Schoolie
Life in The Village, through the eyes of Tom
Grant, the only teacher at the remote school.
This is an original work of pure fiction (just
an expression of a fantasy)
(re-written from my 2013 version)
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 54:
"Andy. What happened?" I ask him, sitting
next to him and putting my arm around his shoulders. "How did you get here?"
The others clamber up the stairs and
stand, wide-eyed, in front of Andy and me. Kurt is definitely crying, most
likely from relief.
Andy's head moves and appears to look at
each of the boys in turn, before raising his eyes to mine. He whispers, "I
can't tell you how I got here. One moment I was in the dark, and then... and
then... I was up here.
Karl, probably from the relief of his
guilt, gushes to Andy, "We were scared. And we thought that the ghost had taken
you."
Andy focuses on him, swallows hard, takes
a deep breath and his voice squeaks, "There IS a ghost."
Chapter
55 - An Epilogue
[Author:
If you want to know about Andy and the ghost, see my note at the end. However, ...]
Life carries on.
Weeks extend into school terms, which
become years, and then, almost unaccountably, a decade has passed.
The teenagers have become young men.
The young men have become older men.
Experiences are had.
Memories are made.
Stories can be told. But, most
appropriately, they aren't all necessarily from the perspective of the young
school teacher who, as his first appointment, was despatched to a school in the
isolated outback of the state.
It's ten years since Tom Grant, the
Schoolie, was first introduced to the folk there. It was through his personal
contacts that The Village has experienced a reinvigoration to a vibrant
representation of its `glory days' in the late 1800s.
It has become a thriving tourist
destination, not only because of it being a living portrayal of the history of
the region, but also as an example of sustainable self-sufficiency in a harsh
environment.
The pub has been restored and rows of
cottages have been built, all in keeping with the architecture of that past era.
However, twenty-first century practices have been acknowledged and contemporary
technologies have been incorporated wherever possible.
The streets have been re-planted with
peppercorn trees which, now that they have grown, sway and bow in the wind,
seemingly in deference to their old gnarled `grandfather' tree outside the pub,
preserved as a landmark in its own right.
The Village, as a whole, figures
prominently in architectural, historic, tourist and environmental literature.
The population has increased in the past ten years - not rapidly but steadily.
The local Council has allowed properties to be subdivided, and local folk have
taken advantage of the potential financial gains in selling allotments - not to
make themselves rich, but to provide them with a more secure future. Some local
inhabitants of the past have moved on; most have stayed and raised more
children. New families have taken up residence.
It's a great place to visit, but an even
better place to live.
If the `walls have ears', then buildings have
tales to tell too.
The Pub
Who would have thought that the
time-wearied old pub of ten years ago could now look so grand?
The materials chosen by the architect for
its restoration are as close to those used in its original construction as were
able to be sourced. The brickwork, verandahs, windows and roofing are a living
remembrance of the pub's original magnificence. The broad, wooden sidewalk, the
narrower original of which disappeared decades ago, has been re-constructed and
it presents a magnificent foil to the building itself; so different to the
concrete or bluestone strips that we see in our modern cities. Internally, the
rooms have been fully refurbished to resort standard (even if not quite to the
5-star rating of their beach-side counterparts) and the pub now enjoys contact
with the outside world through the marvel of satellite technology. Energy is
essentially solar-generated and the multitude of solar panels is not
discernible, as such, from the streetscape, a testimony to the ingenuity of the
architect.
Many of the period cottages are rented via
the pub, which is still owned and operated by the Smiths. Rental profits from
the cottages are shared between their owners, Tom & Will, and the Smiths.
Jintabudjaree Station
The homestead on Jintabudjaree Station was
classified by the National Trust of Australia some years ago as a place of
major historical significance.
Extensive research has revealed that
shortly after the American cattleman built it in 1895, he was joined by a
former business associate, `Gentleman' James Bowen, the young English nephew of
Queensland's first governor, George Bowen.
It was told that the influential James had
established many business and political connections in both the USA and
Britain, which the American cattleman coveted to exploit, and James was invited
by the American cattleman to visit and, perhaps, relocate to this `land of rare
opportunity'.
Seeking to curry favour (and, one
suspects, potential monetary support) from Congress at home, the American had
named his mansion `Cleveland' after Grover Cleveland, the US president at the
time.
