again. Beautiful body. Just like Ron's. Nice glutes too!

He faces us while he is getting dressed, like Mr Grant did. His wet pubic hair looks even darker against the whiteness of where he was wearing a pair of swimming costumes at the beach and didn't get tanned. And, I was right about him having an erection when he was mucking around with us.

"Maybe I'll see you tomorrow, guys," he calls to us as he and Mr Grant head off.

Karl and I stay a bit longer, but it's not the same without William and Mr Grant. A lot of the excitement has gone.

We head home, have a hot shower, dry each other and get dressed. Jacking off can wait until tonight, and I have a lot of things to think about while we're doing it. Especially Mr Grant touching me and saying that he wanted to play with me `another time'.

 

Chapter 21 – The Big Willy-Willy

I'm feeling terrific, but when Dad gets home, much earlier than usual, he doesn't look happy, which `lets the air out of my tyres'.

He hugs us, kisses us and goes to his room. Karl and I look at each other. Something's wrong. I'm sure that Ron would be able to tell it from Dad's aura, but I can definitely sense something, feel something. Something bad.

I decide to make him a cup of coffee.

He comes out of his room and I have to ask, "What's wrong, Dad? You don't look happy at all. What happened?"

"Nothing," he says. "Nothing's happened, yet, but I think that something might be going to happen."

"What do you mean?" Karl asks.

I hand him his coffee. He thanks me and sits at the table. Karl and I join him. "Mr Cameron was not in a good mood today," he starts. "When I got there, I could tell that Mrs Cameron had been crying. Neither of them wanted to talk about it, but Mr Cameron asked me if I could come out tomorrow for a while to have a chat with him. It's very unusual to ask me to come out just to talk on a Saturday."

"What do you think is wrong, Dad?" I ask.

"I'm not sure exactly," he says. "But, if I was to hazard a guess, he's either having trouble finding the money to pay me or it's likely to be something to do with the drought. Maybe he needs to sell off his breeding stock and some of his best horses."

"What does that mean exactly?" Karl asks. "It isn't good, is it?"

I'm starting to get a really bad feeling about this! My stomach is really tight, like it sometimes gets before I throw up when I'm sick!

"I'm afraid boys, that it could mean that I no longer have a job. No job, no money. No money, no food. We wouldn't be able to last very long because, even though I have some money in the bank, it wouldn't keep us going for more than a couple of months."

"What would we do?" Karl asks.

"I would probably have to go and find work somewhere else, because there's none around here. There's a lot of people without work. I speak with some of them in the pub. I'm afraid it's quite possible that we wouldn't be able to stay here anymore. And, possibly, you two would have to go and live with your mother for a while. I don't know."

I can see tears in my Dad's eyes. My heart is breaking for him. I feel my mouth start to quiver and my face starts to do strange things. Twisting things. Ready-to-cry things. I get up and put my arms around him from behind and hug him tightly and lean my head against his. "It'll be OK, Dad." I say, hopeful, but not actually being able to believe it myself. Karl joins us, and we both hug him, one from each side.

"Sorry, guys," he says. "I'm making you really miserable, and it may not be that bad at all. Maybe I'm being over-sensitive and over-reacting. Let's have dinner and talk about something more pleasant."

Dad cooks. Karl and I try to help but seem to just get in the way. "Why don't you guys go and have a bath?" he says. "Dinner should be ready by the time you're done."

I feel guilty that Karl and I didn't get dinner started for him, especially after he'd had a bad day. But, he did come home early!

Karl puts the plug into the bath and starts the water running. We strip off in our room. Junior is in no mood to be playful at all. Karl obviously feels the same. It's unusual for us to see each other's penis just hanging normally.

Karl does something that I don't expect. He wraps his arms around me and holds me. "Are you OK?" he asks. "You looked worse than Dad out there? And that made me feel bad."

Even though he and William seem to pick on me, I can tell that we still have this brotherly bond. This twin bond that I've heard people talk about. I love my brother. I just hold him too and say, "Thank you."

