Kurt
Life in The
Village, and the `coming of age' of a student at its remote school,
through his own eyes.
This is an
original work of pure fiction (just an expression of a fantasy)
by Robert A. Armstrong (a pseudonym)
Copyright 2013-2022. Robert
Armstrong. This complete work of literary art is protected by US,
Australian and International copyright law. It is the sole property of the
author and may not be reproduced in any form whether in whole or in part
without the prior express written consent of the author.
License is granted to Nifty Archive Alliance, Inc. for electronic publication
on the Nifty.org website. All rights reserved.
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 90:
"Why don't you
come and stay with us at Whispering Gums?" I put to Andy. "We have all the rest
of the summer holidays to fill in!"
He chuckles,
"Yeah. I love filling you in and feeling you fill me in."
"I'll ring Dad in
the morning and ask him if it's OK for you to stay," I say, "And you can check
with your mother and Brian."
"Hell, yeah!" he
answers, using one of William's sayings (before he progressed to `Truck, yeah!
And variations of it. LOL).
"I only have one
complaint," I say, then kiss his neck.
"What?" he
replies, and tries to pull away from me. Not trucking likely!
"You didn't tell
me about the `swimming'. What's that about?"
He relaxes. "Oh,
yeah. My swimming."
Chapter
91 – Two Nights Before Christmas
"It
all started when I got back from Jintabudjaree," Andy tells me.
I say nothing, waiting for him to continue.
He says, "Because of the injuries that I had sustained
from my `accident', my doctors insisted that I undergo some intense
rehabilitation, even though I told them that I felt fine."
Then he pauses, perhaps expecting me to comment.
In response to my silence, he rolls over to
face me and adds, "The doctors said that I needed some `bi-lateral
re-balancing' for my brain, and booked me a number of sessions with a rehab specialist
at the local pool. Swimming!"
"But, you're a good swimmer!" I add,
stating the obvious. "William said that you were one of the people who taught
him to ride a boogie board. And from what I've experienced, you're in fantastic
physical condition. We've both just proved that tonight, haven't we?"
We laugh. Then he continues.
"But doctors are never wrong!" he
responds, with the best dramatic rendition of sarcasm that I've ever heard,
adding, "they said that their protocols and rules needed to be followed for a
person exhibiting speech and mobility issues following brain trauma. Like me!"
"Well, yes, it was like that when you first came to
Jintabudjaree," I tell him. "But not when you left us!"
"Protocols and rules!" he repeats,
slowly emphasising each word as if talking to a trainee nurse.
"Is that all?" I ask. "You had to take some
unnecessary swimming lessons? That's it?"
"Not quite," he replies. "The exercise therapist, who
was also a swimming instructor, wasn't sure that I was the same person as the
one whose details were listed on the medical record which he had been given."
"And...?" I ask.
I'm thinking that there has to be more to this than
Brian virtually saying to Andy, `Have you told Kurt about your unnecessary
swimming lessons?'
"But, hey, the swimming instructor did have a nice
body," he tells me, reaching for my Junior as if to emphasise what part of the
instructor was `nice'.
I tell him: "I cannot possibly imagine Brian reminding
you to tell me about your swimming instructor's penis! How would he know,
anyway?"
Andy cackles mischievously.
I take hold of his balls and begin to squeeze gently.
At first.
"OK! OK! I'll tell you," he
squeaks.
I ease my grip, but I don't let go of him. Not only to
ensure that he tells me, but because my hand likes his round, leathery balls. Smooth,
and firm but soft! Does that make sense?
"The instructor wanted to see me swim, so that he
could assess what help he could give me," Andy tells me. "So, I did what I was
told to do, I swam across the width of the pool, at the shallow end. He was
waiting for me on the other side."
"He said, `Is this some kind of a joke? Who put you up
to this?' He frowned at me. Frowned! All I could do was say, `Sorry! I don't
know what you mean.' Then he stomped off towards the office mumbling, `Somebody
has either given me the wrong paperwork or the wrong person. And, I'll bet that
they did it deliberately.' He wasn't happy!"