There is no record of the American making
any agreement with the local aborigines to settle on their land. It appears
that he simply usurped it, perhaps thinking that it was like a `wild west land
grab'.
A decade earlier, the Queensland
government had commissioned the building of a landau for Queen Victoria's
Golden Jubilee in 1887 with the intention of shipping it back to England as a
gift from the people of Queensland. However, the social and political unrest at
the time regarding its cost, resulted in it never making the journey, instead,
being preserved in stables in Brisbane for Her Majesty's use at some future
time, if and when she might visit the colony. Such a voyage never eventuated.
When `Gentleman' James Bowen relocated to
Australia, he brought with him a large selection from his uncle George's private
library, which the future governor had endowed to his much-regarded nephew. In
Brisbane, James also `discovered' the landau, languishing in a warehouse, and
that the government of the day was `favourably disposed' to divest itself of
the never-used `contraption'. By selling it to the Englishman, it was able to
recoup the cost of its construction and avoiding any further expensive upkeep.
The library and landau travelled with James out to `Cleveland' (now
Jintabudjaree Station).
James discovered that the property
contained two areas of geothermal activity; one almost directly above which the
mansion had been built; the other being farther west of the homestead. The
original aboriginal inhabitants treated both areas with great respect, as a
gift from the Great Rainbow Serpent, because it provided them with both hot and
cold fresh water. The one below the homestead is utilised today, engineered to
provide a free and enduring source of water and thermal energy.
It has been told that the aborigines
referred to the two men simply as `bad man' and `good man', the former being
the manipulative American, and the latter, `Gentleman' James Bowen (who, it
seems, regularly met with them in an attempt to learn their language, and to
give them gifts of young calves for food).
It was while `good man', James, was on a
trip to England that the `bad man' American accused the aborigines of cattle theft
and he slaughtered all but one, and the legend of the curse began. He, himself,
was killed by the survivor and, sacrificially, fed down a hole to the Great
Rainbow Serpent.
It is rumoured that, on his return to the
property, James was confronted by the survivor, a lone aboriginal elder, who,
waving his boomerang and spear, shrieked the word `Jintabudjaree' and then
disappeared. Young James, `good man' that he was, became the curse's second
substitutionary victim (after the American), succumbing to the bite from a
poisonous snake that same day.
The landau and the library have never left
the property.
Jintabudjaree Station is still owned by Mr
Thomas Grant, the local `Schoolie' and unofficial Mayor of The Village, who has
lived in it now for almost ten years with his half-brother,
local-lad-made-good, William O'Brien. Will comes and goes as his lifestyle as a
famous artist permits.
In addition to the main homestead, a set
of stables has been built (in the Victorian style) for Will's horses, and is
balanced symmetrically and architecturally by another building, his art studio.
It contains both a work area and a large gallery. More frequently now, people
come from all over the world to watch him at work, and those who commission
portraits of themselves may stay in the homestead until its completion, usually
two or three days.
The homestead itself has acquired a
reputation for its general healing properties, and `experts' believe that this
is in some way related to the geothermal activity below, despite not being able
to establish any scientific proof to support their theory. Mr Grant permits a
small number of people staying at the pub or cottages or from Whispering Gums
to spend a few days at Jintabudjaree. He refuses to accept payment from these
visitors, telling them that witnessing their regained health is recompense
enough. There is a `waiting list'.
However, it is also documented that a
small number of visitors, predominantly Queensland residents, have experienced
`total healing' from all manner of complaints and medical conditions. Research
is still under way to establish the reason for this.
Whispering Gums
Ten years ago, as a result of one of the most
severe droughts on record, Whispering Gums was sold by its long-term owners,
the Camerons.
Nobody could have anticipated that it
would be purchased, secretly, by a descendent of its original O'Sullivan-family
owners, Helen O'Sullivan, now Helen Andersen, who works the property with
husband Jan, and Jan's sons, Karl and Kurt. Jan and Helen have three small
children of their own, twin girls and a little boy. The girls attend The
Village local school.
There are many perspectives on life around
The Village, other than those of Tom Grant.
And so, from their own mouths...
