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 42:

Another normal, end-of-term, day. Tidying up, cleaning up, party lunch, games, and then the term is over!

Mr Grant gives me a piece of paper with his phone number and his parents' address, so that we can work out when and where to meet.

With hugs all round and expressions of "We'll see you next week', I find it hard to hold back my tears as Karl and I wave William and Mr Grant goodbye. And Andy.

Chapter 43 – Back To Normal

"So, back to normal," Karl says, throwing one arm over my shoulder and steering us towards our home, via the short cut. "Just you and me."

I don't know whether to hug him or punch him.

For my brother, and William, things might be back to normal. But nothing will ever be `normal' again. At least, for me. And Dad. And Andy.

And, for that matter, things actually won't be the same for William, either. He will be living with his brother, Mr Grant, out at Jintabudjaree, instead of at Marty's place.

So, what is Karl's idea of `normal'?

Just him and me and Dad? What about the fact that our Dad is divorced from our Mum? And, hasn't Karl noticed Dad's attraction to Ms O'Sullivan? Is he blind about both of them?

And doesn't Karl know about William and Mr Grant? And what they do in bed together? Or has William actually sucked my brother's cock too? Or more? That's something I'd like to find out.

"Yep!" I tell him, smiling, but feeling angry inside. "Back to normal!"

He wouldn't understand sarcasm if Mr Grant explained it to him in an English lesson!

 

It's pretty obvious that the house has been closed for a few days. It has that smell about it. Nothing bad. Not dusty. Not unwashed dishes. Not even dirty laundry. Just...not fresh.

"Anything to eat?" Karl asks, going straight to the refrigerator. "Nope. Like an Eskimo's ice box." He checks the pantry. "Mother Hubbard's cupboard!"

"Where did you learn those expressions?" I ask him.

"Oh, I dunno," he answers. "Maybe from a book, or the little kids' nursery rhymes."

"At least, I can make us a cup of coffee," I tell him, and head for the jug.

"There's no milk!" he responds.

"Yuk!" I say. I remember once tasting Pa's black coffee. It was awful. "Maybe an extra spoon of sugar would make it better."

At that moment, we both hear the Land Rover pull up.

"Saved by the cavalry in the nick of time!" I say. (I read that in a book.) "Dad's home!"

Karl and I bustle out onto the verandah.

"Hi Dad!" Karl calls.

"Hello Ms O'Sullivan," I add.

"Come and give us a hand," Dad say, beckoning the both of us.

In the back seat there is an Esky, a basket and two boxes.

"Mrs Cameron and Helen prepared so much food for yesterday," Dad tells us, "that we actually didn't take it all to Tom's place, so we've brought it home with us. From memory, there wasn't a lot of stuff left here in the fridge or the pantry."

"You're not wrong!" Karl answer. "I've already checked both."

"Any milk?" I ask. "We were about to suffer with a mug of black coffee!"

"It's in the Esky, with some butter and cheese and some other things for the fridge," Dad says.

Ms O'Sullivan politely asks, "Boys, if you are making coffee, would one of you please make one for your dad and me too. And, perhaps somebody could prepare some biscuits with cheese and tomato? There is a packet of SAOs in one of the boxes. Your Dad and I will put everything else away."

She knows where everything goes? I wonder how much time they have spent together here while Karl and I have been out at Mr Grant's place.

"I'll get the coffees," Karl says. "My brother's the chef. He can do the food."

Is he making fun of me, or is he genuine?

Anyway, no problem. Four of us. Two biscuits each, plus two extras. In my mind I see (4x2)+2=10. (Little kids' maths.)

This kitchen wasn't made for four people walking around in it at the same time! I move right along to the far end, out of everyone else's way.

I lay out the biscuits and lightly butter them. A slice of cheese on each and a slice of tomato. Maybe some salt or pepper, or both.

Done! I even arrange them nicely on a plate and put them onto the table. I sit down and wait.

I think that Karl must have put too much water into the jug because it takes so long to boil. I'm tempted to click my fingers and say, `Garçon! Where's my coffee?' I must have seen something like that in a movie at Ma and Pa's.