After washing, my opinion is that we're getting too big for the both us to fit in this bath together! Awkward! It looks, in future, as if it's going to be either one at a time in the bath, or both together under the shower!

We dry off and put our pyjamas on, even though it's not dark yet.

Dad is just putting three plates of food onto the table when we emerge from the bedroom.

"Right!" he says. "Here are the rules... No talk of jobs; no talk of money; no talk of moving. OK?"

Karl and I agree.

Dad continues, "Everything must be positive... things we enjoy; and things we'd like to be doing here for the rest of the year; or a funny thing that we've seen or heard. Get the idea?"

It sounds good to both Karl and me. We nod.

We start to eat. Karl says, "I'll go first. I thought it was funny the way that the possum out at `Whispering Gums' told Kurt and me to piss off."

The recollection of that night, and the boldness of Karl's colourful expression in front of our Dad has all of us chuckling.

"Me next!" I say. "The other day, when Karl and I went for a walk on the other side of the river, there was a peeing possum and we didn't get out of the away quick enough."

"What?" Dad asks, smirking at us. "You didn't tell me that."

"It was disgusting," Karl tells him. Then, when I think that he might be going to spill the beans, he just adds, "Kurt and I had to come home, wash our clothes and have a shower." I laugh, more from nervous relief than the telling of the story.

Before Dad can ask any questions about it, I jump in. "Your turn, Dad."

He says, "I'm proud of my two talented boys who are quickly growing into handsome young men. One can ride a horse almost as well as I can and the other one can drive the Land Rover. Maybe not as well as I can, though." He smiles a loving smile at me.

Karl jumps in, "And one of us can cook everybody lamb's fry for breakfast and an apple pie for dessert!" It's the first time that I remember when Karl has actually paid me a compliment. Well, a sincere one, anyway.

I return the favour. "And his brother gives the best hugs!" There are other positive things that I would like to say, about him and William and Ron and Mr Grant. But I can't or I wouldn't. I have made promises.

Nearly forgot!" Dad says. "Mrs Cameron sent home a container of fresh scones for us. She thought that there would be none of that apple pie left."

She's right!

"I like her, Dad," I say. "She's a lovely lady."

Scones. Coffee. Bed. Huckleberry Finn. Hugs. Kisses. Lights out.

"Do you want to do it, tonight?" Karl asks.

I tell him, "Actually, I really don't feel like doing it tonight. Is that OK with you?"

"Me either," he replies. "I was just seeing if you wanted to."

Sleep comes quickly. Sound sleep doesn't. I'm not the only one. I finally climb in with Karl and we just comfort each other into a more restful sleep.

 

We wake up together. I like the feel of my brother's warm body against mine. Even with our pyjamas on.

I make breakfast. We don't have all the things that I need to cook lamb's fry, but nobody complains about scrambled eggs on toast with bacon and tomatoes.

 

"OK," Dad says. "Instead of the usual Saturday morning clean up, why don't we leave that until tomorrow? I'll go out and see what's on Mr Cameron's mind, then we can spend the afternoon together. Can you guys find something to keep yourselves busy, and out of mischief?"

"What mischief could we possibly get into?" I ask, pretending to act hurt at Dad's suggestion.

"I don't even want to think about that," Dad says. "And I certainly don't want to mention any possibilities, just in case you had never thought of trying any of them."

"Like what?" I ask, anticipating that he might share just one.

"Like cleaning the outside toilet, for instance," Dad jokes.

"Very funny!" Karl tells him.

"Why don't you wait and see whether William comes over. I'm sure that the three of you can think of something to do to fill in the time."

Karl and I look at each other. I'm sure that there are a couple of things in his mind, as there are in mine.

"I'm not sure how long I'll be," Dad says, and hugs us both before he leaves.

 

William doesn't come.

Karl and I play a game of gin rummy.

And still, William doesn't come.

"What do you suppose he's doing?" I ask.

"I dunno!" Karl replies. "Perhaps he's still sleeping... with Mr Grant."

"That's not funny anymore," I say, feeling a twinge of jealousy. Then I add, as if to reassure myself, "Perhaps they have all gone into Big Town together.