Helen O'Sullivan, Council Inspector
Ten years ago, when I learned that my
grandfather's property, Whispering Gums, was going to be sold, I felt compelled
to buy it, having been `relocated' by my parents when I was eleven! My
grandfather would have wanted me to be here to look after it, if only out of
deference to the work that he had put into the place. You know, it was only
because of my involvement, as a Council inspector with the proposed
refurbishment of the pub in The Village and the construction of some cottages,
that I became aware of the property's availability.
It was also around that time that I met
Jan Andersen, a local, who was hired to work on The Village re-development
project. We hit it off immediately and I carried out many `official' Council
visits to the site, which enabled me to spend `discrete' time with him. I don't
think that anyone knew that he and I had begun `seeing each other', until Tom
Grant accidentally `sprung' us one day in the early stages. I think that he was
more embarrassed than Jan and I were, but he promised to keep our relationship
secret.
Despite my deep feelings for Jan, my great
fear was that I would be rejected by his sons, Karl and Kurt. However, the
opposite proved to be the case and I `clicked' with them too. They are now both
handsome young specimens of manhood, hard-working and respectful to their
father and me. And they love their twin sisters and little brother that Jan and
I have produced together.
I am sure that, on many days, I hear my
grandfather's voice whispering approval to me through the gum trees as I sit by
the river and read stories to the children.
Tom Grant and Will O'Brien own the
cottages in The Village, and those wonderful young men gave a three-bedroom
cottage to Jan and me as a wedding present to replace Jan's original little
home. I spend my time there four nights each week while the girls are attending
school, then come home on weekends. Sometimes Jan comes from Whispering Gums into
The Village for an overnight stay, while Karl and Kurt look after the animals.
I resigned from the Council when Jan and I discovered that we were expecting
our first child, actually, children - the twins.
When Jan found out that he was going to be
the father of another `two for the price of one', his first comment was, "Who
said lightning never strikes twice in the same place?" We were a little
apprehensive about the possibility of `another double' when I found that I was
pregnant again, three years later. All singularly good though!
Jan Andersen, father of twins Karl and
Kurt, manager of `Whispering Gums' station
It was a difficult time for me, living
separated from Karl and Kurt's mother, who hated this area of the state and
moved back to Brisbane, leaving me to raise the twins alone. However, the first
day that I met Helen O'Sullivan I fell for her and knew that I could spend my
life with this remarkable woman who exuded as much passion for the land as I
did. Having Whispering Gums in common (with her family as previous owners and
me as the then manager) just made conversation and getting to know each other
easy.
It would be fair to say that we clicked
with each other immediately and, following some discrete discussion, I even
left the boys asleep and went back across to her room at the pub that very
first night. She told me that she had been divorced for a number of years. Our
love-making, as I vividly recall, was among the most passionate of my life.
That was just the beginning. Helen would often visit Whispering Gums while I
was working there, and we were able to `slip away' together for a couple of
hours at a time to one of the outlying shearers' quarters. Having lived there
as a girl, she easily made friends with the owners and would sometime stay a
few days at a time. Lucky me!
Although I knew that I wanted to spend
time with her, perhaps even to be with her long-term, I was greatly concerned
about what Karl and Kurt would think of me divorcing their mother and
introducing a step-mother into their lives. I shouldn't have worried. Helen has
such a way with children (and teenagers) that she charmed the two of them
almost immediately. As they have grown, she has been more of a mum to them than
their own natural mother could ever have been. Helen was, and is, a country
girl! She has been a blessing to all of us, and we now boast a family of five,
having produced three little ones together, currently aged seven and four.
I remember the day that our secret `got
out'. I can `thank' Tom Grant for that! As I recall, I had asked Tom if he
could `baby sit' the boys for me while I `showed Helen around Whispering Gums'
and that we would be staying overnight. When we got back the next day, Tom
looked me in the eye and asked what Helen and I had got up to during the night.
The timing was an about-time, perfect opportunity to `come clean'. I
`confessed' everything to him first, and he honoured his promise to keep it a
secret until Helen and I were ready to announce it to the world. I shared with
Helen what I had told him and, somewhat later, I told the boys. From then on,
it has all been `clear sailing'.
I could scarcely believe my ears when
Helen divulged to me, that I wouldn't need to leave Whispering Gums and find
another job because she was now the new owner, and, I remember the glint in her
eye when she said that she `wanted to keep me on'.
