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 6 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 5:

I can't quite reach around his big chest, so I hug him around the stomach and hold him tight. He leans forward and lifts me off my feet. He puts me back down. "Do it again," he tells me, crouching a little. This time I'm able to reach higher and grip him over one shoulder and across his chest. He leans forwards and lifts me off my feet. This time, my penis is sitting right in his bum crack. He wiggles his backside. He can feel it. Does he like this? I liked it when he did it to me. And when Ron did it at the swimming hole.

He leans forwards then back. Forward and back. Bent. Straight. The only thing that I can tell, is that my willie is rubbing up and down his crack, between his two hard butt muscles. It actually starts to feel good. Suddenly, it gets stuck and won't slide. "That's enough," he says, and lets me back down.

 

Chapter 6 – Confession

Total change of subject. He says, "C'mon. Let's go. Are you starting dinner for your Dad tonight?"

"Actually," Karl says, Dad's note this morning said that he had something special planned for dinner. Perhaps he's going to take us to the pub again. Would you like to come too? I'm sure my Dad won't mind if I ask him."

"No thanks." William's answer is polite but firm. "I don't like that place."

I know that his mother spends a lot of time in there, and I can't blame him for not wanting to go in. The pub has a strange smell about it. Sometimes my brother and I have walked past on that side of the road. And I imagine that drunks take that smell home with them. My Dad doesn't get drunk, but I can smell the beer anyway. Mum used to hate it.

The moment I think of Mum, my eyes fill with tears. It's our thirteenth birthday and she's not here. And we didn't even get a card from her. My heart sinks, and my penis goes down with it. I splash water on my face, so that William or Karl won't notice that my eyes are crying.

 

As we walk home, I ask, "Do you think that Mr Grant will tell Dad what I did to him?" If he does, Dad'll kill me."

William is encouraging. "I've already told you that it's OK. He won't do anything or say anything. He's only been here a week, but I know him well enough." Then William spins out his words, to emphasise the double meaning. "Especially after sleeping with him."

I jump in. "Yeah, well, I've hung onto his penis. It's big, like yours. And I could feel his balls too. So there! I'll bet that's more than you've done!" William gives me a stupid look.

I continue, "But, I don't know why Mr Grant didn't say anything. I was shit scared that he was gonna hit me. And mine was stiff, and I was standing right in front of him. He saw it, like this close!" I put a hand in front of my face to indicate the closeness of him. "His was really chunky, like a pork sausage. Just think, I had a handful of sausage and eggs!" I stop speaking to laugh at my own joke and the others join me. Total change of mood!

William says, "Happy Birthday, again, guys. And thanks for playing earlier. I enjoyed it. And have a great birthday dinner with your dad. I'm going to go down to Marty's. He's been cooking really good dinners since Mr Grant came to stay. Maybe I'll even get to sleep with him again tonight. See ya."

Karl and I both give him the finger and he heads for his own place, probably to grab some stuff to take with him.

I have no idea what Dad has in mind, and it feels strange not peeling potatoes, but it's great not peeling onions!

While we are putting some shorts and a T- shirt on, I talk to Karl about Mr Grant, and he reassures me, again, that it will be OK. "If you don't say anything then everything will be fine. William and I won't rat on you, and I'm sure that Mr Grant won't either. I don't understand why, but I just know that he won't. Maybe he... likes you. You could become the teacher's pet."

Now he's teasing me. I thump him. He takes it as proper payback for his comment, and just laughs.

I hear Dad's car. He's earlier than usual.

We rush out to greet him and he grabs each of us with one of his arms and hugs us. "How are my two birthday boys?" he asks. We tell him that we're good and he says, "Come and help me with this stuff," indicating the back seat. He gives a box to Karl and a large container to me, and he brings in one himself. "Just put them on the table," he says as he follows us.

"Did you enjoy your sausage and eggs instead of cereal today?" he asks.

Karl and I look sideways at each other. We are both thinking of the afternoon version. "Yes, Dad, it was really a terrific surprise." I reply.

"Really?" Dad asks. "Why? What was so different? You've had them before."

"Oh, I don't know," I say. "It was just more enjoyable today." I look at Karl, and he looks away to stop himself from bursting out laughing, I'm sure.