"What happened?" I ask.
Andy still has hold of Junior, who is now starting to
show more interest.
"Well, I didn't know what to do," he continues. "I was
left standing there, wondering whether I should get out, or wait. So, I just
stood there. It wasn't long before I saw him striding back with one of my
doctors struggling to keep up with him. The instructor stopped in front of me
and pointed. He only said one word to the doctor: `Well?'"
"That was weird!" I comment to Andy.
"Then," he continues, "The doctor said, `Yes. That's
him. Andrew Thompson. What's the problem?'"
`The problem,' I heard the instructor tell the doctor,
`Is that this Andrew Thompson has a better-coordinated swimming technique than practically
all of the boys his age in the club where I coach! He doesn't need any
rehabilitation! If I get his breathing working a little more smoothly, he will
be a champion.'
"They both turned and stared at me," Andy says. "I
couldn't say anything. I just shrugged at them."
"And...?" I say to him again.
"He told me, `Forget the bi-lateral re-balancing, Mr
Thompson! We're going to work on your breathing technique.' So that's exactly
what we did!"
"And...?" I ask, keeping the conversation going. "I know
there has to be more than that!"
Andy replies, "We spent six sessions on breathing and its
overall coordination with my arms and legs. Then he invited me to front up to
the Swimming Club one Sunday morning to watch his club's competition races.
When Mum and Brian took me there, we discovered that he had entered me in the
Under-16's 100m Freestyle."
"Did you do OK?" I ask.
"No. I didn't do OK!" Andy says. I hear his serious
voice change to chuckling. "I won it!"
"I don't believe it!" I tell him.
He replies, "Neither did anyone else. Mum or Brian, the
other coaches, the other guys in the race, many of whom I knew from school. And,
the guy who ran second, whom everyone had expected by to win, turned on me and
demanded, `Where the fuck did you come from?'
I didn't know what to do. As people started to study my time and congratulate
me, I looked at my instructor. His face grinned as though he had just won
Lotto or discovered a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow."
"One of the last people who came to congratulate me,"
Andy says, "was the doctor. He said to me, `Andrew, ever since you came back
from that place out west, you're a changed person. I can't explain it. You
can't explain it. Nobody can explain it, especially considering the trauma that
you suffered!'"
"Which reminds me," I say. "Getting back to it, you
never did tell me about your accident. You said that you would. Can you tell me
now?"
I suddenly feel Andy's body freeze. Probably as rigid
as his dick usually is! Or, as if some space invaders have zapped him with a
ray gun.
"What just happened?" I ask him. "Are you OK?"
"Hug me," he says, turning his back to me and
snuggling against me.
"Are you all right?" I ask
again, holding him and feeling his tension.
"I don't like to think about it!" he replies.
"Thinking about him... I mean about IT, really upsets me!"
Suddenly, I have an inkling that something very
traumatic happened to Andy. He said `him' before
correcting himself and saying `it'. Originally Karl and I thought that he might
have fallen from a tree, or been hit by a car. But,
Andy said `HIM'! What could `he' have done to Andy to cause those awful
injuries that we originally saw?
When I think back to the day that I met him at
Jintabudjaree, Andy was sticking very close to Mr Grant, who was looking after
him. So, Mr Grant must have known!
I need to ask Andy the question. "Does Mr Grant know
what happened?"
"Uh-huh," Andy answers very hesitantly.
"Does anyone else know?" I ask him.
"Uh-huh," he says again. I expect silence, but he
adds, "Mum and Brian and Will and my friends at the beach."
"OK," I tell him, puzzled.
I wonder, if they all know, then why don't I?
He takes a deep breath and says, "And the doctors and
the police."
Another hard-to-believe piece of the puzzle! I now know
that a `HIM' was involved and that Andy ended up with awful injuries. And, it
was a matter requiring the police to be involved!
I don't know what to say. Everybody else knows! Should
I press him for more details?
I decide against it. There must be a really good
reason why he hasn't told me.
