Kurt
Life in The Village, through the eyes
of a student at the remote school.
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 39:
"Well," Andy starts,
"I think that he said that I was the chosen one to take his place as the
`uncle' of his mob, our mob, and that he has been waiting here for many years
for me. But, that it wouldn't happen until I overcame my greatest fear, he
said."
"So, what is your
greatest fear, Andy?" I ask, and cuddle him closer to me.
"I can't tell
you," he says, and I think that he is going to cry. "Not now."
"Can I help?" I
ask. "I want to help you."
"I need to think
about everything," Andy tells me.
As we drift back
to sleep in each other's arms, I wonder whether Andy's greatest fear has
anything to do with his accident, and his broken arm and his difficulty in
walking and his babyish speech, when he arrived here.
Chapter 40 – Uncle
"Not yet," he tells me.
We shower, dress for school and have breakfast. Andy
doesn't seem as raring to go as usual.
Mr Grant picks up on it too and asks him, "Are you OK,
Andy?"
"Yes, Tom," he answers. "I'm fine. I just had a bad
dream during the night. But Kurt was there for me when I woke up."
He doesn't mention the ghost, so neither do I.
School is a normal day and the excitement of all of
the other kids seems to brighten Andy.
At lunchtime, Mr Grant is sitting on the bench,
watching us. This is a perfect time to talk to him.
"Hi, Mr Grant," I say, plonking myself next to him.
"Can I talk to you about something?"
"Sure, Kurt," he answers and gives me a friendly,
reassuring smile. "What's up? Is it about Andy?"
"No, not Andy exactly," I tell him. "But I think that
he has something on his mind that he is afraid of. I wonder whether something
bad happened to him when he broke his arm."
"That might explain his mood this morning," Mr Grant
answers. "I do know what happened to him, Kurt, but I think that Andy should be
the one to tell you, when he's ready. Is that OK?"
"Sure, Mr Grant," I say. "I was worried for him."
"I think that you have been the best medicine for him
that he could ever have needed to help him get better," he replies. He's very
lucky to have you as a friend."
I don't reply, but I think that I'm the lucky one to
have him as my friend.
"That's not what I wanted to talk to you about, Mr
Grant," I say.
He doesn't ask, just waits for me to keep going.
"Mr Grant, do you know why my Dad had to go to
Brisbane?"
"Yes, I do, Kurt," he answers. "But I can't tell you
that either. Your Dad wants to tell you and Karl himself."
I feel my stomach do funny things. Sometimes I hate
secrets. "Is it bad, Mr Grant?" I ask. I've just been wondering. That's all."
"House rule!" Mr Grant tells me. He's smiling. "What I
can tell you, Kurt, is that it's nothing bad, and my guess is that you will be
very happy when your Dad shares it with you."
"Thanks, Mr Grant," I say. "But I hope that my Dad
tells me soon, or I'm going to burst!"
Mr Grant ruffles my hair, which makes me feel good. I
really want to hug him, but I can't, not now and not here.
I stay with him and watch the other kids playing. I'm
happy that Andy is laughing, running and kicking the ball around with the
others.
Mr Grant is silent for a while, then he asks, "Is
there anything else, Kurt?"
I feel like I'm going to cry.
I can only manage a whisper, "I'm going to be really
sad when Andy goes home on Friday."
Mr Grant looks at my eyes, ready to overflow, and
says, "Why don't you go inside and get a tissue from my table."
"Thank you," I say and head straight into the
classroom.
I take a couple of tissues then sit at my desk and my
tears start to run out. I hold the tissues against my face and can tell that
they are getting wetter. I feel my body start to sob and then I can't hold back
any longer, and I just cry. I'm glad that nobody can see me.
With my back to the door, I jump when I feel hands on
my shoulders. I didn't hear anyone come in.
"Are you OK, sport?" Mr Grant asks me.
I can't speak. I just shake my head to indicate `no'.
Mr Grant rubs my back and says, "Stay in here as long
as you need, and we can talk about it later, if you like."
"OK," is all that I can squeak out.
It feels really good to have him touching me. He keeps
rubbing my back and occasionally squeezing my shoulders. Then he leaves me.
I stay for a while until I can breathe normally again,
and feel that my eyes are dry enough, hoping that nobody will be able to tell
that I've been crying. I go outside and make straight for the toilets. Jane has
the little kids around her and the guys are chasing the ball at the other end
of the playground.
