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 66:
"And, Jacko said
that things quickly progressed from fifty cents for a look at his dick, to $2
for a feel, then $5 for a play. He had a coffee tin at home that began quickly
filling up! Some girls started inviting him to their place just to play for a
bit longer when their parents weren't home, and they paid him $10. He said that
he was happier taking money from the boys than the girls because he enjoyed it
more, especially since the guys wanted him to play with them too, but still
paid him.
"He even told me
that one of the girls paid him $20 a few times and that she was the closest
that he ever came to having a girlfriend."
"What did the $20
pay for?" I ask Karl.
"I asked Jacko the
same thing," Karl replies. "And he just told me to use my imagination!"
"She was getting
him to have sex with her!" I say. "And paying him to do it!"
Sunday morning
doesn't go according to Karl's plan. Mr Grant and William arrive early.
Chapter 67 – Kurt's Smartness
"Hi!" I greet Mr Grant and William. "You guys are
early today. What's up?"
"Your Dad and Helen invited us out early so that they
and I can discuss all of the arrangements for the wedding," Mr Grant tells me.
"Only a few weeks to go, now!"
"And I can go horse riding, maybe with Karl and Jacko
and Ron," William tells me. "I know that you and Tom don't like to ride."
Karl's face appears to be a combination of surprise
and annoyance, that his plans for him and Jacko to go riding alone together,
and to have fun somewhere, appear to be ruined.
I try to hide my surprise and disappointment better
than Karl is doing. Yes, my brother and Jacko will be going riding. But, so will
Ron and William too!
That only leaves Mr Grant for me to muck around with, somewhere.
But he's going to be busy talking to Dad and Helen!
I reckon that I should just go and use one of the
empty horse stalls and jack myself off! At least, I can be thinking about what
Karl and I will do in the shower tonight at Jintabudjaree, or what Ron and I
did at the workers' hut yesterday!
Otherwise, I could make something for lunch from Mrs
Cameron's Red Book, which, after thinking about it, is probably a better
option!
I'm left standing alone in the yard between the house
and the sheds, watching the dust of the four horses as they trot away, to the north.
I don't hear Dad come up behind me until he speaks.
"Hey sport!" he says, causing me to jump in surprise. "You want to come and talk
with us about the wedding? We know that you're good with ideas and details."
"Sure! Thanks!" I tell him, brightening up, but
disappointed in myself for being so moody because the four good riders went off
to enjoy their time together. I feel very selfish!
My little self-pity party very quickly disappears when
Helen says, "Thank you, Kurt. Your Dad and I have talked about lots of things,
but would really appreciate hearing what you think should happen on the day."
"You want my opinion about your wedding?" I ask.
"Yes," Dad tells me, then adds, "Helen and I have agreed
on most things, but we would really value hearing what you think."
"About what, in particular?" I ask.
"Anything," she replies.
"So, where do you want me to start?" I ask.
"Wherever you like," Dad says.
I look at Mr Grant for some indication or opinion or
encouragement.
"Just think about the day," he tells me. "And say
whatever you think you might like to see."
"Wow!" I tell them, exhaling loudly, wondering what to
say first. "Without knowing about weddings, I have had a few thoughts about
what it might possibly be like. Well, firstly," I start, "In a dream I had,
Helen arrived in a coach and was cheered by everyone on the balconies as she came
up the steps, then she walked down the middle of the hall to the grand
staircase where Dad was waiting. In another dream, the bride and bridesmaids came
from the pink room and the groom and best men came from the blue room, and met
on the landing below the zebra. Does that zebra have to stay? It's very black
and white."
I should ask `Uncle' about the zebra, if I get the
chance.
"Well, we do have a coach," Mr Grant says. "I don't
think Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, would object to her landau being used for Helen
and Jan's wedding. We just need to add some horses."
"I like both options," Dad says. "Can I make a
suggestion?"
I'm about to offer `May I...?' (English!) then I look at
Mr Grant's face. He winks at me. He knows what I am thinking. I keep my mouth shut.