"It's OK, Andy," I reassure him, hugging him as
tightly and lovingly as I possibly can. "You don't have to tell me. And even if
all the others know, I promise that I won't ask any of them what they were told."
"Nobody told them," he
answers. He inhales massively and I think that he is about to cry.
He opens, just a little, "They all saved my life, except for Brian, who wasn't
around then."
I'm totally unsure where to go from here!
While I'm thinking about it, I hear a voice in my mind
which reminds me of Uncle. It helps me with some words to say.
Following the suggestion of the voice, I ask Andy, "Are
you afraid to tell me?"
"Uh-huh," he exhales.
"You don't have to tell me what happened," I reassure
him, "But, can you tell me why you are afraid?"
"You'll hate me!" he sobs. "And I don't want you to hate
me, Kurt, because I love you."
He turns back towards me, throws one arm over my body,
kisses me and cries, "Please don't hate me, Kurt. Please! I don't want you to
hate me! I'll die if you hate me! Please don't!"
That sets off my own tears!
Earlier, we shared our bodies and gave ourselves to
each other completely, lovingly, deeply.
Now, we are sharing tears for each other. Lovingly.
Deeply.
"I could never hate you, Andy," I tell him, sobbing.
"That's not possible."
"Promise!" he replies.
"I don't need to promise," I say. "You can trust me.
However, if you really need to hear the words, I'll say them. Andy, I promise
that I will never hate you, no matter what you tell me!"
"This is hard!" he whispers through his sobs. "Telling
you is what I fear most in the world!"
I say nothing, but I kiss his wet eyes and cheeks.
"You know what we did together tonight?" he starts,
between sobs.
"Yes," I reply. "Giving ourselves to each other
completely. It was amazing!"
I feel Andy take a massive breath, then he lets it
out. "Well, you weren't the first!"
I'm stunned!
Andy bursts into tears, and squeaks out, "Sorry!"
Part of me wants to be angry. But I can't be. Mostly,
I just want to hear why. However, when I think of all of the people that I've done
things with, I have no right to judge Andy for anything that he has done. That
thing, after all, is such an amazing feeling!
"But, I didn't GIVE myself to
him, Kurt," he blubbers. "I didn't. He bashed me and threw me down the stair
well and raped me."
OMG!
Andy continues, "Twice! And the next night when my
mother was at work, I put up a fight so that he couldn't do it for a third time,
so he picked me up by the throat and balls and threw me over our fourth-floor
balcony, just out there. I remember feeling massive pain, and then I woke up in
hospital, a really long time later. And I couldn't move and couldn't talk."
I feel so guilty and ashamed of myself for thinking
that Andy had so willingly given himself to another person before me!
Andy continues, "Despite the life support systems that
they had me hooked up to, the doctors thought that I was dying. But I heard the
voices of my friends from the beach, and Will and especially Tom, talking to me,
calling me back. And. It was then that I came back to them."
"Oh, Andy," I manage to tell him through my tears. "I
don't hate you. I love you even more for telling me, especially since you were
afraid of how I might react."
We hear a voice, or at least I think that I do. Andy
appears to be listening too, carefully.
"Blood of my blood, you are the chosen one," it says.
"You have overcome your greatest fear, and you have shown yourself worthy to be
the `Uncle' of our mob. So, soon we will be able to have the sacred corroboree;
the dance and the ancient ritual."
"Uncle?" I ask, as Andy and I look at each other, the
source of our tears stopping their flow.
"Yes." Andy replies. "I told you once before, Uncle
said to me that I was the one chosen to replace him as the head of the mob. But
I don't know exactly what that means yet."
We lie side by side, hands clasped, while Andy,
bravely, tells me everything that happened: Meeting his mother's boyfriend
(back then), Derek Peters, who later moved in with them; allowing Derek to play
with him sexually when his mother was at work, then being bashed, threatened
and raped. And, what happened when he woke up from his coma and discovered that
the boyfriend had been arrested by the police (after help from William and the
guys at the beach), thrown into jail and murdered as a child rapist while he
was in there. Right through to his mother meeting and marrying Brian, whom Andy
loves like a father.