"Or, maybe, William and Mr Grant are just helping Marty with something, like how we help Dad around here," Karl says, seemingly to downplay his first suggestion and my annoyance.

Even after a game of poker and one of dominoes, William doesn't come.

"He's not coming!" Karl says. "So, what are we going to do? We could walk down the other side of the river again to near Marty's place and see if William is there. If we see him, we could call out. There are places where he could cross the river to come and play with us."

"Or maybe I can start reading your Tom Sawyer and you might like to try Peter Pan. I think you'd enjoy it.

After all of our suggestions are considered, we start a game of Monopoly.

After about an hour I say, "This is boring. It's better with three or four people." Karl agrees, and we pack it away.

"Why don't we have a cup of tea and the rest of the scones, then sit down and read until Dad gets home, or lunchtime, whichever comes first."

It's one of Karl's better suggestions, but it's a long drive and I doubt that Dad would be home for lunch, even if his discussion with Mr Cameron was a short one. If I was him, I would stay for one of Mrs Cameron's meals and then drive back.

"If you make the tea, I'll butter the scones," Karl says.

"Deal!"

Alerted by movement, I look out of the windows towards the pub. "Isn't that Mr Grant's car?" I ask Karl, pointing, as, instead of it turning in towards the school, I watch it heading east.

"I'll bet that William's driving," Karl replies. "And the only reason that I can think of for him going that way is to visit Jake."

"What? Instead of us? Why?" I ask.

"Well, he did spend yesterday morning with us," Karl replies. "Maybe he just wants to tell Jake about his holiday at Mr Grant's parents' place. He and Jake are cousins, you know."

"Yeh, or maybe he wants to have a wank with him instead of us," I suggest.

"You reckon?" Karl asks.

"Why not?" I put to him. "You do it. I do it. William does it. Why wouldn't Jake do it? He's older than us. And he's got a dick that's bigger than ours and his balls hang down like a bull's do."

"How do you know that?" Karl says, staring at me.

"He showed me one day in the toilet." I say.

"You never told me that!" Karl replies, seeming more surprised than offended that I wouldn't have shared that kind of information.

"That was ages ago. Maybe even last year," I tell him. "I didn't think anything of it back then." I add, "And I'll bet that he's grown a bit since then, too. Maybe William just wants to play with someone who's got a bigger one than ours."

"Well, that's OK," Karl says. "Think about it... Do you like to play with one that's bigger than mine? Like William's?"

Thinking of Ron, I say. "True!" Then I add, "But I wouldn't mind playing with Mr Grant's. It looks just like William's, doesn't it?"

"In your dreams!" Karl says.

"Yeah. I already do that!" I tell him, and laugh. "You with William, and me with Mr Grant."

He laughs. "Well, that's the only way you'll ever get to play with Mr Grant. While you're in dreamland."

"What about when we were in the weir?" I put to him.

"That was different!" Karl tells me. "We were just getting clean after all that dusty work."

"What about the horse and rider game, then?" I say, desperately trying to convince him that Mr Grant really does want to play with me too.

"He was just helping you against William and me," he says.

I remember when Mr Grant was washing himself and he kept touching my cock, deliberately. No, he definitely wants to play with me! Really! And I don't want to hear Karl's version of reality!

"All right! If you say so!" I tell him. "Where's Tom Sawyer? I may as well get started on it."

We swap our books and settle into the two comfortable lounge chairs. I make sure that I have a plate of biscuits and a can of drink beside me.

"Sandwich?" Karl asks, reminding me that lunchtime has crept up on us.

"Yeah. Thanks," I tell him, and put my book down.

I make the tea. We sit at the table and, while we eat, we share what each of us has read of our book so far.

 

I look out of the window and see it coming before it gets to us!

"Quick!" I tell Karl, pointing "Make sure the door and all of the windows are closed tightly." I run to the bathroom for a towel, then roll it and lay it at the bottom of the door with one of the chairs holding it in place, as I saw Dad do once before. Then I help my brother.