"So, let's see what we've got in here," Dad says.

He gets me to open the large container. "Mrs Cameron sent that home for us," he says. I see a roasted chicken covered in plastic wrap, with smaller plastic containers of gravy, mashed potatoes, peas, carrots and some other stuff. "I just have to heat it all up."

"What's in the smaller container?" Karl asks. Dad lets him open it. It's a pie. "Apple," Dad tells us. "She wanted to make you a birthday cake but couldn't decide on what sort. So, she made you an apple pie. See the two Ks on the top. And, if you look in the large container, you'll see some cream, fresh today. She and Mr Cameron said to tell you `Happy Birthday'. And so did Ron. He left today to go back to Sydney."

"Ron?" I ask. Then to cover any unexplainable excitement, I add, "I'd forgotten about him." I lie.

"Well, he hasn't forgotten about you two. He told me that you were the most helpful pair of young farm hands he's ever had out there. And he sent you each a present." Dad reaches into the box and pulls out two belts of leather, with our initials, KA, stamped into them. One is brown and one is black. They both have big, silver buckles. Karl offers me first choice. I take the brown one.

"Ron made them himself," he says. "They're to keep your pants up."

"I know what a belt's for!" I tell him. "What else is in the box? It's too big for just a couple of belts."

Dad reaches in carefully and pulls out a pair of jeans. "When Mr and Mrs Cameron went into Cunnamulla on Wednesday, I asked them to see if they could find you each a new pair, because the ones you were wearing on Monday must have shrunk. They both knew what I meant, about you two growing. And, you'll see that they had your names burnt into the leather patch above the back pocket. This pair is for Karl, and the other one says `Kurt'.

"Can we try them on?" I ask excitedly.

"Of course," Dad says.

My brother and I dash to our bedroom and my shorts come straight off. Karl is in such a hurry, that he's almost pulled off his undies too. I slap his bare backside. We pull on our new jeans and do up the fly. All we need now is a belt!

Dad helps us to thread the belts through the loops. I could have done it myself, but I think that Dad enjoys helping us. "How do they feel?" he asks.

"Plenty of room inside!" Karl laughs, putting his hand over his crotch and giving it a bit of a jiggle.

Dad laughs. "I think that by next year you might need even more room."

Karl and I look at each other. I know what Dad means. Growing. We laugh. Dad joins us and gives us a big hug.

"I think that there's something else in the box for you," Dad comments.

Karl is closer to the box than me and he looks in. "There's two envelopes in here," he says, holding them up. He gives me the one with my name on it.

I know what it is. I recognise her handwriting. I start to cry. She didn't forget. Dad hugs me.

"They arrived last week," Dad tells us. "when the mail truck came out from Big Town. I thought that I'd keep them as a surprise for you. Mrs Smith at the pub has hung onto them for me so that you wouldn't find them accidentally."

I take a knife from the drawer and slit my envelope carefully. Although I'm keen to see what's inside, I don't want to rush. I want the moment to last. I take my envelope to one of the armchairs and sit down. I hold the envelope in both hands and imagine that Mum is giving it to me herself.

I slowly remove the card that has a picture of a young blond guy sitting on a motor cycle, with his helmet tucked under one arm. It's not a quad bike, but it's close enough. I know that it's supposed to be me. The outside, in gold lettering reads, `For my dear Son on his 13th Birthday'.

I open the card slowly and a $50 note slides out onto my lap. I'm more interested in what's on the inside. It's her handwriting. `To my beloved Kurt. I miss you so much. I send you all my love, with hugs and kisses. Until I see you again. Think of me at night, as I think of you. Love you. Mum'. How could I possibly prevent my tears from overflowing!

I feel hands on my shoulders, and Dad gives me a gentle massage. "You OK?" he asks. I simply hand him the card to read, while I wipe my eyes with my shirt sleeves. Dad puts his arms around my neck and gives me a kiss on the side of my face. "If your Mum was here, she'd give you this too." And he kisses me again, on the other cheek.

"You wanna read mine?" Karl asks me.

"Nah. But thanks. Is it OK if we can just keep these as something personal? I'm sure that Mum's written something nice for you too." These are probably the very first things that Karl and I have not shared in our whole life. Maybe another day. At the moment, this one is just Mum and me.