[Author: the complete details of Andy's
backstory are in `Schoolie', as told by Tom]
We cuddle and talk, until everything in the room
becomes visible in dim morning light.
I will need to pee. And poop. And shower.
We decide against saving water together, but to be
quicker than last night!
"Let me go first," I say to Andy. "Then I'll start
breakfast while you are cleaning yourself."
We wait for a `decent time'. My bladder dictates when
is `decent'. In other words, urgent.
Andy is faster than I am at everything and we both end
up dressed at the same time, after a little `togetherness' time.
"Oh," I say, "I nearly forgot!" I retrieve his present
from my bag. "Happy Christmas!"
"But, I haven't bought you a
present, Kurt," he tells me, with a sad face. "Sorry!"
"You are my present!" I reply, and I kiss him. And his
wonderful smile returns.
"Can I open it now?" he asks, shaking the small
package. "Or leave it until tomorrow?"
"It's just something personal from me to you," I
reply. "Tomorrow will be good."
"Then I'll set the table," Andy offers, "While you
start cooking."
When the table is set, Andy makes us both a cup of
coffee and puts some bread into the toaster.
I go back to his bedroom and emerge with a wrapped
box. "Which is your mother's seat?"
I ask him. He points. That's where I place my gift to her.
It's not long before the aromas of breakfast draw the
`lovebirds' from their nest. Andy's mother comes straight to the kitchen. At
the same time, I hear the bathroom door close.
"You're a darling!" she says, wrapping her arms around
me and looking over my shoulder. "This looks and smells delicious. Thank you."
"No problem, Mrs Thompson," I tell her. "Thank you for
having me."
When Brian emerges, he points at my gift. Andy's
mother only then becomes aware of it.
"What's this?" she asks, picking it up carefully.
"Thank you for having me, and Merry Christmas," I grin
back at her.
That results in not only another hug, but a kiss on my
cheek as well.
"May I open it now?" she asks.
"Sure!" I tell her.
It's not as personal as Andy's.
She slowly starts to untie my carefully-wrapped
present. When she gets to the point of being able to identify what's inside,
she stops.
"How could you possibly have known?" she asks.
Hug #3 and Kiss #2!
I look at Andy and wink.
Mrs Thompson removes the remaining paper and shows it
to Brian.
"These are my favourite chocolates in the whole
world," she says, turning to me. "Belgian."
"How did you...?" she starts again, looking at me.
I make a zipping motion across my mouth.
She turns, smiles, then heads straight for Andy and
hugs him. "I love you," she tells him, obviously realising who had somehow told
me about her favourite Belgian chocolates.
Andy comes to me and puts an arm over my shoulder. I'm
a little embarrassed until he says, "OK. All in favour of keeping him, raise
your hand!". Predictable result! I feel myself blush.
"Thank you all!" I reply. Then I raise my hand too.
We all laugh. Then we enjoy our breakfast.
"What are you boys going to do today?" Brian asks.
"Did you bring your swimmers?" Andy asks, turning to
me.
"Yes," I tell him. "Speedos and boardies. I left them
in Mr Grant's guest room, with my other stuff." Then I say, "I'll ring my
brother, and ask if they are ready."
Andy replies to Brian's question, "We're all going to meet
at the beach for a swim, if the waves are as good as yesterday. Then, maybe we'll
head down to the mall if it's still open on Christmas Eve."
"It probably will be," Mrs Thompson replies to Andy's
comment. "Mostly, men buying last-minute presents for their wives or
girlfriends, I expect."
More laughing.
While Andy is retrieving his beach towel, I say to Brian
and Mrs Thompson together, "Could you please spare Andy for a couple of weeks
during the holidays? At home, we have a lot that he can do, and Dad and Helen
have said that he's always welcome to come and stay.
They look at each other. No words are spoken, but I
can read their smirks and their minds.
Something like: `Andy can go and enjoy himself there, instead
of being bored here. And we will have the place all to ourselves... for two whole
weeks!'
LOL.
Andy returns.