Dad, Ms O'Sullivan and I are all seated at the table before the water is hot enough and `our waiter' finally serves the coffee!

This almost feels like something I remember. Dad, Karl and I are all sitting where we used to sit when Mum was here.

And now, Ms O'Sullivan is sitting on Mum's chair. Goldilocks? This isn't quite `normal', but it feels good!

What that I do notice that is really different, is that I'm looking at Ms O'Sullivan across the table, eye to eye. With Mum, I was always looking up at her. Is Ms O'Sullivan shorter than Mum? Or I'm really growing up?

Dad interrupts my thoughts. "So, what did you boys think of dinner last night?"

"Excellent!" my brother answers.

"I agree," I add. "And thank you again, Ms O'Sullivan for all of the time that you and Mrs Cameron must have spent preparing it."

"It was our pleasure, Kurt," she replies. "We wanted to do something special for Andy before he went home."

"And William enjoyed it too," Karl says. "Especially the apple pie."

"It's just as well that Mrs Cameron made two of them!" I throw in.

Dad says, "Yes, I alerted Daphne to Will's appetite."

We all laugh.

Then, I surprise myself by what comes out of my mouth. "And how have you both been?"

They look at me. Strangely. Then at each other. Then back at me.

"What do you mean, son?" Dad asks.

"You know," I say. "Ms O'Sullivan knows who the new owner of Whispering Gums is, and you have been asked to stay on and manage the place. So, how are you both handling things? Aren't you nervous, Dad, about the new owner? And how are you handling keeping the secret, Ms O'Sullivan?"

"It will all be fine, Kurt," Ms O'Sullivan responds. "Your father has nothing to worry about. And I'm good at keeping secrets. You have to be, when you work for the Council."

Karl looks at me weirdly, as if to say, `What the hell? What's with these questions?'

What I just asked wasn't exactly what was in my mind, but it will do. For now.

Ms O'Sullivan says, "Kurt, Karl, this might sound strange, but do you think that both of you could call me `Helen'? It's just starting to sound funny, referring to me as though I'm your school teacher, or still a new visitor."

Karl mumbles, "Umm."

I say, "Mum always told us that it was disrespectful to call adults by their first name."

She replies, "Your mother has taught you well, and she should be very proud of your good manners. And thank you for that respect. However, if an adult asks you to call them by their first name, don't you think that it would be respectful to do so? Besides, you are both growing up. You'll both be adults before you know it!"

"You're not wrong!" Dad throws in. "Your mother is going to be very surprised when she sees you next week."

"Umm," Karl says again.

"I'll try," I reply. "But it's going to sound weird to me.

"Thank you, Kurt," she says. "Now, please try it."

"What? Now?" I ask.

"Right now," she says. She's smiling, but not joking!

I close my eyes, take a deep breath and then, looking directly at her, I say, "Thank you, Hel..len, for dinner last night."

She reaches across and lays her hand on mine. "Thank you, Kurt," she says.

Dad looks and Karl and says, "Well?"

"Helen," he says. Nothing else.

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" she asks.

"Yes, it was," I answer, then stuff a full biscuit into my mouth, making it obvious, so that I'm not in a hurry to say it again.

Dad and Helen laugh.

"So, what will we do before tea?" Dad asks. "Dominoes?"

"Aargh! Oh, no!" Karl calls out, with his hands on his head. "I left them out at Mr Grant's place. And he'll be gone for two weeks!"

"Why don't the three of you play poker, while I start dinner?" Helen suggests.

Karl grins an evil grin.

He'll be sorry! He won't be grinning like that soon! I remember what Ron told me, and I've also been taking note of William's and Mr Grant's mannerisms when we are playing. I'm not sure about Andy's because we always sit alongside each other. Sometimes Andy used to hold his cards so that I could see them. Is that cheating? Or was he just helping me? He didn't care about winning. He told me that he used to enjoy watching Karl's winning expressions. And his losing ones.

"Would you like me to help you ..." I begin, speaking to Ms... Helen.

"No thank you, Kurt!" she says, even before I finished my question. "Mrs Cameron has told me about your helpful ways. You just sit there and enjoy yourself with your brother and your Dad!"

She grins at me, and I grin back.