Karl waves his $50 note, smiling. "Trip to Big Town soon, Dad?"

"How about tomorrow?" Dad asks us. He receives excited yeses.

I'd forgotten about the money, and I pick it up off the rug near my feet.

Maybe a nice shirt each to go with the jeans?" Dad suggests. "Or maybe you'd like a cowboy hat, like the one that Ron was wearing."

He has only to mention Ron's name, and I'm sold on what I want! To look just like him. I now have the same light-coloured jeans and a brown belt. A matching Akubra hat will be perfect. I think of Ron's checked shirt. "Do you think we have enough for a shirt and a hat, Dad?" I ask.

"If not, the rest will be my present to you both," he tells us.

We have a great dinner. And two slices of apple pie each, with lots of cream.

I tuck Mum's card under my pillow and listen to the next chapter of our story. Some pirates use guns instead of swords. Dad shows me a drawing of one pirate firing a pistol. Maybe I can make one just like those. Then I can shoot anyone who tries to torture me again.

A hug, and a kiss goodnight, and the light is turned off.

Karl and I lie in silence. I've got so many thoughts running through my head. I suppose he has too.

Mum. Ron. Apple Pie. Jeans. Belt. Hat. Shirt. William. Mr Grant.

Oh, yes. Mr Grant. I loved the feel of his cock and balls, but I'm now shit-scared that he's going to tell my Dad what I did.

I whisper Karl. "I'm still frightened, that Mr Grant is gonna tell Dad what I did to him. Then I'll be in deep shit! Do you think that he will punish me? Hit me with his belt? Or my new one? Send me to bed without any dinner, or no story, or no hug or kiss good-night?"

"Nah," he replies. He loves us too much to do any of that stuff. When was the last time he `belted' us?"

I have to think. "Umm. Never!"

"Right!" Karl says, very positively. "So why would he start now. Just after your birthday?"

"Umm. Because I've never grabbed and hung on to a teacher's dick before!"

"Anyway..." Karl says. "I really reckon Mr Grant's not gonna say anything to Dad."

"How come?" I ask him, still not understanding, but hoping!

Karl tries to be persuasive: "Was he mad at you when you did it? Or afterwards? What did he say when he walked past us while we were mucking around, as he went to get out of the water? Do you remember? He said, `Have fun guys!' Does that sound like he was mad at you? Actually, when I popped up next to William behind the waterfall, Mr Grant told me that my stiffy was `nice gear for a thirteen-year old'. And then he said to me, after William dived out, `Boys will be boys'. William also said to tell you that everything was OK. So, I reckon you've got nothing to worry about. He wasn't mad at all. In fact, I suspect that he thought it was all quite funny. He's pretty cool, eh?"

"Yeah, but he didn't bother to help me either when I called out, did he? Maybe that was my punishment."

A lot goes through my mind in a very short period of time. Mr Grant wasn't mad. He thought it was funny, and he's OK with us guys playing grabbing games. And he told Karl that his 13-year old `gear' was `nice'. That would mean that he likes mine too because he was able to see my erection right in front of his face when I stood up! Would he be mad or happy if I grabbed him again? If only I could get him to muck around with us in the weir, like he said he would be glad to do `some other time', maybe I could accidentally mistake him for William again. Then, what would he do? Nothing? Let me hold it? Grab me back?

I think back. The other day, just before the three of us went swimming, we sat in front of him in the school room and he kept checking out my underpants as my penis got thicker and longer. After a while, he could tell that I knew he was watching it grow. I grinned at him to let him know it was OK. He just looked into my eyes and smiled back. And then he played our name-mouthing game with me. `Kurt.' `Mr Grant.'

Maybe he is my #2 after all!

Say what? My teacher? That's weird! How could that possibly even work?

Maybe my Birthday Wish today might actually come true. Please, God (or whoever)!

I stick my hand down the front of my pyjama pants, and, repeating my wish over and over, I just play with myself until I fall sleep.

 

I think that I'll never look at breakfast sausages and eggs the same way ever again. On my plate, after eating two, I arrange the remaining sausage so that it's sticking up between the two fried eggs (which I have deliberately not eaten yet). I don't know whether Dad or Karl notice anything. I look at their faces. Maybe my picture of a hard penis and two balls is disguised by the zig-zag of tomato sauce.