Dad says, "We have horses. So does Reg O'Brien. So, no
problem there! What if Helen and I arrive together in the landau, in normal
clothes, wave to the crowd, then she can go up to the pink room where her
bridesmaids will be waiting to help her change? And I can go to the blue room
where my boys will be dressed and waiting, to help me. Then we can all come
down together, meet on the landing and the ceremony can take place there, where
we can see everyone, and they can all see us?"
"Nice!" I tell them all. "But where would the landau
start from? Not from out here at Whispering Gums!"
Mr Grant offers to Dad, "If you both drive down from
Whispering Gums onto Jintabudjaree, Will could meet you with the landau halfway
between the road and the homestead. Then, you could travel the rest of the way
in the landau, with Will as the driver. He'd love that!"
Helen says, "I like that. And, we think that we would
like Bill O'Rourke to perform the ceremony. Apart from being a coach driver,
he's also a Justice of the Peace and a marriage celebrant. And, a great friend
of my family."
"I like Mr O'Rourke," I say. "He was really good to
Karl and me when he drove us to meet the train when we went to see Mum and Ma
and Pa."
"I've just had a few other ideas about the landau,
which I'll talk to you about in detail later," Mr Grant tells us.
"So," I add, "I imagine that the order of things would
be the ceremony, dancing led by the bride and groom, food and then more
dancing. Is that right?"
"Pretty much," Dad answers.
"But what about music?" I ask. "Helen mentioned a band
that would be coming from Cunnamulla. Where do you want them to be?"
"Maybe, could they set up in the corner of the hall
nearest to the library?" Mr Grant asks.
Dad and Helen nod.
"Or," I say, "What about upstairs near the blue room?
That way the music can drift down and fill the whole hall."
"I told you he was smart!" Dad announces.
"Obviously smarter than his teacher!" Mr Grant appears
to confess, with my suggestion being better than his.
"I don't think so, Mr Grant!" I reply. I add, "You
have taught me lots of things that I didn't know before." Then I correct
myself, "I mean that I didn't know previously. `Before' is a preposition and
`previously' is an adverb."
"What did he just say?" Dad asks, turning to Mr Grant.
"See! I say. "I'm not smarter than he is. I just learn
things from him. And you!" I add, smiling at my Dad. You both inspire me."
They both grin at me.
"So!" Helen says to Mr Grant and Dad, "Apart from
being inspired to smartness by two wonderful men, Kurt also has a way with
words, and he can dance." She pauses. "Which reminds me..." she says, staring at
my Dad, "I understand that YOU can dance."
"Who told you that?" Dad asks, looking guilty for not having
had that discussion sooner.
"One of your smart sons, from memory," Helen says.
Dad turns and stares at me.
"And, if my memory serves me correctly," I tell him,
"It was your other smart son who dobbed you in. I only told Helen that Karl and
I could both dance."
Dad looks at Helen.
"True!" she tells him. Then she adds, "And I'm looking
forward to dancing a full bridal waltz with my new husband and each of his two
sons."
Suddenly getting up and heading for the kitchen, Dad
says, "Anyone feel like a coffee?"
"What about you, Tom?" Helen asks. "Do you dance?
There will be lots of young ladies looking for a partner."
I've never seen Mr Grant blush as much as he is now!
I try to help out. "You do mean a dance partner, don't
you Helen? Not a husband?"
Helen, turning to Mr Grant, answers, "Oh, I'm sorry,
Tom. I didn't mean to suggest that you might find a bride there. Yes, of course
I meant as a dance partner. However," she says grinning, "Single country girls
are always on the lookout for a partner of the other kind too!"
"He already has a girlfriend," I announce to Helen. "And
William said that he's met her. Her name is Karen. Isn't that right, Mr Grant?"
"Yes," he replies, smiling. "Will did meet Karen when
he came with me for the first school holidays, months ago."
"Helen?" I hear Dad call from the kitchen. "Can you please
give me a hand here?"
She gets up and heads to see what Dad wants.
Mr Grant and I look at each other and both mouth `May
you...?' Our smiles don't quite make it to chuckles.
"Thanks, sport," Mr Grant says, reaching and ruffling
my hair. "I wasn't sure where that `partner' thing was going."
"No problem, Mr Grant," I tell him. "In a softer voice
I add, "And thanks for all the things that you have taught me!"