I finish peeing and am washing my face and hands when
all of the guys come in. With a wet face they won't know that I've been crying.
They are all laughing about William `falling on his bum' when he went to kick
the ball really hard, and missed it altogether.
While the four of them are standing side by side,
peeing, Jake describes the whole scene to me and it gets me laughing too.
Thanks!
We all walk back towards the school building together,
and I'm feeling much better.
"How come you didn't want to kick the ball around with
us?" Andy asks me. "It was really funny watching Will fall on his..." He looks
around. "...arse."
I'm smiling at the thought of it, and Andy's boldness.
"I had to ask Mr Grant a couple of things," I say. "I'll tell you later."
After school, we head back to Jintabudjaree. The
primary topic of conversation is William missing the soccer ball and falling...
over. The language is different with Mr Grant present.
William's only excuse is that `it must have hit a hole
or something and bounced sideways.'
At first, people say, `Yeah, sure it did!' but then,
each time somebody mentions William falling over, there is an immediate full chorus
of, "It must have hit a hole and bounced sideways." The chorus becomes as
hilarious as the picture of William on... the seat of his pants.
After dinner, and multiple games of dominoes, which
Karl had grabbed from home after school, it's off to bed early.
Andy and I pile into bed, naked as usual, and Junior
is getting ready for a bit of fun when Andy says, "Kurt, do you mind if we don't
do anything tonight? I'd really like just to snuggle up to you and hug each
other or hold hands. Sorry. Is that OK?"
"Sure," I answer, surprised. Then have to ask, "Andy,
did I do something wrong, or say something to upset you? Or something?"
He turns sideways, hugs me to him and says, "Oh, no.
Nothing like that. Why would you think that? No, I just need to think about
what happened last night with the... you know."
"The ghost, you mean?" I ask, taking his hand. "Did he
frighten you?"
"No, not last night," Andy tells me. "But he did scare
me the first time. I've never seen a ghost before. But, he's OK."
I'm curious. "I've never seen a ghost either," I say.
"What did he look like?"
We both roll onto our backs. Andy's interlocked fingers
clench my own, and I squeeze back.
"I didn't see all of him," Andy tells me. "Just the
top half. Definitely aboriginal. He has dark skin, short, black-and-white curly
hair, white beard, white teeth and a thin body, with markings on his chest,
like scars or something. And friendly eyes!
"So, he's a friendly ghost?" I ask, thinking of a
cartoon comic that I saw once.
Andy waits to answer. "Friendly, but serious," he
tells me. "Kind of like Joey's dad, Sergeant Golding."
"Like Mr Grant?" I ask him, grinning, which I know
that he can't see in the dark.
Andy laughs and squeezes my hand again. "Yeah. Tom's
friendly, but not that serious!"
"Is there anything else that you want to tell me about
what the ghost said?" I ask.
"Hmm. Not at the moment," Andy replies.
We chat about bits and pieces, including William
falling `on his arse', and then, as the talking slows, we drop off to sleep,
still hand in hand.
I feel Andy's body move before he releases my hand.
I hear him making words like last night but, tonight,
his whole body seems to be moving, sometimes shaking, including his legs and
his arms.
My skin tingles. Is something happening to Andy? Will
I see the ghost tonight?
I lie with my eyes wide open and my heart pounding,
listening to Andy's strange words and feeling the movement of his body.
I take a deep breath and force myself to bend my neck just
enough to raise my head and look around the room. I can't see anyone even
though Andy is still `talking'.
I lay my head back down, close my eyes and just listen
to Andy. He said that the ghost was aboriginal. Andy sounds like he could be
talking aboriginal words, even though I can't understand a single sound that
he's making.
While I'm trying to imagine what he and the ghost
could be saying to each other, and how come Andy can speak his language,
everything suddenly goes silent. Andy's body stops moving. Almost. He rolls
towards me and lays his arm over my body and exhales, like last night.
I roll onto my side and back up to him. I know that
Andy likes us this way, and it's more comfortable for me too.
I guess that it's Tuesday morning, but still dark, and
it's Andy who needs to pee first today. He scrambles out of bed and mumbles
something about `too much dancing'.
Dancing? Is that what he was dreaming of doing last
night?
He climbs back in beside me and we roll, this time
with me behind him. I have one hand under his neck and the other one over his
chest. Well, it starts out over his chest and ends up a lot lower, playing with
his hairs, his balls and his cock which goes from soft to chunky.