Everything is secured. We sit and watch it speed towards us. Hear it roar as it comes. Over us. The house shakes and rattles and everything goes brown. It may as well be night time, for all we can see outside. It's got us.

I can smell it, almost taste it. Then I see where it's getting in. Down the chimney. Karl has already run to our bedroom and grabbed his mattress, discarding its blanket and sheets as he hurries back. "Hold one end, and I'll hold the other!" he tells me.

Blocking the fireplace is mostly successful. We lean against the mattress, keeping it in place.

Very scary! Briefly.

The house stops shaking. It's quieter. Except for my heart. Through our bedroom door and our east-facing window, we watch it head off in the direction of Jake's place. We both relax.

"What the hell was that?" Karl asks. "It was too big for a willy-willy. Was that like a tornado?"

It's weird. The first thing that I do is run to the kitchen window and look out to check if the outside toilet is still there. It is. "That's really gonna need a good clean out tomorrow!" I tell my brother, knowing that it's his turn.

"Just as well we didn't do any washing this morning and hang it out!" Karl says. "Or it would probably be on its way to Ma and Pa's place by now." We both laugh.

"Let's finish our lunch and then see what we can clean up," I suggest. "In here first, and then the verandah. Have a look at it!"

We both peer out of the window which is next to the front door and see, covering the verandah, a layer of brown dust from out west and gum leaves which would have been ripped from the trees along the river.

"What'll we do?" Karl asks.

"Well, I'm going to finish my lunch! I tell him.

We sit, eat and drink our tea, all the while rehearsing what to tell Dad about the swirling dust storm, and what we should do before he gets back.

The first thing we do is to take Karl's mattress outside. Then I set about using the `house broom' and dustpan to clean up inside, especially in front of the fireplace. Karl uses the `yard broom' to sweep the verandah clean. It's just like we have switched our Friday jobs at school.

Then the fun stuff. Beating the daylights out of Karl's mattress! Well, the dust, at least. We soon work out that it's easier for one to hold it while the other one pats, punches, hits, swats, whacks and wallops it. Then we swap over. It's actually pretty tiring! Even more than wrestling against both William and Karl together, or painting a shed.

We have another snack and settle back to our reading. Karl has an apple. I take a banana and have some wishfully rude thoughts about Ron as I eat it.

 

We hear Dad's car and both jump up, keen for him to tell us the news, whatever it is. It's still early afternoon, so the discussion with Mr Cameron mustn't have been a long one.

Dad's not frowning or miserable like he was yesterday, so it must be OK.

He starts with, "Hey! What happened around here? There are leaves and bits of trees everywhere and all the cars at the pub are covered in a thick layer of brown dust. And so are the buildings – the pub, school, even the old church." Then he looks around and adds, "This place doesn't look too bad though."

Karl describes in great detail how he saw it coming, how he got the mattress to block the fireplace, how he swept the verandah and how he beat the dust out of his mattress. The only bit he left out was how he single-handedly fought off a ship-load of blood-thirsty pirates!

"And what did you do, Kurt?" Dad asks, smiling at me knowingly.

"Nothing, by the sound of it," I reply. Then I add, "Karl must have a better memory than I do, and be really good at multi-tasking as well."

"OK. So, you just stood and watched while Karl ran around and did everything by himself, eh?" He's smiling. Even though he's looking at me, his comment is intended for Karl.

My brother looks sheepishly from me to Dad, then, "Did I forget to mention what a great help Kurt was?"

I let it go. Dad knows. And I know that he knows.

"Cup of coffee, Dad?" I ask.

"Thanks, son," Dad replies. "Oh, and Mrs Cameron gave me some apple tarts for us all. She said to tell you that they are only mini versions of the apple pie, and that you might like to have a go at making some. Basically, the same recipe, but shorter time in the oven."

 

We sit at the table. Karl has tea. Dad has coffee. I join him. The apple tarts are amazingly delicious. I can tell that Mrs Cameron has added extra cinnamon and sultanas to the apple mixture. Yum-O!

