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 is brief in order to align, partially, with Chapter 7 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 6:

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.

 

Chapter 7 – Games and Fun

It's a relief to go to school on Monday morning and to not be afraid of Mr Grant.

In fact, today, I think that he makes a point of being friendly with me. He smiles at me a lot, compliments me on my work a lot, pats my back a lot, and I think that he checks out my shorts a lot more than usual. I even make a point of standing in front of his desk to ask him a question, and then watching his eyes move down and up. LOL.

He must know that I know!

However, he is very careful not to let anyone else see what he's doing. When he's checking our work or helping us, he walks around and briefly touches people's shoulder or arm when he's talking to them. With me, he rests his hand on my back and leaves it there. Nobody would notice the difference. But I do. Sometimes he wiggles a finger and tickles my ribs. I don't giggle, which would only draw attention to us.

 

On Wednesday, I remember to bring his present, the mulga-wood pen. I wait until Karl and William head off. With Mr Grant and me alone together, I wait near the door. He pats my backside, like he usually does, but I don't move.

"Is everything OK, Kurt?" he asks.

I produce the pen from my pocket and hand it to him. "What's this?" he asks.

It's pretty obvious that it's a pen!

"This is a present from me for you," I tell him. "It's to say `welcome' to The Village. We love having you here."

I add, a little more appreciatively, "And it's also to say `Thank you' for not hating me and for not telling my Dad what I did to you in the weir that afternoon."

His mouth goes funny, as if he's trying to stop himself from crying. He almost whispers, even though no one else is here, "Thank you, Kurt. That is very thoughtful of you. But you needn't worry about me saying anything to your Dad, if that's what you thought I might do. I wouldn't want you to be upset in any way."

Then he says the magic words: "I like you, you know! You are always positive. I knew it the first day that I met you. And, you're clever."

I do what I normally do when someone is kind to me. I throw my arms around him and say `thank you'.

Mr Grant hugs me back and pats my backside lots of times. "It's all OK, Kurt," he says. Then he adds, "I told you, didn't I, that anything between you and me is personal and I wouldn't say anything to anyone?

I hug him tighter, and thank him again, and he helps my backside out of the door, with another couple of friendly pats.

I skip to the end of the verandah then turn around. He's still near the door, watching me. I strike a pose and point at him and mouth `Mr Grant'. He responds, `Kurt', with a big grin.

 

In the next couple of weeks, I sometimes make a point of being the last one out of the door, and he helps me along with a pat on my backside. I make a squeaky sound and look at him. It always makes him smile.

Once, I let him go first. "After you, Mr Grant," I say and stand back, displaying my good manners. He thanks me and goes first. I immediately pat his backside. He turns and looks me in the eye, half-pointing his finger and mouths, `Kurt'. I point and mouth `Mr Grant' back at him, then skip away to play with the others.

I often play the name-mouthing game with him, when nobody is watching (I check first). He always responds.

We're good!

 

Weeks pass, and he and I continue to be playful in the same way. It's not the sort of playfulness that I had wished for at Christmas or on my birthday, but I enjoy it. Pats are good, especially when he leaves his hand there.

I also enjoy the other type of playfulness, you know, with Karl and William.

I continually wonder when I might get to play the same way with my #2. I dream about it sometimes and my wet pyjamas remind me of how thrilling my dream was.

 

In class, Mr Grant has given William a special reading book. It contains words and pictures and is all about road rules and how to drive safely.

We all know that William has not been a good reader but Mr Grumpy never used to help him like Mr Grant does. Mr Grant has also asked Jake, Karl and me to help him.

When William `does reading' each day, one of us goes outside with him and we sit on one of the seats at the end of the verandah near the playground. It's probably so that the little kids don't hear him and make fun of him. I don't think that they would, though.

William and I both take this time together very seriously, and there is no mucking around. I think that he appreciates that.

I really want to help him be a good reader. He's getting really good at sounding out words, and there's a lot that he recognises straight away.

 

It's a Saturday morning. We've all finished breakfast and cleaned up. Dad is up checking the pump on the water tank. He says that all of the moving parts have to be kept greased so that they work smoothly.

I hear the sound of Marty's SUV, and Dad calls down to us, "Marty has just dropped William off near the pub. He's walking this way."

Dad can see everything from up there.

Karl and I like to climb up there sometimes and pretend that we're pirates in the crow's nest, looking out for ships to plunder. Karl and I have even made black eye patches to wear.

To be safe, Dad says that it's OK to get up there if he's home, but not if he isn't.

Karl and I run to meet William, half-way along our road. "Been sleeping with Mr Grant again, I suppose?" Karl puts to him, jokingly.

We turn and walk back alongside him to our place.

"Of course!" William replies. "Neither of us is gonna sleep in Marty's room! He only has one bed in there. Marty and Mr Grant have gone into Big Town to get some groceries. I think that it's Mr Grant's first time."

Then he quickly asks, "What's your Dad doing up there? I could see him from the pub. Any problems with the windmill?"

"Nah," I tell him. "He's just making sure that we don't have any."

"Good morning, Mr Andersen," William greets him with. "Need a hand with anything today?"

I know that William likes to help our Dad and learn to do stuff, and Dad enjoys have a `strong man' around, in case there is anything heavy to be moved.

"G'day William," Dad calls. "As a matter of fact, now that there are three of you, I wouldn't mind a hand just doing a general tidy-up. I saw a couple of smaller snakes earlier. Even though summer has ended officially, it's still hot enough for them to be active. I'd like to clear a bit more of land around the house, so that they'll be easier to spot."

"No worries, Mr Andersen," William replies. Then, putting one hand on the back of Kar's neck and one on mine, he calls out, "And I'll see to it that these two don't leave you and me to do all of the work!"