Mrs Thompson asks him, "Love, how would you like to
spend a couple of weeks with Kurt out at his place before school goes back?"
Andy looks at me and grins. The question was answered
before he even needed to ask it!
As we are leaving, I say to Brian and Mrs Thompson,
"Thank you again for having me.
I expect that you'll save a lot of shower water while Andy is away!"
Hey! I'm getting the hang of saying things with double
meanings too!
Mrs Thompson replies, "Maybe. But he often showers at
the beach anyway."
Brian looks at me, grins and winks. Then he shakes my
extended hand with both of his.
I can tell that he knows exactly what I was hinting at; that the two of them could
enjoy time showering together without worrying about Andy being around.
Having had dinner and breakfast with Brian, I conclude
that he's even younger than my Dad, but a bit older
than Mr Grant. My guess is about 25-26. He's still young enough to remember
being Andy's age, and being sympathetic to Andy's sexual needs and seemingly
not at all judgmental about Andy's friendship with me. I can see why Andy loves
having such a young, handsome step-father! He's very friendly, and, he has a
playful sense of humour. Really nice body, too, I can tell! No wonder Andy's
mum married him!
My brain switches from sexual into mathematical mode. Well,
actually, both together.
Andy is about to turn 15. If Brian is, say, 26, and if he had been Andy's real
father, that means he would have been 11 when... well, you know where that thought
was heading!
"Hello Andy," Amelia virtually sings, opening her
front door to us. She's about his age. Maybe a bit older. Not much, though. Not
as old as Jane. Closer to Jake's age.
I can tell from her eyes that she is imagining Andy as
boyfriend material. `Too late!' I say in my mind. `He's mine!'
"Oh, hi Kurt," she says to me, as a second thought.
"Come in. Thomas and Will are ready."
I note that Mr Grant, William and my brother are dressed
like Andy. I say `Good morning' to Mr and Mrs Grant then start up the
stairs towards the guest room with Andy.
"Speedos under our board shorts!" William calls up
after us.
With our boardies left on the sand to put on later, `things'
are hard to hide in just our Speedos, and it's really obvious where they got
the nickname, `budgie smugglers'.
The older guys look as though they could be smuggling parrots, not budgerigars!
LOL.
It doesn't take Karl and Joey long to be doing tandem
runs on the boogie boards, taking turns to ride on each other's back. Obviously,
with renewed memories of each other's body from the last time.
I think that everybody gets a ride on everyone else.
Junior has fun nestling in between some new, strong glutes. And I like the
feeling of everybody on my back, on my glutes. Two in particular. Thompson and
Grant! Haha.
And nothing is left to the imagination in the showers!
How could it be, with everyone's Speedos tossed onto the bench with their
towels and their board shorts hanging on the pegs? What a collection of boyhood
and manhood is on display! Excited ones! And balls and hairs! And glutes!
And, William says that it's a `thing', that everybody
has to wash everyone else with some soap from the dispensers on the wall.
Great, slippery fun! Junior agrees.
When Simon and Luke wash each other, the whiteness that
erupts at the end is more than just splashes of soap suds!
Lunch is very tasty and we eat quickly.
The mall is busy but, with so many people around, rather
boring.
Dinner is a wonderful and happy time, with Amelia, William
and Karl on one side of the table. Mr Grant is beside me, opposite them. Mr
Grant's parents are at each end.
We hold hands around the table.
Mrs Grant's hand is thin but feels warm. Mr Grant's
familiar hand is also warm, and strong! I'm tempted, for fun, to tickle it, but
think that now would not be the right place or time.
Mr Grant's father gives thanks for `the Christ of
Christmas, for the food that we are about to eat, and for each other'. Amen!
Discussion is really friendly and positive...
Mrs Grant has recovered from her cancer following her
visit to Jintabudjaree; just like Andy and his mother did. It is difficult to
call Mr Grant's father `Mr Grant' as well or there could be total confusion! He
says that he has pulled off a great investment deal for one of his clients.