We wash up, put everything away and dress for the trip to Big Town. Karl and I are thrilled to wear our new belts and (roomier) jeans. I take my birthday money from under my pillow, fold it in half and slide it into one of my back pockets. Karl does the same.

To my surprise, I find a piece of paper already in there. I pull it out and undo the double fold. It has writing on it. I look in two places – the top and the bottom. It's a note to me. From Ron.

I glance at Karl. Obviously, there was nothing in his jeans, and he hasn't noticed what I've found. He walks out to join Dad, which gives me an opportunity to read what Ron has written.

It says, `Hi Kurt. Happy Birthday, and thanks for all of your work on Monday. Sorry if I made things too hard on you at times, but I really liked your positive and cooperative attitude. I hope you can help me again next holidays. Best wishes, Ron.'

I read it again. And for a third time.

There are two intended meanings here. If Dad was to see it, I could say that Ron is talking about all of the work that we did with the fencing, and how he taught us to do stuff, and then `allowed' us practise it. Slave driver!

But there is a secret message for me. He loved mucking around with me in the swimming hole and the fun that he let me have with him too. And he wants to do it again, perhaps even sleep with me in the workers' hut as he suggested to my Dad. I hope so too.

I instantly think of William `sleeping with' Mr Grant. I'm beginning to see double meanings in lots of things that adults say. Maybe that means that my body isn't the only part of me that's growing up.

I tuck Ron's note inside my pillow case, remember to grab the $10 note that I have left over from Christmas, and I join Dad and Karl who have just headed out through the door. "Hey. Wait for me." I call, and pull the front door shut behind me.

 

There are two main topics of conversation on the way to Big Town.

Firstly, what we are looking for in terms of a hat and a shirt. I want a grey hat; Karl wants a black one. I want a blue check shirt. Carl wants black and white checks. At least there will be no argument over who owns what, just like our jeans and belts with our names on them. Unlike our undies and school clothes – first up gets first pick of those.

Secondly, Ron. Not that I brought up the subject! He worked alongside Dad Tuesday thru Thursday, so they had a lot of time to chat. But I listen very carefully to every comment that Dad makes about him, and anything that he might have said about me... umm, and Karl.

Dad shares, again, that Ron thought highly of `the twins' and their work ethic. They did everything that he asked, without complaining (except in jest) even though he had them do just as much as he did himself. (To me and Karl it seemed like more than him!) And that he complimented both Jan and his wife (Dad and Mum) for the wonderful job of raising two young gentlemen.

I hope that Ron didn't lay the compliments on too thickly, or Dad might become suspicious of his apparent insincerity.

I hear Dad repeat, almost word for word, every conversation between him and Ron. But there is no mention of the `fun' in the swimming hole, nor of watching the horses `go at it'. And no mention of grabbing my bum at every opportunity either. LOL. I reckon that if he can keep things a secret, then so can I.

While Dad is talking, and even after he stops, I conjure up in my mind a picture of being with Ron. And I let it hang there.

 

At the Men's Emporium, we start with the shirts. We find the colours that we want and then the shopkeeper finds us the right size in each of them.

Hats next. We try on lots of them. Different colours. Different sizes. Different style brims. Different `hat bands'. It's a good thing that there are mirrors around the place so that we can check what they look like on us. We make our choices. Karl gets his black hat with a band that looks like it includes some sharks' teeth. My grey hat has a slightly broader brim and my band is plaited leather that matches the colour of my belt. Similar to Ron's. Next holidays Ron and I can wear matching jeans, matching shirts and matching hats. I can't wait! Looking in the mirror, I suddenly feel very grown-up. And handsome. A proper magnet for my boyfriend.

Karl and I each hand our $50 over to Dad who tells us that our hat and shirt together were a `bit more than that'. I see a price tag on one hat before the shop keeper removes it. My hat is more than $50 by itself! I hug my Dad and thank him.

I still have my $10 in my pocket. I am about to give that to Dad too, when I have an idea.

I ask him about it. "Dad, would it be OK if I bought Mr Grant a small present? It would be sort-of like a `welcome' present. He's so much nicer than Mr Grumpy."