"Shhh," he whispers as Dad and Helen emerge with
coffee and cake. "Be very careful what you say when other people are around!"
And the wedding discussion continues. The food that Mrs
Smith might bring, and where should it be placed? Whether people would stand during
the ceremony or sit, and where? Whether to eat sitting or standing? Leaving
enough room for dancing. What music? What dances? What sleeping arrangements
for people who would be travelling a long distance? Where the bride and groom
would go afterwards? What people should wear? What invitations and when to send
them out?
After all of that, my brain is feeling exhausted.
"While the others are still off, riding," Dad says, "Kurt,
why don't you take Mr Grant down and show him the work that you've done in
painting the workers' cottage? Then, come back for lunch."
"May we use the quad bikes?" I ask.
"Of course!" Dad answers. "You might even like to take
Mr Grant over and show him what our two farm hands did during the week."
"You want to come?" I ask Mr Grant.
"Sure, sport," he answers, and we head for the door.
We ride alongside each other so that we don't get
covered with dust.
We walk around the hut and I point out to Mr Grant the
walls that I painted, and how high I was able to reach.
"Nice job!" he says, giving me a one-armed hug around
my shoulders. "If we need any painting done at Jintabudjaree, I know who to ask!"
My brain says to itself, `Shouldn't that be `I know whom
to ask', object of the verb?' I recall one of those English lessons. However, I
don't mention it. Would it be rude if I did?
I simply tell him, "Jacko did the top bits, Karl did
one end of the verandah and Ron did all of the inside by himself."
"What a team!" he comments.
We head inside. "This is very nice. It would be a great
place for your farm stay people!" he says. "And very private, too."
"Maybe a good place for a maths lesson," I grin at him,
raising and lowering my eyebrows.
I can tell by his expression that he knows exactly what
I'm hinting at!
"Come on," he tells me, stepping off the verandah.
"Show me what the farm hands have been doing."
Although I was hoping that he might want to play for a
while, I'm not totally disappointed because of the good swat that he gives me,
helping me out of the door. Actually, it's more of a grasp than a swat!
"We could take just one bike," I suggest.
He looks towards the bikes and can see that there is
room for someone to ride behind the person holding the handle bars. "OK," he
replies. "You drive over and I'll drive back. Deal?"
"Deal," I say and extend my fist for him to bump.
"Did you know that the second person is called a
`pillion passenger'?" he comments.
"How come?" I ask, settling on to the seat.
"Originally, it meant a `pillow' for the second person
to sit on," he answers. "Hence, pillion."
He slides on behind me.
"You'd better hold on to me," I tell him, hopefully.
"In case I hit a bump."
"OK," he replies. And he rests his hands on my hips.
"You want to hold on tighter?" I ask, again hoping
that he takes my invitation to reach right around me to where he should easily
find Junior.
"It's all right. I'll be fine. Thanks," he says.
I deliberately run over a small piece of fallen branch
which I could easily have avoided
He grips my hips harder, but doesn't move the position
of his hands.
"I'll be sure to avoid that one on our way back," he
laughs.
Remembering how, on that day in the classroom after
school, I refused to let go of my hands around his neck as he walked around the
room, I begin a game of swerving to avoid branches and holes in the ground, in
attempt to get Mr Grant to move his hands. However, he wins! Like I did back
then. So, I stop trying, and concentrate on driving carefully.
"Here we are," I tell him, pulling up near the closest
corner post. "Next week, they're going to finish the whole thing off, and start
bringing down stuff that we don't want farm stay guests to hurt themselves on. There
will probably be some little kids occasionally. And, it will also give the whole
place a tidy up, especially around all of the buildings."
"This is really good," Mr Grant tells me, looking
along the lines of posts.
"Do you know about fences, Mr Grant?" I ask.
"Well, I helped Marty and Will build a new chicken
coop for Marty's mother," he tells me. Marty seemed to know what he was doing,
and this looks as good or better than what the three of us did back then."
"Do you know why that post is at 45 degrees?" I ask, pointing,
testing him out.
"Yes. It stops the tension in the wire pulling the
corner post, or any other one where there's a 45-degree support, out of its
vertical position," he answers.
"Very good!" I tell him.