"Right, boys," Dad begins. "There's good news and there's bad news. So, I'll tell you the bad news first."

"Why?" Karl asks.

"Because, that way, I'll finish on the good news and you won't be so upset," Dad replies.

He's a smart man, my Dad. When I grow up, I want to be just like him.

"So, the bad news is that the Camerons have decided that they are definitely going to sell `Whispering Gums' and retire back east," Dad says, without any sadness in his voice.

I'm not so unaffected. In the time that it takes Dad to bite into another apple tart, have a sip of his coffee, and take a breath, my whole world caves in. I'll never see Ron again. We'll have to go and stay with Ma and Pa, and leave William, and I'll never get to play with Mr Grant. It hits me hard: I'm never going to see Ron ever again! Ron, who has taught me so much and who said that there is much more to tell me, and show me, and do with me!

Dad, sitting opposite me, sees my eyes fill with tears. I'm trying to be brave and grown-up and not burst out crying. He leans across and reaches for my hand. I give it to him and my eyes just silently overflow as I blink.

He lets go of my hand and wipes my cheeks. One side with his finger and the other with his thumb.

"Do you want to hear the good news?" he asks.

"Of course," Karl says. I can't speak at the moment so I just nod and make `uh-huh' sounds.

Dad continues, "It may take a long time, with this drought, to find a buyer at a reasonable price. Mr Cameron said that I can stay on, and he'll be able to keep paying me until that happens. He also said that if I was able to find another job in the meantime that he would understand if I needed to leave."

"So, where would you find another job?" Karl asks the question that was in my own head.

"And how soon?" I manage to add.

"I'm not sure at the moment, boys," Dad tells us. "The good part of this is that I really don't need to hurry, and you can stay on here, at the school, for the time being. It gives me time to find something really good. However, unless it is something locally, maybe even in Big Town or Cunnamulla, you should get your minds ready for going back to your mother. Hopefully, only until I find somewhere so that you can live with me again, if you want to."

That does it! I can't be brave and hold back the crying any longer. How could he possibly even imagine that we, that I, might not want to live with him, let alone suggest it?

"Sorry, son," Dad says, getting out of his seat and wrapping his arms around me. "What I meant was, you might get to be comfortable with your Mum and Ma and Pa, and who knows what my accommodation might be like? The choice would be totally yours."

Karl just looks confused.

My heart is breaking with these prospects. No William. No Mr Grant. No Ron. And, now, no Dad. My life is shattered! I push my chair back, unwrap Dad's arms and go to my room. I shut the door and fling myself onto my bed and just cry into my pillow. Something I haven't done since the day Mum left.

Then I feel the two things that I treasure, under my pillow, on the inside. Mum's Christmas note and my thirteenth birthday card from her. Both bring back memories. I feel good and I feel bad. Good, to perhaps see her again and have her hug and kiss me. Bad, that I haven't thought of her often enough.

There is a soft knock on the door. It opens and then closes again. "You OK?" Karl asks, laying himself alongside me. I move over to give him more room, but still with my face buried in the pillow. I feel his arm across my shoulders and then he starts to rub my back. "Come on, Kurt," he says in an encouraging voice that I very rarely hear. "Dad has a lot of time to find work, and if we do have to go and live with Ma and Pa for a while, we can think of it as just a holiday."

I think of all the people I will miss. "Won't you miss William?" I ask him.

"I'll still have you and you'll still have me," he says.

I think that we will both miss William, but he won't miss Mr Grant like I will, and he doesn't have a Ron to miss like I do.

I turn on my side and face him. "You won't ever leave me, will you Karl?" I ask and hug him.

 

"Dinner!" is the next thing that I hear, and I open my eyes. Karl is still with me. He didn't leave me. We must have simply dozed off together.

"How are you feeling?" Dad asks, putting the plates on the table in front of us.

"OK, I guess," I say, without much enthusiasm, but with dry eyes, at least.

"Good," Dad replies. "I looked in on you earlier, but you were both sound asleep, so I thought that I'd leave you there. Sleep can be very soothing. Now, let's eat, get you ready for bed, and get back into Huckleberry Finn, eh? Tomorrow there will be a lot of cleaning to do."