It was only after that discussion that I
summoned the courage to share everything with the boys. We talked about what
`divorce' was and how it would impact them. With their blessing, I then
proposed to Helen, `officially'. I think that Karl and Kurt were as excited as
I was, maybe moreso, for some reason, the way they jumped and yahoo'd all
around the house.
They love it out here on the property now.
Kurt sometimes goes away for up to a month at a time, and visits his long-time
friend, Andy Thompson, who, also, regularly comes to stay with us. Lovely young
man! They are both very lucky to have, in each other, such devoted friends. I
could not wish for anything better for Kurt, or Andy, who became an Olympic
swimmer. Between you and me, and because neither of them has ever shown any
interest in girls, I'm convinced that there is a lot more to their relationship
than just being `good mates', although they have never actually said so. You
should see them together! Their countenances just light up.
Karl Andersen, son of Jan, twin of Kurt
I'm now 22 and, apart from my twin, I also
have two little sisters and a brother. I think they're wonderful!
It's great being on the farm with my dad
and my step-mum, Helen, and I love working with all of the animals. Whispering
Gums is such a beautiful place, with the river winding through it. Even though
it's been ten years since the great drought broke, we've had subsequent periods
of dry and periods of wet.
Dad has implemented a number of
initiatives which the owners, before Helen, even refused to consider when Dad
shared his ideas with them. These have made the place so much more sustainable.
We even run a `farm stay' now for tourists who actually pay to come for up to a
week at a time and help us do our work. Go figure!
Dad has taught me to be a farrier because
there are many properties with horses in the district. It gives me a private
income. I love it most when I get to stay with Will and Tom (it's hard not to
still call him `Mr Grant') and to work on their horses. I don't charge them, of
course, but Tom is always generous and Will finds other ways to thank me. LOL.
Will and I have grown up as the best of
mates and we tell each other `stuff' that nobody else knows about. I think that
Mr Grant, Tom, would have been horrified if he realised what I had found out
about him and Will back then! But I made a pledge with Will that we would keep
each other's secrets, and I will honour that forever. Besides, I always tell
Will about any fun that I might have with some of the casual farm hands or
young tourists (male and female) whenever Will is away. He's OK with that;
actually, I think he looks forward to hearing my stories. One of the first
things he always asks me when he comes home is whether I `got lucky', and wants
to know all of the details.
I even told Will of the night that I crept
into Mr Grant's bed out at Jintabudjaree Station. Do you remember it - the very
first night that my brother and I stayed out there with Will and Tom and with
Kurt's friend, Andy? I had a nightmare that the Jintabudjaree ghost was after
me. I couldn't wake up Will and I thought that the ghost had already killed him
so I ran across to Mr Grant's room to be safe. I got into his bed and slid
across until I could feel the security of his body next to mine. Eventually,
with my heart pounding less, and my brain resuming its normal functioning, I
concluded that I must have been dreaming and I wasn't so scared (except of what
Mr Grant might say if he woke up and found me in bed with him) so I crept back
to Will's room. He had turned on his side and was breathing (thankfully) so I
slid in, turned on my side and backed up to his chest. He stirred slightly,
snuggled into me and lay his hand over my body. Even now, he says that he
doesn't remember it at all!
Will and I still `enjoy each other's
company' just as we used to do when we were back in school, but he's not here
all of the time. He's famous, you know, and travels to lots of places. Boy, is
he handsome! I still get hard just thinking about him in his tight jeans (`fancy
pants' I call them) and those body-hugging designer shirts that he buys when
he's away.
Will went through a really bad patch a
couple of years ago with one of those flirty, `arty-farty types' in the city
who really took advantage of his gentle nature. He told me that his Dad, Mr
Grant senior, came to his rescue after a friend alerted him to what was
happening. He'll probably tell you about it himself.
He doesn't spend as much time away in the
city, or travelling, any more, only occasionally, like when he's having an
exhibition or has to attend a media event. It's wonderful to see him and Tom
together. They are always patting and hugging each other. Once I saw them
smooching when they thought that nobody was around. When I mentioned it
sometime later to Will, that's when he told me what else they do together and
we made our pact. OMG! I asked him to teach me everything, but he said that he
couldn't, out of respect for Tom.