I have to ask, "Andy, before you went to the toilet,
you said, `too much dancing'. What did you mean?"
There is a pause and then Andy replies, "The ghost
taught me to do a corroboree, and do the dance of the kangaroo, and the emu,
and the goanna, and the hunter."
I'm not sure exactly what that means, so I ask, "Do
you know his name? Did he tell you?"
"He told me to call him `Uncle' and said that there
would be a day when people would call me by that name too."
"So, he didn't tell you his real name? Does he have an
aboriginal name?" I ask.
"When our people have died, we don't say their name,"
Andy replies.
He sounds as though he is speaking as one of them.
"Anything else?" I ask him.
There is another long pause and Andy takes a huge
breath. "He told me everything about our mob who lived here and exactly what
happened to them, and how the bad man killed everybody. I can't say it now, but
I would like to tell Tom too. Maybe later. He needs to know. He is one of our
mob too."
I'm stunned by what I am hearing. And I can't even think
of a sensible question to ask. Is Andy telling me that he and Mr Grant are both
aboriginals? With blue eyes and brown and blond hair?
Then Andy adds, "And, before Uncle went away, he told
me something else. He said, `Blood of my blood, do not be afraid. If you give
yourself to a person completely, they will become as one of us. Be wise.' Uncle
didn't explain, and I really need to work out what all of that means."
With Andy and I both wondering about all of this stuff,
we drop off, back to sleep. Cuddling.
"I didn't expect pancakes for breakfast, Mr Grant!" I
tell him. "Wow. Thank you."
He smiles and points at William.
"Did you cook these?" Karl asks, turning sideways in
his chair and looking at him.
"Easy!" William replies, smiling, then forking in
another mouthful.
Karl and I stare at each other across the dining
table, chewing and grinning, if it's possible to do both at the same time.
I cut another section from my stack and rub it in the
puddle of maple syrup. "These are really nice, William. Are they easy to make?"
I ask.
Being a budding cook, I think how wonderful it would
be to surprise Mrs Cameron by offering do make pancakes one morning before she
and Mr Cameron have to leave Whispering Gums.
"Tom taught me," William grins.
"Really?" Andy says to Mr Grant. "You know how to make
these too? Can you teach us?"
Mr Grant and William are looking at each other, with
silly grins on their faces. There's something that they are not telling us!
Mum would not have approved of me rubbing my finger in
the maple syrup and then sucking it. I briefly think about sucking something
else, but then return to cleaning my plate.
We all parade from the dining room to the kitchen with
our plates and utensils to wash up. William heads towards the stove and holds
up a container of pancake mix. "Easy!" he repeats. "You just have to remember
to buy it when you're in Big Town."
"That's cheating!" I tell him.
"Well, you don't have to eat them," he replies.
I'll bet that Mrs Cameron has a recipe somewhere in
her red book, but I could just surprise her and tell her not to come into `my
kitchen' while I'm cheating at cooking. And, I'd chase her away with a wooden
spoon! That would be so funny!
Tuesday is a happy day for me at school, because Andy
is happy.
At the end of the day, after locking up, Mr Grant
helps my backside out of the classroom with a couple of friendly swats. I grin
and thank him, and linger a little longer.
"You're welcome!" he says, and swats me again. If he
was Ron, I'll bet that he would make some comment about my `nice glutes'.
I skip to join the others in The Beast.
Tuesday night. Andy has another `conversation' with
Uncle. There are long pauses between Andy's brief words. It's almost as though
he is asking short questions and getting long answers.
We snuggle back to sleep.
Wednesday morning. We take an early shower together
before breakfast. Andy makes a point of soaping up Junior and getting me to
push it between his legs. From the front and the back. Like we did with the
baby oil at the workers' cottage out at Whispering Gums. We both spurt, then
hug for a while, then rinse off.
"Did you enjoy that?" he asks me.
"Of course!" I tell him. "Didn't you?"
"Want to do it again in bed tonight?" Andy asks. "With
the oil?"
"Hell, yeah!" I answer, using one of William's
favourite expressions. "What about you?"
"I'm happy for you to do it to me," Andy tells me. "I
have a surprise for you, that Uncle told me about."
He's grinning, and I can only wonder about whatever
conversation that he had with the ghost last night. I don't ask. Junior and I
like surprises!
(to
be continued)
The parallel
version to this story, `Schoolie', told through the eyes of Tom Grant, has
concluded.
Find `Schoolie' at https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/schoolie
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rob.zz@hotmail.com
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