Over a delicious dinner, Dad tries to be positive for us. A couple of his jokes actually make me smile. I'm beginning to feel better. But, now, with no chance of ever seeing Ron again, I'm determined to make the most of any time that I can have with William and Mr Grant.

Even though Dad offers, I insist on doing the washing up. Kind of like Mrs Cameron in her kitchen. I wash. Karl dries. Dad puts away. Team effort!

Karl and I wash each other, under the shower. More room than sitting in the bath. And more manoeuvrable so that we can get to all parts of each other's body. If everything else falls apart, I'll still have my twin brother! "This feels terrific," he tells me while I soapily wash his erection and balls.

"Would you like me to do it properly for you tonight?" I ask.

"Yeah. What about you?" he says, lathering up my soft one.

"Maybe," I say. "I dunno yet."

After another chapter, a kiss from Dad and lights out, Karl slides into my bed and immediately pulls down his pyjama pants. It only takes one touch from me and I feel his dick swell to being hard. I enjoy that. Although he plays with mine, I can tell that there will only be one lot of wetness on a spunk rag tonight. I take time and do it for him the best that I can, being thankful for that time that I was able to spend with Ron.

At the thought of Ron, and the memory of some of the nights that we spent together, Junior wakes up. "I'll take that as a `Yes'", Karl tells me.

The rag actually gets doubly wet. "Thanks," I whisper to him as we cuddle. "I guess I really needed that!"

 

Sunday morning. After I pee and rinse, Dad, sitting in one of the lounge chairs and drinking a mug of coffee, says, "Mrs Cameron sent you home some lamb's fry to cook. I thanked her and said that some more practice would be good for you."

Dad's broad grin betrays another motive. He loves lamb's fry.

I set about cooking, and it's probably the aroma that arouses `Sleeping Beauty'.

"Morning, son," Dad says as Karl hurries to the bathroom. There is a faint, muffled reply.

Dad has done the coffee and toast by the time that three large helpings of steaming lamb's fry are served. I love the smell and I can already feel the saliva building in my mouth.

"OK, guys," Dad starts in between mouthfuls. "Here's the plan for today. There's inside and outside. I have to fix a couple doors in here that stick and squeak, especially after that dust storm. I'm sure that you know the ones I'm talking about."

"Yes," Karl tells him. "Your bedroom door and the bathroom."

"I might need a bit of help, but it should be OK," Dad tells us. Then he asks, "So, who's doing the outside toilet?"

Surely, he hasn't forgotten that it's Karl's turn today!

Karl and I point at each other. I frown at him.

At that moment William arrives at the front door. My brother and I both alter the direction of our fingers to the same target! Then we laugh. So does Dad. William doesn't get it.

"William likes to work with Karl," I say, "so why don't they both do it? It will take them half the time."

"Excellent idea!" Dad says. Then he adds, "Would three make it even quicker?"

Karl laughs, pointing at me. William still doesn't get it. But he will.

"No, actually, three would be too much of a crowd," Dad answers his own question. "Kurt can do the spider webs around the house, if the wind has left any. I'll start on the doors."

The three of us head outside. William and Karl step away from me and whisper to each other. William comes to me and says quietly, "If you like, why don't you go and visit Mr Grant at the school? Karl and I will do your chores and help your Dad."

"Why? What for?" I ask.

William and Karl look at each other and smile. What are they up to?

William takes me by the shoulders, stoops a little and looks me straight in the eyes. He says, "You keep telling us that you'd like some alone time with Mr Grant, so now would be a good opportunity for you to try your luck."

Karl adds, "We'll tell Dad that you thought you'd like to help Mr Grant clean up after yesterday's wind and dust storm, because school goes back tomorrow. William and I will stay and help Dad over here."

"Really?" I ask.

"Well, you've let Karl and me have time alone together," William says. "So, we're just returning the favour."

I don't need any further convincing!