"Nice idea, son," Dad says. "I can tell that you and your brother like him. You don't seem to have all those mysterious aches and pains that you used to have last year, to try and get out of going to school!"

"I'm feeling much healthier this year," I tell him. I grin. So does Dad.

"Have a look around and see what you can find, that might be appropriate," Dad tells me.

In my mind I think that giving Mr Grant a `welcome' present might persuade him not tell my Dad what I did to him in the weir.

Dad lets Karl and me stroll around the emporium `just looking'. What can I get him? It has to be small and personal, and not expensive. I have no idea!

Initialled handkerchief? Who uses hankies these days? Mr Grant has a box of tissues on his desk.

A tie? I don't remember the last time that I saw a guy wearing a tie.

A Big Town souvenir? Ridiculous! Why would he want one of those? And he would think that I was pretty stupid.

A set of shot glasses. Why would anybody by four nice little glasses to shoot at for target practice?

Red underpants? What kid could give his teacher sexy underpants? What would my Dad think?

Then I notice some pens. Not just plastic biros. They look like they're made out of wood. I pick up a lot and look at them. Similar wood, but all different. A salesperson comes over to me and says, "Mulga wood".

That's the same as the trees that Mr Cameron uses to feed the cattle.

He tells me, "There's a lot of mulga wood up north of here, and one of the local craftsmen makes biro casings out of it on a special machine that he has, called a lathe. He also does bowls, mugs, domino sets and other abstract carvings." He points out those things to me around the shop.

The polished wood is beautiful. I ask how much the pens are. Four dollars.

Then I take a close look at a set of dominoes. Each piece is the same size and shape, but the wood-grain patterns and colours are different, and amazing. The spots look as though they have been burnt with a hot piece of metal. How much? Twenty dollars.

I explain that I have only ten dollars and that it is my Christmas money from my Mum. And that I want to give my teacher a present. He looks at me and asks, "Is it his birthday, or is he going away?"

What a dreadful thought! Mr Grant's only been here for such a short time, and I hope that I never have to give him a going-away present.

The salesman says, "Well, young man, your Dad has bought two shirts and two hats today, so I'll tell you what I'll do for you." (I like the sound of that... `young man'. Growing!) "You can have a pen for three dollars or the set of dominoes for ten."

I'm about to take the dominoes.

Then I think. People would ask `Why?' And they would probably get suspicious of my reasons. I couldn't explain it. Whichever way that I look at it, it wouldn't work, despite being what I would really like to give him. And Mr Grant might thank me but tell me to take them back for a refund.

"Dad?" I ask, going over to him. "Do you think that Mr Grant would like a mulga wood pen? I'll bet that he's never seen anything like these before." I show him some that I've picked out.

He says, "I know that you're going to pay for this out of your Christmas money, and I'm very proud of you for thinking about other people. And, yes, I'm sure that Mr Grant would think that it was a beautiful `welcome' gift." He ruffles my hair.

I choose the best-looking one and I get seven dollars change out of ten.

I buy Karl and me each a $1 bag of lollies. Karl thanks me. Dad hugs me. I have a $5 note left. For a special occasion.

Despite more reassurances from William and Karl, I don't sleep well.

My dreams jump from the pleasure of feeling Mr Grant's cock and balls, to guilt, to potential punishment when he gets angry and tells Dad and then back to how Mr Grant could be my #2 from my Christmas wish, and what I would do if my birthday wish is granted. They are dreams that go on night after night for the whole of the week.

At school, I can't bring myself to look Mr Grant in the eye. I avoid him in the playground. I don't ask for his help with any of my work. I do my sweeping job quickly on Friday afternoon and take off home. I haven't given him his pen yet.

Karl has noticed my avoidance of Mr Grant and finally, in bed on Friday night, tells me that my behaviour this week cannot go on for any longer. "Watching you like this is even causing me to be stressed, Kurt, so I can't imagine what's really going on inside your head. What gives?"

"I've told you," I say to him. "I can't get what I did to Mr Grant out of my mind. Sometimes it's good and then it switches to bad. I don't know what to do."

"And I've told YOU," he replies, "that it's all right. Mr Grant was OK with it last Friday. And he's said nothing about it all week."