Then she says, "However, if I cook tonight and your father cleans everything up..."

The surprised look on Dad's face, at being dobbed in for the cleaning, is priceless!

Helen continues, "...then you two can do breakfast for the four of us in the morning. Deal?"

The shocked look on Karl's face matches Dad's.

"No problem!" I say. "We accept!"

I turn to look at Karl, and wink so that nobody else can see. I'll tell him my plan later.

 

I sit opposite Karl while we play poker. Dad and I let Karl win the last hand before dinner so that we won't have to endure his misery pout while we are eating. Ron's secret is safe.

Should I tell my brother? Nah! Not for a long while.

 

The roast chicken tastes just as good tonight as it did last night. And Helen has freshened up the vegetables too. But I didn't see the huge custard tart last night. And I'm glad! William would not have left enough for the four of us to enjoy tonight!

 

"OK, boys," Dad says. "Why don't you get yourselves ready for bed while I clean up, and then I'll come and say goodnight.

It seems so long since Karl and I have showered together that it just doesn't seem `normal' tonight. "You want to shower first?" I ask him.

He's not as surprised as Dad is.

"Hey!" I say to Dad. "I didn't realise how much our bathroom and shower had shrunk! Either that, or I think that we've just become accustomed to the large ones at Mr Grant's place."

Laying her hand on my arm, Helen says to me, "While Karl is getting ready for bed, can you and I have a little chat?"

I suddenly feel one of those `What have I done wrong?' moments.

We sit on the chairs in front of the fireplace.

"Mrs Cameron sent home some things for you," Helen leans across and shares with me. "You will find some fresh lamb's fry, some bacon and a dozen eggs in the fridge, freshly-baked bread and a few other things. Your dad doesn't know about everything."

She puts out her fist for me to bump. Dad's busy with the dishes and doesn't notice, and Karl's probably busy, with the soap and his cock in the bathroom.

"Thank you, Helen," I say, smiling but tentatively, at using her first name.

"You'll get used to it." she says, grinning.

I like her.

What nobody else knows is that Mr Grant gave me some of that quickie pancake mix. And some maple syrup. They are all going to be surprised in the morning!

 

Karl emerges from the bathroom, with his pyjama pants on. It's probably the first time that he's worn them in weeks. The same goes for me.

I reckon that I take no more than two minutes to `freshen up' in the shower and then join Karl in our bedroom, with the door pushed not quite shut.

"This feels weird, don't you think?" I ask him. "Back here in our own beds."

"It's weird without William or Andy," Karl grins at me.

"That doesn't mean that we have to sleep alone," I say to him.

He grins.

Dad and Helen knock and come in. "We just wanted to say goodnight," Dad says. "Maybe we can get back to reading a book when you come back from Brisbane. What do you say?"

I nod. Karl looks at Helen and says, "How is our `Goldilocks in Sherwood Forest' story coming along? Is it ready yet?"

Helen replies, "I haven't forgotten. How about Sunday night?"

"Great!" Karl replies.

"I'm looking forward to it too," I add.

"Are you guys too grown up for a goodnight hug and kiss?" Dad asks.

Karl doesn't answer but I say, "That's something that I've missed!"

Dad and Helen give Karl and me a hug and a kiss on the forehead, then they swap sides.

"Goodnight boys," Dad says.

Karl and I say goodnight to them both and Dad closes our door firmly as he leaves.

We hear Dad's bedroom door close too, and within seconds Karl is in my bed, with his hand on the front of my pyjama pants.

"Couldn't wait, eh?" I giggle.

"Well, you do it better than William does!" he replies. "I'll bet that Andy was happy!"

"I had no complaints," I tell him.

I put my hand onto the front of his pyjamas and he is already hard. He immediately uses both hands to pull his pyjamas down. I do the same.

"Hey! You've grown more chicken feathers!" I say to him, raking my fingers across them.

"I hadn't noticed, really," he replies. "William has lots of them. And his are curlier than ours."

"So how does William do it?" I ask him.

"Much the same as usual," Karl responds, and begins to demonstrate on now-awake Junior.

"Is that all?" I say. "Nothing different?"