Amelia is thankful for Andy and his recovery. A happy `Amen' from everyone
allows me to express my joy for Andy as well. Mr Grant and William had a
good drive here from The Village and were able to renew friendships at the
motel on the way (I'll bet!) and William is looking forward to spending time
with his real Dad (the Mr Grant that I call the `helicopter pilot'). Karl and I
are very happy to be here, thankful for the Grants' hospitality and looking
forward to surprising Mum and Ma and Pa tomorrow morning. (Karl and I have
agreed on how we're going to do it!)
(Our) Mr Grant says, "You know, this is almost like
American Thanksgiving, except without the turkey and all the trimmings."
Mrs Grant announces, "We would normally have our
Christmas pudding on Christmas Day, but in honour of Karl and Kurt being here,
we're going to have it for dessert tonight!"
Now, I love custard tarts, donuts, apple pies with ice
cream and a variety of cookies, but Mrs Grant's Christmas pudding is
amazing! As good as anything that I tasted of Mrs Cameron's! I'll ask her for
the recipe later. Perhaps, Mr Grant can bring me a copy when he returns to The
Village in the New Year. Hot, fruity, cakey, custardy and creamy. Yummy!
After dinner we do something that I've never done
before. We all gather around the piano in the Grants' lounge room and sing
Christmas Carols. Mrs Grant plays.
I heard these songs on Mum's favourite Christmas CD
every year, and I know all the words, but I've never sung them while somebody
else actually played.
Mrs Grant and Amelia sing `the melody'. Mr Grant sings
`harmony' and Mr Grant senior sings `bass'. What a
talented family! William manages something that sounds a bit like the melody. Hey!
I didn't know that Mr Grant could sing! Actually, yes
I did, because he taught us all of those sea shanties and early Australian
songs! I'd forgotten.
Karl sings the melody with Mrs Grant and Amelia. I
stand next to Mr Grant and pick up the harmony part from him.
When Mrs Grant stops playing, she compliments us, "Why,
Kurt and Karl, you both have beautiful baritone voices,"
"Thank you, Mrs Grant," I tell her, "But, a while
back, when our voices were changing, we both sounded like sick frogs."
"I've never heard a sick frog singing!" William
announces. "Perhaps they had all croaked!"
That's so stupid, that it's actually funny! I didn't
know that William was a comedian!
That sets Karl off. Mostly repeating jokes that Jacko
has told him. He has everyone laughing. We have a great night of fun and food.
About 10pm Amelia announces, "Oh, well, I'd better be
off to bed. Santa Claus doesn't come if you're awake!"
Everyone turns towards her, uncertain of whether she's
serious or not.
She asks Karl and me, "Did you know that Santa Claus
likes to dress up and wear different clothes besides his red suit?"
"No!" Karl answers. Sucked in!
"Yeah," she replies. "He usually likes to pretend that
he's my dad, and he even wears some clothes from dad's wardrobe!"
With that, she kisses everyone, including Karl and me,
and disappears up the stairs.
I can see why she and William get on so well together!
I'll bet that they'd also do well, dressed up. As clowns!
I take Amelia's departure as a hint that it's time for
Karl and me to hit the sack too, and I thank Mr Grant's parents for a wonderful
dinner and an entertaining evening.
"I'll wake you early, about 5:00," Mr Grant tells us.
"We'll have some coffee and toast then I'll get you to you grandparents' place
in Brisbane in time for breakfast."
"We could just set the alarms on our phones," Karl
tells him.
"If you like," Mr Grant replies. "But, if I haven't
seen you by 5:15, I'll soak my hands in some ice water before coming to wake
you!"
Of course, he doesn't mention where he's going to put
his icy cold hands! I hope that his parents are thinking `face', `neck' or
`back'! The smirk on William's face tells me that he is thinking of something much
lower than that!
"So, did you enjoy your time with Andy?" Karl asks,
snuggling up behind me and reaching around for a chunky Junior, giving it a few
jiggles, as if hinting at what Andy and I did.
"You have no idea!" I reply. And, he doesn't! "What
about you and William? Did he sneak down here last night to be with you?"
"How...?" my brother starts. "...would you know that?"