But I learned to do stuff from someone
else, one of our farm-stay guests! Swedish tourists will always be welcome
here! LOL!
Life is good.
Kurt Andersen, son of Jan, twin of Karl
It has been ten years since I met Mr
Grant. It was just before my brother Karl's and my thirteenth birthday. I
remember that first day at the weir when all of us kids had been swimming. At
first, I thought that Mr Grant looked scared of us, but he soon relaxed. I
really liked him much better than any of our previous teachers. He's been here
in The Village ever since. Everybody here loves him. I still can't call him
`Tom', like Karl does, even though he says that I should.
One of my fond memories of that year is
that Karl, Will and I used to play games in the weir, chasing and tagging each
other, then swimming away under water. When there were no girls around, which
was most often, we played without any clothes on, and we had fun trying to grab
each other between the legs. I especially liked getting hold of Will's, because
it was so big and always hard. One day, I had a great shock. I swam up to our
`secret spot' below the weir overflow that I had seen Will dive into, and I
felt for his legs, then I ran my hands up to give his cock and balls a good
scrunch, only I found that it wasn't Will. It was actually Mr Grant, who was
sitting next to him. I was so freaked out! I thought that he would beat me up
or, even worse, tell my dad. But he didn't. He was really cool about it. Even
so, I didn't sleep well that night. I remember that day and moment vividly...
often. One day Will showed me a pencil drawing that he did of my face as he
remembered it. Holy cow! I looked terrified. And, from memory, I actually was.
However, I remember even better, the day
when my brother, Karl, and Will eventually talked Mr Grant into getting his
gear off completely and having some fun in the weir with us. He was even more
handsome without his clothes (haha) and looked just like a slightly older
version of Will. We found out later that year that they were actually brothers.
It was so weird, seeing that I'd known Will of all my life. There are times
when it's hard to tell them apart, even now. Will is 27 and Mr Grant is 32. I
think that Will keeps him young!
My twin brother, Karl, was always Will's
favourite, so I spent a lot of time, back then, trying to get Mr Grant to be MY
`special friend'. He eventually gave in, and we used to do `stuff' together,
especially after school while Karl had Will all to himself at our place. Mr
Grant was always scared of us getting caught, but I'm good at keeping my mouth
shut - and I've never told my brother what really used to happen, even though
he and Will used to ask me of all the time. As far as they know, we just used
to jerk off together like he said that they did.
Now, Mr Grant lets many different people
come and stay at his house. He says that it's kind of like a health resort. But
there are plenty of times when he's there by himself. Sometimes, when Will is
away, I go and do some work for Mr Grant on weekends and keep him company. He
told me that the old house has a number of secret passages that he had found.
You know about the one off the bathroom that Andy and I discovered. Mr Grant had
shown us one off the kitchen and he even found one between his bedroom and the
one that I usually sleep in when Will is away, the `blue' room. I love to use
it at night and sneak in to surprise him. He lets me cuddle up to him and...
(Hey - we have our own House Rule!)
Also, I remember the day that I met Andy
Thompson, just like it was last week. Wow! I got an instant hard-on just from
shaking hands with him and looking into his eyes. Mr Grant was the only one
that I told about the weird effect that Andy had on me, and he really helped me
to deal with it. He even suggested that Andy and I might like to sleep together
in our own room. I never told anyone, but I came twice that night. Andy thought
that it was funny, especially when he did it three times (with my help, and it
didn't take much effort either - LOL).
Andy and I still see each other many times
each year. Sometimes I go and stay with him. He has his own flat on the Gold
Coast, but I especially love it when he comes out here, and we get to go horse
riding with Mr Grant and Will.
We seem to have so much more freedom when
he's here. He usually stays for a month at a time, and he helps Karl and me
around the property. Even though Karl and I have our own rooms in the main
house, Dad lets Andy and me use the bunk house when he stays so that we can be
together and talk. I don't know whether Dad suspects everything that Andy and I
do together; he's never said anything but he does grin and wink at us a lot.
I think that my life would be `empty'
without Andy. We just understand each other; we like the same things and we
even think the same. Sometimes he seems more like my twin than Karl does. Did
you know that Andy has represented Australia at the Olympic Games, as a
swimmer? He's in training again at the moment. You should see his muscles! I
love giving him massages. All over. Naked. Him and me both. Haha. How do you
know if you are in love with somebody? Maybe I should ask Will or Mr Grant.