"That's right. He hasn't spoken to me all week. I think he hates me," I say to Karl. I'm upset by my own words.

"He hasn't been ignoring you this week," Karl tells me. "It's you who's been avoiding him!"

"Yes, but..." begin.

Karl cuts me off. "That's it! Enough! Tomorrow, he will probably come up to do some work like he usually does on Saturday mornings, and you need to go and talk to him and tell him what's on your mind. `Get it off your chest', as they say. But, more importantly, get it out of your head!"

"I can't," I say. "I don't know what to say. I'm too scared."

"I'll come with you, if you like, and start off the talking," Karl says, "but then you've got to do the rest. Just tell him how you are feeling and say `sorry'. I want my happy brother back!" He gets out of his bed, slides into mine and gives me a hug.

I hug him back and hang on. "Thank you, Karl," I tell him. "I love you."

He stays with me for a while then goes back to his own bed.

I fall asleep and dream.

Part of it is a nightmare. I have my wooden sword for protection. But Captain Grant is chasing me with a real sword. He keeps yelling `I hate you!' and `I'm gonna get your willie!' My legs can't run fast enough and can only go in slow motion. He's gonna get me. He wants to cut my cock and balls off and feed them to his pet sharks that he keeps in the school's water tank.

In another part, we're in the weir and I'm holding onto his cock. He keeps saying `You've got nice gear for a thirteen-year old!' and `I love your firm handshake.' and `You need to have fun.' He wants me! He lets me hold on to him, and hold on, and hold on.

 

I wake up wet. Did I pee myself in fright at some time? I don't think so. It's sticky, but it's a whole lot more than the other times. What's happening to me?

I lie there, avoiding touching my wet pyjama pants, just staring at the ceiling, not knowing what to do next.

"Are you OK, Kurt?" my brother says. "I've been watching you. Why are you just lying there with your eyes open like that?"

What can I say? Nothing.

"Hey!" Karl says. "Snap out of it! We are going to talk to Mr Grant this morning and fix this!"

I don't want to look at him, but I see him move. He comes over to me. I don't want him to feel my wet pyjamas. He insists on getting in beside me, despite my protests. I turn on my side away from him. Turn my big wet pyjama patch away from him.

He snuggles up behind me and hugs me. "It'll be OK," he encourages. He rubs my chest and my stomach. I can't stop what's going to happen. His hand finds my wet pyjamas. There is silence.

Then, "You too, huh?" he whispers in my ear.

"What?" I choke out.

"So, it's happened to you too? I woke up like that two days ago," he tells me quietly.

"How come?" I ask and roll onto my back to hear him better. Karl has to move his hand and he wiggles to a more comfortable position alongside me.

"I had a great dream about William and me being `gentle' with each other and our willies were hard," he says. "I was feeling good but the next thing I knew, I woke up and I was really wet."

"That's kinda what happened to me," I tell him. "Except, in my dream, I was holding onto Mr Grant in the weir and he told me to have fun. Then it must have happened after that. I dreamed that the wetness was the water in the weir. Then I woke up."

"I think this is what William told us would happen one day. Remember?" Karl asks.

"Yeah," I reply. "I like the dream, but I don't like wet pyjamas!" I try to smile.

"Come on," Karl says. "Let's get up and get dressed. Your pyjamas will dry. Mine did."

We pile out of my bed. I dry my wet stomach and hairs with my pyjamas then lay them flat under my bed to dry. Dad won't see them there.

Instead of having a shower, which might wake Dad up, I use a face washer and clean myself properly.

Karl and I both put on a white T-shirt and our `old' blue jeans. They'll be OK for just around the house. A bit tight, but that's all right.

"Did you talk to William about it when it happened to you?" I ask Karl while we set about getting some breakfast as quietly as possible.

"I thought about telling him," he begins, "but decided not to mention it, apart from just asking him what happens when he gets excited at night. He said that his cock gets hard. And when he's really excited, that's when the white, sticky stuff comes out. He said it spurts out and feels really good. Sometimes he wakes up just before it happens and he can catch it in tissues instead of wetting his pyjamas."

"Does it happen to everyone?" I ask. "I'm not sure that I want to wake up wet every time that I have a good dream!"

"Yeah, well, I dunno," Karl tells me. "We could ask Dad. He said that we could talk to him about anything."