"Well, he sometimes goes faster and slower, and plays with my balls," Karl answers. "And, when it gets all slippery, he rubs it up and down. That feels great. And he likes me to do the same to him."

I do to Karl what he's doing to me.

"Yeah, just like that," he says. Then he asks, "Why? How does Andy do it?"

This is my opportunity to use some of the variations that Ron taught me, and Karl will just think that I've learned them from Andy.

I run my fingers lightly up his thighs, over his balls and then his cock. I repeat this a few times and then do it all firmly.

Karl groans. His cock jerks, and he's already leaking precum.

I use my fist to spread it down his stiffness and go slowly.

More precum.

I pull his cock upright, away from his body, until it is really stiff, then I concentrate on his slippery head and go really fast a few times. Then I lay it down, and work the whole length. When I get to the bottom, I grasp his balls and play with them.

"Do you do it like that to Andy?" Karl asks, gasping, as his cock jerks in my hand.

"Yeah," I answer, as if it is an unnecessary question. Then I add, "And a bit more."

"What more?" he asks, determined to discover what he is missing out on.

"Roll on your side, facing me," I tell him.

He does, and I proceed to use his precum and some of mine to make him really slippery and begin to `milk the cow'.

"Oh," Karl moans. "This is so much better than just going up and down. Let me do everything to you before I spurt."

I lie on my back and let Karl play with Junior, repeating most of which he remembers that I have just done to him.

"On your side," he says.

"Not so fast!" I tell him. "Keep playing. Sometimes slow. Sometimes fast."

"Don't you want to spurt?" he asks, as though that is the whole aim.

"Yes, but not yet," I reply. "I also enjoy just playing first."

"Hmm," Karl murmurs.

I take that to mean that he and William just get into it and almost race each other to spurt. And then go again.

I enjoy Karl's hand going fast and slow on Junior. I take hold of Karl's again, and begin a twisting motion on his head. He groans and then does the same to me.

I'm getting really excited, knowing that I can get my brother to do what I want on me by doing it to him.

My body starts to tingle, and I roll onto my side facing him.

I start milking his cow and he starts milking Junior. Lots of precum.

"Hang on!" I say, and reach under my pillow. It's OK. My spunk rag is still here!

Karl's breathing starts to become gulpy and I know that he's holding back before he spurts. Then, instead of just letting him cum, I push my naked body against his and slide Junior up and down on him. Our bodies are both wet slippery with precum. We manage to get into a rhythm where I push and slide, and then he pushes back and slides. We hold each other tightly and let our hips and cocks do all of the work.

"Gonna spurt!" he says, and he freezes.

And when he does, it sets Junior off too.

"We've gotta do this a lot more!" Karl says.

I giggle, "Yeah," and clean both of us up.

We pull up our pyjama pants. Karl returns to his own bed. I drop my spunk rag under my bed. Sleep comes easily.

 

Saturday morning. I wake and just lie in bed. Thinking. What should we eat first? The pancakes or the lamb's fry?

I want the pancakes to be a surprise, so we'll have them last. Is it OK to have dessert with breakfast? And how can I cook them without the great smell waking everybody up?

I think about it and devise a plan.

I sneak out quietly, ensuring that the bedroom door is firmly closed. I check Dad's too. Yep. All secure.

As silently as I can manage, I take out all of the things that I will need. It doesn't matter about plates at this stage. The potential clanging pans are the hardest things to keep quiet.

With everything set up, I wait for a moment and listen. No sound from either bedroom!

My plan is to do the pancakes first. Then, adding them to a dish in the oven, covered in aluminium foil, the smell will, hopefully, be minimised. It won't matter if people wake up while I'm doing the lamb's fry and bacon.

No eggs this morning. Maybe tomorrow.

It doesn't take long for eight pancakes, two each, to be securely stashed into the oven.

I rinse the bowl and the pan to disguise any hint of what I used them for.

I re-use one pan for the lamb's fry and another for the bacon.

I decide to try something that I saw Mrs Cameron do. I'm going to add a chopped onion to the gravy with the lamb's fry. Apart from tasting good, the smell of the freshly-cut onion out here should cover up any lingering trace of the pancakes!

With everything nearly done, I open my bedroom door half way.