"OK. But I'll go in and tell Dad myself. Otherwise he'll just think that I sneaked off, and left you to do my work," I say. I lean the cobweb broom against the house, and head inside.

 

Dad ruffles my hair and tells me that he's really proud of me for offering to help clean up at the school. "Why don't you invite Mr Grant over for a cup of tea? When we've finished here, I'll give you three blasts on the horn of the ute."

"Thanks, Dad," I say, then head out and start to walk towards the school via the short cut. Then skip. I slow down when I get to the steps and walk quietly along the verandah. My heart is beating really hard. Will he do it? Will he play with me? Or will I be left really disappointed and miserable, knowing that I may not have many other opportunities if we have to move?

I see Mr Grant working at his desk. I knock on the door.

"Come in, Kurt," he calls to me.

"Good morning, Mr Grant," I reply.

"How are you, Kurt?" he asks.

"OK... I guess," I tell him, although I'm in two minds about what to say. I decide to just smile.

"Where's your brother?" Mr Grant asks me. Then he adds, "I'm accustomed to seeing the two of you together. It's unusual to see only one of you by yourself."

"Oh, he's helping my Dad with a few things," I say. "I was too, but William came and insisted on giving us a hand and, as my dad often tells us, `two's company but three can be a crowd'. So, I decided to leave them and come to see if you would like me to help with anything instead, like cleaning up after yesterday's dust storm."

"That's very kind of you," he says. "Thank you." Then he thinks and tells me "Well, apart from sweeping the verandah, there's not a lot to be done, Kurt, but you could check the other room for me if you like, to make sure that everything is tidy and all of the things are in their correct places. You know where everything belongs."

I grab the broom and do a quick, expert job on the wooden verandah. I enjoy watching the puffs of dust and fluttering leaves each time the broom reaches the edge of the boards. Then I go back into the craft room.

It doesn't take me more than a minute to see that everything in here is OK, exactly as we left it when we tidied up before the holidays.

I walk through the store room into the classroom. Mr Grant looks as though he's concentrating on something so I say nothing and just stand near him.

It's only when he looks up that I tell him, "Everything's fine in there, Mr Grant."

I'm not sure what else to say, so I just stand silently.

Mr Grant looks at me. "Are you all right, Kurt?" he asks swinging his chair around to face me. He grips the edge of his desk and uses it to pull his chair closer to me and gazes at me with his kind eyes.

I step right up close to his desk, lean my weight against it, right where his hand is, which he hasn't moved, and I focus on him too.

It's sort of like the staring game that I sometimes play with Dad, I concentrate and don't want to blink or look away before Mr Grant does. I shift my weight back and forth from one foot to the other. I'm aware that my penis and balls are resting against his hand. He doesn't move. His hand stays between the table and my body. I can feel his knuckles as I move my hips from side to side.

I'm working up the courage to tell him Dad's news. "Mr Grant...?"

"Yes, Kurt. What is it?" he asks

"Something bad, Mr Grant," and I continue to shift from one foot to the other, back and forth, nervously but intentionally touching his hand, which he still hasn't taken away.

"Can you tell me?" he asks softly, looking at me with concern. He glances quickly at his hand but says nothing or does nothing. He can feel my body, like I can feel his hand.

"It's my dad." I say, then take a big breath. "He might have to go and find work somewhere else."

Nervous now, I rub my body more obviously from side to side across his hand and I can tell that Junior is starting to get chunky. I know that he can feel it, but he keeps looking into my eyes. I wonder what he is thinking of me.

I let it all out in one breath. "The owners of the property are going to sell up and move away. But they said that they will keep paying Dad until it is sold or until he finds another job."

I keep moving and pressing my body against his hand and my cock is now really chunking up. Then I feel one of his fingers move, checking me out and deliberately touching my hardening penis. One finger is enough for him to start playing with Junior. The harder Junior gets, the more Mr Grant feels it, and the more he feels it, the harder it becomes.

I have to blink! He wins. I look down, then back into Mr Grant's eyes. I hope that my smile says, `thank you' and `don't stop'. Two of his fingers and Junior are now playing with each other. I'm kind of pretending that nothing is happening. I think that he is doing the same.