"I think that I'd rather ask William, seeing that he's already told you some of it," I say, imagining that my Dad would not understand how I felt, or think that I was weird.

"Yeah, I suppose," Karl says. "If we want to know more after talking to William, then we could talk to Dad about it."

`I'll bet that Ron knows all about it, too', I think to myself.

Maybe it's the smell of breakfast that brings Dad out.

"Morning boys!" he chirps. "What's cooking?"

"Bacon, eggs and toast," I tell him.

Karl offers to make him a coffee.

We sit at the table and just chat. "Hey, I thought that those jeans were too tight for you two," Dad comments.

I look down. The roundness of my `stuff' is pretty obvious, but I'm sure that Mr Grant won't say anything when we go over there. He'll probably look, though. Then I'll smile at him and mouth his name and maybe he won't hate me anymore.

If he mouths my name back to me then I'll know that everything's good between me and him again!

"They're OK for just around here, Dad," I tell him. "We wouldn't want to get the new ones dirty."

"All right," he replies. "Let's just hope you don't need to pee in a hurry, like the other day."

I look at him. He's being funny. Grinning, just to stir me up and see what I'll say.

"Well, it wouldn't be a problem for you at the moment, would it?" I smirk back. He's still naked.

"That reminds me," he says. "I haven't been yet. "I think I'll have a quick shower and freshen up."

"Do you pee in the shower?" Karl asks him.

"Why? Don't you?" he answers, and heads for the bathroom. "Thanks for breakfast!" he calls.

Karl and I clean up. William hasn't emerged this morning like he often does. Maybe he's over at the school talking to Mr Grant. Looking for him will give me an excuse to go over there.

I go into my room to make sure that everything's tidy and that my pyjamas can't be seen from the doorway. When I look through the window, I see Mr Grant's car. He's already there.

"Come on. Let's get it over and done with," Karl tells me, walking into the bedroom behind me.

We dodge Dad as he walks from the bathroom to his bedroom. "We're just going over to the school to see if William is there," I tell him. "Maybe he came up from Marty's with Mr Grant this morning."

From his bedroom we hear, "I have to go into Big Town this morning to get a few things for work. You guys want to come too, or are you OK by yourselves for a while?"

"Thanks, Dad. But we can play with William. No problem," Karl tells him.

Karl and I take the short cut.

He keeps telling me what to say and not to worry.

We walk along the verandah, and Mr Grant calls, "Come in boys!" even before we knock. Karl leads. I follow and we sit on the little kids' desk in front of Mr Grant. He looks from Karl to me, then looks me down and up. I knew that he would!

Karl begins, "Hello Mr Grant. We thought that Litt..., umm William might have been here."

Mr Grant tells us that William is spending the weekend with Jake because Jane is visiting a friend in Big Town. He also comments, "Yes, I know it must be hard not to call him `Little Willie'. His cousin Marty is having the same problem.

Karl tells him, "Our Dad's gone into Big Town to buy some stuff for work, and we were hoping to hang out and play with Willie...am".

There is a sudden silence. Karl nudges me.

I want to die. But I also want my #2 to like me again. I still can't look at his eyes, so, just looking at the various things on his desk, I ask, "Mr Grant, can we please talk to you about something?"

"Yes, Kurt. You can talk to me about anything." He pauses, then adds, "What? Is it personal stuff?"

How did he know? "Yes, sir, it is," I say.

He then says that it's OK to talk about stuff with him and, that if it's personal, then he won't tell anyone else.

"OK?" he asks.

Karl and I nod and hum our agreement. What a relief! He's not gonna tell our Dad.

Then he adds, "But if you tell me that you have murdered somebody, then I might just have to say something about that to the police." I can't help smiling and looking at him for the first time in a week. He has kind eyes and a friendly grin. I'm gonna be all right.

He puts out his hand and Karl and I shake it. "Done deal!" he says, then says, "Now, what is it that you would like to talk about?"

I can almost hear Karl thinking, `Murder? That would be Ron.' And, `Do unto others before they do unto you!' That cheers me up even more.