"Oh, I don't know," I tell him. "Knowing you! Knowing
him! After all, you two have been getting together in bed every Monday and
Wednesday night at Jintabudjaree. So, a bit overdue for some fun, weren't you?"
"We really enjoy wanking each other," he tells me
without hesitation, which surprises me.
"But, I also really like what I do with Jacko.
You know, what you taught me!"
Now is the time, I think, to have that talk with him!
"About that..." I say. "Do you and
Jacko do ALL of the things that you and I do?
"Of course!" he answers. "Why wouldn't we?"
"Have you ever done anything more than that with him?"
I put to my brother.
"Like what?" Karl asks, knowing `the limitations' that
I insisted upon for Jacko.
"Just let me ask it a different way," I say to him,
"Has Jacko ever SUGGESTED doing anything more than what you and I have done?"
"Like what?" Karl repeats, and I sense him getting a
little edgy.
I don't know if he's hiding something! But I
definitely don't want to talk about `giving themselves to each other completely'
if they haven't already thought of it.
I definitely know that William and Mr Grant do it, and
I can't help wondering whether William has ever suggested doing it with my
brother, despite Karl just telling me that they only enjoy wanking.
Ummm, did my brother actually say `only' wanking?
Hmmm.
And, why wouldn't William suggest it, if he loves it
so much? I've wondered about that! Maybe he and Mr Grant have agreed to only do
it together, like Andy and me.
Also, why wouldn't Karl do with William those things
that he does with me, and with Jacko? Karl loves all of them! Is he kidding? `Only'
wanking?
And, if he and William HAVE tried `other stuff', maybe
even fucking, then why wouldn't Karl want to do it with Jacko. Or with me? Is
he afraid to tell me?
I think for a minute. Jacko definitely knows about
fucking, because he suggested it to me in his bed, when he thought that I was
Karl. Was that the first time that he had mentioned it?
"I don't know!" I tell my brother. "I just wondered
whether there might be something which I don't know about, and that maybe Jacko
could have told you, if he knows. That's all."
"Don't you think that I would have told you if I'd
found something new to enjoy?" Karl asks, almost sounding offended.
Now I feel really bad! It seems that he trusts me more
than I trust him!
"Sorry!" I tell him. "Of course
you would! "Tell you what..." I say to him, rolling to face him. "Why don't we
just do everything tonight."
"What do you mean by `everything'?" he asks,
surprised. "All of it?"
"Everything that we've ever done together!" I tell
him. "Let's do all of it!"
"Hell, yeah!" Karl exclaims. "Let's start with `milk
the cow'. You're already hard enough!"
We have a lot of fun. As quietly as possible. And our
spunk rags get a lot of use.
It's when I'm lying on my stomach with Karl on my back
and pushing his slippery dick between my legs, that something new happens!
With his head alongside mine, he kisses the side of my
neck, and just under my ear. Both sides. Multiple times.
"Shhh!" he tells me, and I become aware just how load
my moans of pleasure must have been.
I enjoy the sensation until he stops, and, with Junior
throbbing, I have to ask, "Who taught you to do that?"
"You did," he replies, resuming his pushing.
"When?" I ask him. "I don't remember doing that with
you. Perhaps just once. Quickly."
"Yeah, well, I remember that it was definitely you, or
I wouldn't have been doing it with Jacko, would I?" he answers, thrusting his
dick once, really hard, like finishing his statement with an exclamation mark.
"So, how long ago did I ... and how long have you and
Jacko...?" I manage to ask, while he restarts pushing, huffing and puffing and
getting ready to explode for the third time tonight.
"For ages!" he says, then he pulls back, rolls onto
his back and asks, "You wanna suck it?"
I move quickly into the right position. Only time for
two quick sucks! He holds the sides of my head as his dick pumps a couple of
squirts into the back of my mouth.
"Shhh!" I tell him, and cover his mouth. Then we both
cackle, as quietly as possible.
It's weird how I can wake up five minutes before my
alarm goes off! Even though I was left pretty exhausted last night.