He asks me a question back, "So, do you know how to
tell how long to make the 45-degree support post?"
I think for a minute, then answer. "Do you mean the
way that Ron would do it, or the way that Jacko would do it?"
"Why? Would they be different?" he asks.
"Yes. Because," I say, "Ron would probably use
Pythagoras's theorem – the height of the corner post where the support was to
go, and the point on the ground where it was to be secured. And they should be
the same length, if you want 45 degrees. And, the support post is the
hypotenuse."
"Excellent!" he replies. "What about Jacko?"
"I reckon," I tell him, "Jacko would just put the
support post where he wanted it against the corner post, then mark where he
wanted to cut it. No measurement or calculation necessary!"
"You really are smart, you know!" Mr Grant tells me,
and pats me on the shoulder, then on the backside.
"Thanks!" I tell him, and return the compliment,
patting him on the backside, that is.
He asks me, "Do you know what kind of triangle is made
by the corner post, the ground and the support post?"
"Hey!" I say, trying to frown. "Is this a maths test?"
"No," he says, grinning. "But seeing that you like
maths lessons so much, I just thought that I'd ask."
"Very funny!" I tell him, giving him another swat on
the backside. "But, just so that you know that I don't just like what we do
after our special maths lesson, and that I do listen in class, it's a
right-angled triangle, where the corner post sits in the ground. But, because
both of the other angles are 45 degrees, that means that the height of the post
and the distance on the ground are the same, which also makes it an isosceles
triangle! Right?"
"Spot on, sport," he replies. "100 percent!" He grins
at me, and swats me.
I grin back, and swat him back. "OK," I tell him.
"Your turn to drive."
"Hold on," he tells me.
He hits a hole in the ground, not intentionally like I
did, I think, and I bounce up off the seat.
It gives me a perfect excuse to say, "I think that I
should hang on tighter." And I nudge up against his back, and stretch my arms
right around his waist, and let my hands rest on the front of his jeans. He
doesn't say anything, and I enjoy the feeling of holding onto the lump in his
pants. Nothing is hard. Well, his isn't!
When we get back to the house, the riders appear to
have had a shower. The four of them have wet hair. I wonder if they all
showered together? That's something I would have enjoyed. Did they do anything?
You know, muck around? I don't even want to think about all of the
possibilities!
Over lunch, Mr Grant compliments Ron and Jacko on the
work that they did, and says to Dad, "Nice paint job down at the workers' hut,
too. We might need a good team of painters when all of the houses are ready in
The Village."
"Excellent idea," Dad replies. "What do you say guys?"
We all agree.
I hope that Ron doesn't paint anything rude on the
walls there! But I grin at the thought of it.
"Good," Dad says. "I'll mention it to Ash in the
morning."
When we get back to Jintabudjaree, I can tell that
Karl is keen to get to bed so that he can show me what he and Jacko did briefly
in the shower. He doesn't know that I already know what it's like, or that I
really enjoy doing it with Ron. Doing it with my brother will be fun! And, that
kind of gives him and Jacko `permission' to be able to go at it with each
other.
After saying goodnight to William and Mr Grant, Karl
and I head for the shower.
It crosses my mind how much stuff I've learned to do
with William and Mr Grant and Ron! And how wonderful it is to be able to
`practise' with my brother! And, what I did with Andy!
Hey, Andy told me that he would teach me to let him go
all the way with me when he comes back! He'll be here in a couple of weeks'
time, for the holidays and the wedding. Then he and I can do together what Dad
and Helen do in bed! Junior is stiff at just the thought of it!
"You excited?" Karl asks me, taking hold of Junior.
"I'm sure that you're going to like this!"
He and I are thinking of two different things, but
he's right: I am going to enjoy what he wants to show me.
(to be continued)
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If you like the story, and haven't said 'hello'
yet, please take a couple of minutes to email me.
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I try to reply to everyone, though maybe not
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The partly-parallel
version to this story, `Schoolie', told through the eyes of Tom Grant, gives
the backstory specifically for Tom,
William, Andy and Jintabudjaree.
Find `Schoolie' at https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/schoolie
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If you're interested, I have 26 (A-Z) short stories
at
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-friends/massage-tales
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