Whenever we have tourists come and stay,
I'm the one who organises their time, plays `host' and shows them around. We
have horse riding, quad-bike riding, mucking out the stables, feeding the
calves, collecting the eggs, mending fences and a whole lot of other chores to
do. The people love it. And they pay us!
I've also made friends with the helicopter
pilot who brings most of the tourists out here. He's the son of Mr Grant
(senior)'s friend who was the last one to die from the Jintabudjaree curse, ten
years ago. His name is Danny too, same as his dad. I call him `D2' and he calls
me `K2' (because Karl is `K1'). He's a lot of fun, a bit older than Will but
younger than our Mr Grant. If he didn't have a `significant' girlfriend, and I
didn't have Andy (and Mr Grant), I could seriously be interested in `messing around'
with him. Too bad!
He's teaching me all about the helicopter
and has even let me fly it sometimes when there's only him and me aboard. He
does quite well out of the tourists - bringing them here from Cunnamulla,
taking them down to Jintabudjaree to see Will's art studio and Will (if he's
there) and also into town to see the restored Village. Sometimes he carries
tourists, who have driven to The Village, out here to Whispering Gums, and also
to Jintabudjaree. Occasionally, as a special treat for any tourists that might
be here at the time, Danny and I let them tag along when we use the helicopter
to check out the whereabouts of stray cattle.
I'm really happy here. I have my brother,
Karl, my Dad, `Mum' Helen, Tom, Will and, especially, Andy. Andy reckons when
he can't swim competitively any more that he might come out here and live with
us, with me. Great! I've just got a `woody' thinking about that possibility!
Andrew (Andy) Thompson, son of Enid,
surfer and body boarder, friend of Tom and Will, and Kurt
Ten years ago, when I was 13, I thought
that I was going to die. That bastard (whose name I will never again speak)
threw me over the balcony because I wouldn't let him fuck me again and because
I kicked him in the balls. But he got what was coming to him. Simon and Luke
told me how the police caught him and exactly what other guys did to him in
prison. I wish that I had been conscious at the time to hear about it and
celebrate with them!
When I woke up in hospital, all I could
remember was my friend, Tom, and how he tried to help me, but I didn't let him.
I asked Mum every day where my friend Tom was. I wanted to hug him and thank
him and to say sorry to him. I couldn't speak properly or walk properly and I
was really scared that I was going to stay like that for the rest of my life.
When Mum told me that she was going to a
funeral with Tom's mother and that Tom was going to be there, I insisted that I
wanted to go too. I had to go! Something told me that I just needed to be out
there with him! Mum said `no' because it would be too dangerous while I was
still recovering, so I screamed and threw tantrums until she eventually gave
in. I had been pretty sure that she would. Haha.
I nearly cried when I first saw Tom again
that day at Cunnamulla. I couldn't hobble over to him from the plane fast
enough to give him a hug. I stayed with him all that day of the funeral. To let
you in on a little secret, I even persuaded him to take me to the toilet and
help me get my cock out and put it back in. My broken arm was a good excuse. I
hoped that he would hold it longer and do some stuff, like I remembered in the
showers at the beach, but he didn't.
Even better than seeing Tom and feeling
him hold my cock (even briefly), a miracle happened while I was staying with
him at the homestead. I got better. Not actually fully better, but almost fully
better. I could talk; I could walk and I felt good. I don't know how that
happened; neither does he, but I thank God every day for Tom and that place. My
medal from the last Olympics has pride of place in my lounge room and, as I was
receiving it, I dedicated it under my breath to Tom and his magical
Jintabudjaree Station homestead. Without them I may not have got past the
depression either, that the doctors said that I had, let alone achieve what I
have since then.
And, if I hadn't gone with mum and Mrs
Grant that day, to see Tom again, and hadn't gone to the special meeting to
make Tom the owner of Jintabudjaree Station, and got healed, I would never have
met Kurt. Hey, I might have muscles, but he's so cut and defined, and has
charisma and gets me sex-cited more than anyone else I've ever met! I told Tom
that I nearly blew a load in my pants when Kurt and I first shook hands. When I
was telling Tom about it in his car, just him and me, I got a hard-on and told
Tom that he could feel it, if he wanted to. He seemed reluctant, but eventually
he gave in and did it. I imagined for a moment that it could have been Kurt,
and I had to get Tom to stop the car and let me out, or I would have spurted in
my pants or all over Tom's new car.