At least there's no rooster here! I wonder how the
farm stay guests will cope! It'll just be part of their experience!
I leave Karl snoring lightly, find my clothes and toiletries
bag, then head for the door, pausing to spray my deodorant generously back into
the room.
I shower quickly. That's another way to save water!
LOL.
As I re-enter the guest bedroom, the smell is much
more pleasant than when I woke up!
Karl is half awake.
"You'd better get moving!" I tell him, "Or you'll have
Mr Grant's icy hands getting you up!"
"I'd rather have William's hand getting me up, or
yours or Jacko's!" he grins at me.
I pick up my pillow, belt him with it, then head for
the door.
The returned pillow misses me!
"Good morning, sunshine!" Mr Grant greets me as I
descend the stairs and join him in the kitchen. "Did you sleep well?"
"Eventually!" I tell him.
He looks at me and raises a questioning eyebrow.
I clutch the front of my trousers and lift everything.
Just once.
He gets it! And grins.
He looks around, then grabs me in a hug. Nobody is watching!
His two hands slip to my backside and push our front sides together.
"You two have become very handsome young men, especially
all dressed up like this!" he tells me, then turns back to the toaster.
"You're pretty handsome yourself," I tell him. Then I
add, "For an old man!"
The response is predictable! He grabs me and gives me
a swat on my tail, which I enjoy.
I swat him back. "Merry Christmas!" Firm glutes!
Karl and Mrs Grant come down together a few minutes
later, just as coffee cups and a small pile of hot toast are placed onto the
table.
"Good morning, Kurt," she tells me. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Mrs Grant," I reply.
"Merry Christmas, Karl."
"Merry Christmas, Mr Grant."
Mrs Grant retrieves a small jar from the refrigerator.
"This is my homemade orange marmalade," she says, placing it in the middle of
the table. "I hope that you like it."
I spread some on my toast and take a bite.
"Delicious! Could I please trouble you for the recipe
for this too, with your Christmas pudding?" I ask her. "I'll add orange
marmalade to my book of recipes. I wonder how this would taste with just a
smidgen of ginger?"
"I never thought of that!" Mrs Grant replies.
"Interesting. Thank you. And, yes, of course."
Mr Grant's father and Amelia come down, in time to
wish us a `Merry Christmas' and `Goodbye'. We exchange pleasantries and thanks,
then gather our bags and head out to the car.
The trip, being Christmas morning, is pleasant, with
very few cars on the road at this time of the day.
It's not long before Mr Grant pulls up outside the
house next to Ma and Pa's.
Karl puts our plan into operation!
He selects Ma and Pa's contact in his phone, presses
their number and activates the loud speaker.
"Hello?" we hear.
"Merry Christmas, Ma!" Karl and I shout together.
"Oh, my!" she exclaims. "Merry Christmas! Let me get
your mother."
It's only a few seconds later when we hear Mum say,
"Merry Christmas boys. What a pleasant surprise! How are you both?"
"Merry Christmas Mum!" we reply. "We're fine. How are
you?"
"Missing you!" she says. "But it's so nice to hear
your voices, and sounding so grown-up, too!"
We have a few minutes of pleasantries with Mum and Ma
and Pa and I finish with, "We'd better go now. See you soon! Love you all!"
"Love you too!" Mum tells us, then we hang up before
she does.
I can imagine her still hanging on to the phone,
listening for any final word from us.
"Thank you so much, Mr Grant," I tell him. "For
everything."
We retrieve our bags and hats from the back seat and
Mr Grant gives us both a hug.
We watch him slowly drive away, then quietly walk to
Ma and Pa's front door.
"Why don't you ring the bell?" I suggest to my
brother.
Then we wait.
Mum opens the door, looks at us, then, extending her
arms, lets out a joyous scream.
"I just told you that we'd see you soon," I say.
"Merry Christmas!"
(to be continued)
-----
If you like the story, and haven't said 'hello'
yet, please take a couple of minutes to email me.
rob.zz@hotmail.com
I try to reply to everyone, though maybe not
immediately. Please be patient.
-----
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
-----
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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