The result is, as I anticipated, that my brother emerges. He smells the air, heads for the bathroom and I hear the shower rinsing away the obvious.

"You can start on the toast and coffee," I tell him. "The lamb's fry is just about ready. And, can you please set the table."

"How long have you been up?" he asks. "I didn't hear you."

My only comment is, "How come you slept so soundly?"

He looks at me, grins, and makes wanking motions with his hand.

I grin back and give him a `thumbs up'.

Now, my brother is not the quietest person at doing things around the kitchen. Helen is the first awoken person to emerge, wrapped in a dressing gown, says good morning and heads outside to the toilet.

I stick my head into Dad's room. He's already awake. "You ready for breakfast?" I call to him. I add, "And please put some clothes on!"

I close the door.

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise," Dad says, emerging at about the same time that Helen returns. She heads for the bathroom. He heads for the frypan.

"Hey," I say. "Wait until it's on the plate. Maybe you can butter the toast."

Dad decides, instead, to sit at the table. "Nah," he says. "Looks like Karl has that under control."

I serve up the lamb's fry and bacon. Karl ensures that there is a stack of buttered toast in the middle of the table, and he gives everyone their coffee.

"You really do know your way around the kitchen, don't you?" Helen smiles at me.

"Who taught you to do the gravy like this?" Dad asks. "I've never had onion in it before. Delicious"

"Just something that I thought of," I tell him. "I saw Mrs Cameron do something like this and I thought that I'd try it. Any good?"

"Absolutely!" Helen responds. Then she adds, "The new owners of Whispering Gums might even hire you as their head chef!"

My brother coughs, to prevent himself from choking.

I decide to change the subject, away from food, for the moment. "So, what are we doing today, Dad? Trip to Big Town, maybe?"

"Not today, son," he replies. "In case you hadn't noticed, we really need to do our Saturday jobs, because the house has been closed up."

Karl says, "What if we need a few new things to take to Brisbane with us? I think my shirts have become too tight. And that means that Kurt's would be too."

"Tight shirts show off your muscles," he replies. "Girls like that. Maybe you will find some girls your own age while you are away."

I'm not going down that path!

Dad continues, "Today we will clean. Tomorrow you can pack. Monday we'll drive to Cunnamulla and do any shopping that you need. We'll stay the night and then, maybe do some stuff around the town Tuesday and stay another night. The bus doesn't go until Wednesday to connect with the train in Charleville for an overnight trip to Brisbane."

I hadn't heard that before. I thought that we'd be seeing Mum on Monday night.

"So, we won't get to Brisbane until, what? Thursday?" I ask.

"And the return trip from Brisbane on Tuesday, to get back to Cunnamulla the following Wednesday," Dad says.

"That means that we'll have less than a week with Mum and Ma and Pa," Karl says, sounding very disappointed.

"I'm sure that you'll make the most of the time that you have there," Helen says.

I add, "But, we have to spend at least one day down at the Gold Coast to see Mr Grant and William and Andy and Mr Grant's family and Andy's friends, and..."

"And you'll have to work that one out with your mother," Dad says.

I thought that we were going for two weeks. Not five days. Maybe we could stay longer and come back with Mr Grant and William. Nah. Dad's already paid for the return tickets. And who would take us back to the Gold Coast when Mr Grant was leaving? Or, would he come to Brisbane to collect us? Too much trouble for everyone. Forget it!

We all finish eating at about the same time.

"Thank you both for a wonderful breakfast," Helen says. "Let me take the plates."

"Nice toast, Karl," Dad says to him.

I hope that my brother doesn't get upset at Dad making fun of him for his contribution.

I help carry stuff to the sink, but then take out four more plates.

"What are you doing?" Dad asks.

I put the new plates onto the table with new knives and forks. Then I reveal the pancakes. I place the dish onto one of our round cork mats in the middle of the table. And the butter. And the maple syrup.

"Surprise!" I say, removing the foil.

I have three amazed faces staring at me.

I just grin. "You'd all better dig in while they're still hot!"

 

(to be continued)

 

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The parallel version to this story, `Schoolie', told through the eyes of Tom Grant, has concluded.
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