Is he happy to keep doing this? Does he really want to play with me? But, what if he doesn't? I'll give him the chance to move his hand, then I'll know. I back away from his hand so that it's not trapped between me and the desk. I wait for him to move it. He doesn't. I push Junior against his hand again, so he knows that what I am doing is deliberate. I back off again.

Not only does he leave his hand there, but he turns it around, with his palm facing me instead of his knuckles. Is this an invitation? Does he want me to lean against his palm so that he can feel me properly?

"That's awful, Kurt," he says, looking into my eyes and ignoring everything else. "I'm really sorry. What will your dad do? Is there anything that I can do to help?"

This is the moment that I've been dreaming of. I slowly step forward and raise myself a little so that Junior and my balls fit right into the palm of his hand, which closes a little to gently wrap around them. I manage to say, "Dad thinks he'll have to go somewhere else, and..., and..." before my eyes fill with tears and everything goes blurry. I'm not only upset about Dad but I'm also overcome with happiness that Mr Grant is finally holding me. Gently. Intentionally.

I see him swallow. I can tell that he's nervous, but that he wants to do this.

He puts out his other arm, like offering me a hug.

I remember something that Pa once told Karl and me, `There are only two fools in this world: those that offer something and those that say `no'.

Well, I'm not going to say `no' to Mr Grant's offer!

Instead of just allowing him to give me a friendly hug, I turn and move so close to him that I'm almost sitting in his lap, but half on his thigh. I move my legs apart a bit as I sit, and I hold his warm hand in place over Junior and my balls.

He hesitates for a moment and then wraps his other arm around me, hugging me, pulling me even closer to him. I can rest my head on his chest. This feels so nice, just like it did with Ron.

I finish what I started to tell him, "...and if dad goes somewhere else, then we'll have to go too, except not with him, but back to our mum in Brisbane. It's what she's always wanted. But we don't want to go now. We want to stay here."

I feel Mr Grant's hand pull back a little. I don't want him to move it away. Not now. I cover it with both of mine and start to guide his hand to rub Junior up and down. He gets the idea and begins to do it by himself while I just leave one hand softly over his. Junior starts to do push-ups, jerking as Mr Grant rubs it. I relax the full weight of my head and body against his chest.

I've offered him my body, and he hasn't said `no'. He's no fool either, according to Pa's wisdom. I'm going to miss Ron dreadfully, but my birthday wish has actually, and finally, come true! It wasn't Ron after all. It really is Mr Grant! William's twin is playing with me, because he wants to.

We don't talk about what's going on, but Mr Grant continues our other conversation. "I'm sure that it won't come to that, Kurt," he tells me. "Something will come up for your dad so that you can all stay here."

"But nobody can guarantee that, can they Mr Grant?" I say.

"Maybe," he tells me.

Now he's kidding me! "Dad told us that we should never make promises that we can't keep," I say.

He replies, "And if I make a promise, Kurt, I always keep it. So, I promise you that I'll be very sad if you have to move away." As if to indicate why, he gently tightens his grip on my cock and balls.

I take that as a green light. I stand up and pull down my shorts and underpants and sit straight back down, on his lap. I take his hand and replace it between my legs. Ooh, his hand is so warm down there. Junior jerks.

Mr Grant plays with my `chicken feathers' a little, and then wraps his thumb and first finger around Junior and puts his other three fingers under my balls. He continues to play with me. All of me.

I move my body right onto his lap, so that I am more comfortable, and with my back against his body. He keeps on playing with me. "Ooh, yes," I say. "That feels really good, Mr Grant!"

I know that he's enjoying this, because I can feel the hardness in his pants, under my backside. I decide to be really brave and feel it. I put my hand under myself and take hold of his big penis. It's as hard as mine.

Suddenly he says, "Kurt, we can't do this." Then he adds, as if giving me a reason why not, "Somebody might come and see us."

"No, they won't!" I whisper, smiling up at his face. "Karl and William said that they wouldn't."

 

(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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