He's joking, but gets elbowed from both sides, regardless.

"Pity we don't have any fences to mend," Dad joins in the fun. "I'm told that they're both pretty good at that!"

"I'll explain it to you later," Karl tells him. "It's easy to work when you have a potential murderer as a supervisor!"

I look at him and shake my head. I have a totally different opinion of Ron.

Then, at the thought of Ron's name, I wonder, `how many more weeks are there before the next holidays?'

Dad gives us some tools and suggests that William and Karl can take the side closest to the river, while he and I should start clearing on the school-side of the house.

We break for morning tea. Scones with home-made jam and fresh cream, courtesy of Mrs Cameron out at `Whispering Gums'. We all have tea, except William who has recently taken to drinking coffee.

We work through until lunchtime. Dad gives us the choice of tidying up or preparing lunch.

Ron isn't the only slave driver! And I wonder whether Karl and William have managed to do as much as Dad and I have.

I'm tired so my vote is to do the food.

William offers to help me. And, before he gets a chance to join William and me, Dad `volunteers' Karl to help him with the final clean up and to put all of the tools away.

William and I head straight for the bathroom. William says quite openly, between the two of us, "You know that if your Dad wasn't here, we could shower off all of the dirt."

"Or wash it off in the weir," I reply, grinning, hinting at some naked fun.

I turn on the taps and reach for the soap. I lather up my hands and pass it to William. A face washer takes care of my face (duh!) and then I dry myself on my towel.

It looks as though what I didn't wash off has been `dry cleaned' as Mum used to say.

Now my towel will need to be washed as well.

William uses Karl's towel.

Cold meats and salad. Lemonade for us guys. I know what Dad will have, and so, after doing the washing up, he heads over to the pub.

Saturday afternoon is his `social' time with the other men. It is sometimes followed by some social time with Aunt Lilly!

I've thought about that and I reckon that I have worked out what his visits are really for!

That leaves William, Karl and me to `our own devices'. And each other's. Haha.

We swim in the weir. We play `grab and run'. It's our sexy version of `tag'. It's fun.

Back at home, we indulge in some naked wrestling, knowing that Dad won't be back for at least another hour or two.

That leads to some `gentle fun' on Karl's bed, with William in the middle. I love the feeling of him rubbing my penis when it gets really stiff and excited and slippery. And I love doing it to him too

"One day..." William says, but he doesn't add anything more. He closes his eyes and hums at what I am doing to his stiffy while Karl is playing with his balls. I love it when it jerks!

 

I look at my watch and alert the others that we'd better get dressed.

There are other games that we can play, but I'm not in the mood for Monopoly.

Cards!

I prefer gin rummy. Mum taught me and I'm pretty good at it.

Karl prefers poker. Dad taught him.

We end up playing both.

William's lucky at cards. He's been playing with us for years. It hasn't involved reading, so cards are something that he's comfortable with.

Scrabble, on the other hand has been a real problem for him. But he gets the concept. Now, with all of the reading help that he's been having, he's getting good at this game. He even uses words that Karl and I wouldn't have thought of which he remembers from the driving book.

Dad comes home and joins us. After a while, William says that he thinks that he'll be getting back to Marty's. Dad offers to drive him and William politely accepts.

Karl and I raid the fridge for any left-overs. Not much in there that doesn't have to be cooked. I take out the cheese and show it to Karl. He gets the crackers out of the pantry. I also grab a tomato and slice it.

Tomato and cheese on crackers. Nice.

Dad returns, sees what we're eating and says, "I hope you've left enough for your old man too." Karl and I laugh. Dad's hardly old – at thirty.

Hang on! It has never crossed my mind until now, but, suddenly, I have maths stampede through my brain, like one of Mr Grant's arithmetic problems.

Thirty minus thirteen. Seventeen! And I know that it takes about nine months for a baby to grow inside its mother. So, minus one more year, almost.

I try to make sense of the answer!

Dad was sixteen when he... when he and Mum... Is that right? Is he really thirty? Aargh!

I have a vision of the horses `doing it' out at `Whispering Gums'.

I've gotta talk to Karl about this tonight. Sixteen? That's how old William is, but he's about to be seventeen. And Ron is eighteen!

And Dad was sixteen?

It keeps running through my head and I keep looking at him differently over dinner, and still while we are playing Scrabble. I'm doing the scoring. One of his words scored sixteen points and I say, "You were sixteen? I mean, you have sixteen?" And I add sixteen to his total. And feel myself blush.

Dad was having for-real sex at sixteen? With a girl? With my Mum?

I wonder if that's why Ma and Pa don't like Dad. I'd love to know, but that's one more thing that I won't be asking him about.

"What's up, Kurt?" Dad asks me. "You're not playing to your normal standard tonight. In fact, your mind seems to be somewhere else. Is everything OK?"

"Yeah, Dad, I'm fine. It's just that I've been thinking about..." I need to think quickly. "Thinking about... Mum." That's it! "Thinking about if we might get a chance to visit Mum sometime. Do you think that could happen?"

He's not angry, but he's no longer smiling. He replies without any real emotion, "I don't see why not. Let's see if we can organise something... sometime."

That's a nothing answer!

"I win," Karl chirps, adding his last two tiles to the board. "Finally! I beat both of you!"

Dad gives him a high-five! "Well, done, son," he says. "It looks like this new schoolie is doing you some good. I think we'll keep him. What do you say?"

"Hell, Yeah!" I let fly, then suddenly realise that I've just used one of William's favourite recent expressions.

Dad and Karl both look at me.

I try to make the best of a bad moment. "Sorry, Dad. That just slipped out. It just seemed the easiest thing to say. He's really nice."

Dad's not annoyed. "Growing up!" he grins and ruffles my hair. I love him.

 

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

I try to reply to everyone.

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