I look at Karl who nods and mouths, `go on!'. I take a deep breath and start. "Mr Grant, I want to apologise for what I did last week at the weir. I really thought that you were William. I couldn't see anything in the river water and when I felt your legs, I thought they were his, and so I just... Mr Grant, we were playing this game, and in the game it's OK to grab somebody, so I'm really sorry for doing it to you."

Then I take a breath.

Mr Grant smiles directly at me and says, "Thank you, Kurt, for the apology. I've never been grabbed by one of my students before. It was a real surprise." He adds, "And you held on for quite a while, didn't you?" He pauses while I feel really embarrassed by remembering how long I hung onto him. Then I hear, "But I don't want you to think that I was angry with you or upset about what happened."

Karl and I look at each other. What is he saying?

He continues, "Boys, I know how much fun it can be for guys to muck around with other guys - whether it's playing footy, or wrestling, or even being naked together in the river - especially if they are thirteen years old. I actually remember what it was like when I was thirteen. It wasn't that many years ago for me, you know."

Karl and I giggle. He adds, "Boys, all I can say is, be very careful where you do anything like that, and make sure that you check first if anyone's around who might see you."

Karl finally says something. "We normally do, Mr Grant. We just weren't expecting you to be there. Kurt really thought that you were William, because where you were sitting was right where William dived under the waterfall."

"Let's leave it at that then, shall we?" Mr Grant says. "As far as I'm concerned, you two and William were just normal boys having normal fun. Even if it accidentally included me."

I have to smile. So, he thinks that mucking around with another guy's `stuff' is normal fun? And me grabbing him was an accident? I feel myself getting hard and put my hands over it. That doesn't help. It's doing its own thing, again!

Mr Grant looks me in the eye and says, "And that's normal too. Those things..." pointing to the front of my jeans, "...seem to have a mind of their own sometimes - getting hard at the most embarrassing times."

He knows. And he knows I know that he's been checking me out the whole time. I look back at him, remove my hands while `that thing' of mine continues to move and grow. I mouth `Mr Grant'. He smiles and mouths `Kurt'.

That's the sign! We're good again!

He changes the subject and asks about our Mum and Dad. Karl explains that Mum was sick and went back to live with her parents and that we still live with Dad. For some reason Karl also tells Mr Grant that Dad likes to go and visit William's mother a lot and William comes to play with us while he's over there.

Mr Grant is quiet for a moment, as if he was thinking about something, but then he says, "Guys, thanks for coming and having a chat. I promise that I'll keep everything a secret between us, as we agreed. I won't even tell William. Any time you want to talk about `guy stuff' or anything else, I'm happy to be here for you. And I'm sorry that William isn't here today. But now, if you'll excuse me, I think that I'd better get some work done."

Karl and I both thank him, for everything, then we head for the door, Karl first. Mr Grant follows us and, as I leave, he pats me on the backside a couple of times and says, "It's all good, Kurt. Now I hope that you will be able to talk to me again next week. I've missed your friendly smiles."

I have to say it! I turn and half whisper so that Karl can't hear me: "You know, Mr Grant, that if you wanted to muck around with me... I mean with us... in the river, that it would be a lot of fun. OK?" He grins at me and winks. I think that my birthday wish might be coming true. I give him a really big wink in return, as if to say `I know you want to muck around with me, and it's OK. I will keep it a secret.'

Like with Ron.

I skip along the verandah and jump down, over the step, then run after Karl. In my mind I know that William wants Karl, and now, both Ron and Mr Grant want me! I'm really happy.

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Karl asks as I catch up to him.

I should have taken his pen over with me. Damn!

We do our chores at home, start a game of Monopoly and have lunch with Dad when he gets back from Big Town. He has brought us a custard tart each and a block of chocolate for us all to share. It disappears before the Monopoly game is finished.

Normal Sunday. Sleep in. No wet pyjama pants. Late breakfast. Lazy day. Dad likes to sit in his favourite lounge chair and read the weekend newspaper whenever he gets one – every single word from the front-page headline to the back-page sport statistics. The good thing is that after he finishes one part, he gives it to Karl or me, and we get to read everything too, lying on the rug. Then we swap it around. I like the comics and I'm learning to do the giant crossword. Karl and I do it together. The paper ends up all over the loungeroom floor. It can be a fun game trying to put all of the pages back together again in the right order, especially when there are lots of them.

(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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