The doctors at home could not believe nor
comprehend what had happened to me that weekend and the rest of the time that I
stayed until the end of term. They couldn't explain the rapid change in my
physical ability, my fully-healed arm and ribs, or my speech, or my restored
senses of smell and taste. My physiotherapist insisted, however, that I take up
swimming because of (a long medical term) `bi-lateral... something-or-other' to
help ensure that both sides of my brain recovered equally. It was because of
those sessions that I, and everyone else, realised that I was not just good at
swimming, but really good - without my body board. I joined a swimming squad
and was selected to represent the club, then the state at the National Swim
Trials. Amazingly, I got to represent Australia overseas at the Olympics and
came home with a bronze medal! Kurt told me that he watched me on the big TV at
the pub and that he cried because he was so proud of me. He said that he didn't
care, and wasn't embarrassed, because a lot of others who knew him and me were
crying too. I love it when he comes to stay with me or I get to go and spend a
month with him at Whispering Gums. He still has a magic effect on me!
What else? Oh, yes, my mother. I'm glad
that she has met a really nice man and re-married. He's a bit younger than her
but that doesn't matter. Even now he still comes to all of my swimming
carnivals and trials and taxis me to and from the airport whenever I have to
fly off somewhere. He's just like the dad I never had.
I have my own bachelor pad now - I am 24
after all! I am a qualified personal trainer, and that's the work that I do
when I'm not swimming competitively, or spending time with Kurt out in the
country. I love it out there. And love being with Kurt.
Martin (Marty) O'Brien, son of Acacia
(`Mum' O'Brien), brother of Anna, Chad (police officer in Big Town) and Sean
(ambulance officer in Big Town), former landlord of Tom, cousin of
Will, Jake and Jane.
After Tom became the legal owner of
historic Jintabudjaree Station, I knew that it would only be a matter of time
before he wanted to move out there. Who wouldn't? However, I wasn't sure
whether my young cousin, Will, would go too. But, knowing that he and Tom were
half-brothers, and after hearing them in bed together at night, I should have
guessed that he wouldn't think twice about living with Tom! (I'm sure that when
we were young teenagers, my older brother Chad and I never made that much noise
while he was showing me simple boy stuff, even down by the river. But, then,
Chad and I never went as far as what those two have done!) Anyway, I'm happy
for both of them. Will had a hard life as a kid, and Tom is such a great guy -
one of a kind. Everyone here loves him and it is still widely believed that
he's responsible for somehow bringing an end to that dreadful drought! He's
already a legend. We even had a ceremony to officially make him the unofficial
`Mayor of The Village'. That was Jacko's idea.
Well, what can I tell you about the past
10 years? The most significant thing has been the restoration of the pub and
the construction of a number of period-style `cottages'. The Village is a
totally different place now. It's vibrant and amazing, which is due primarily
to the skill of the architect, Ashley Cook. He spent many hours out at Tom's
place, Jintabudjaree Station and incorporated some of its architectural
highlights into his plans.
Ash's plans for the pub were very
detailed, all the way down to which bricks, stone and mortar had to be used.
The `cottages' were designed in the style of the Victorian-period London
terraces that became popular in early Sydney and Melbourne. Originally there
was to be only one street but, with Tom's decision not to go ahead in building
their big house but to make additions to the Jintabudjaree homestead instead,
Ash designed two, much wider streets of terraces. All of those at the southern
end of each street, closest to the pub, have two bedrooms. At the farther end,
closest to the river, there are some that have three bedrooms. Young peppercorn
trees, that almost match the old one outside the pub, were planted down the
centre of both streets. They are now about 8 years old and up to roof height.
There was some initial concern about them competing with native flora as their
seeds are spread by birds, but Ash did the research on them and, hopefully this
variety won't become a problem. They won't grow much taller, and we have
already witnessed them filling out, as they should continue to do even further.
Each street looks amazing; they don't have official names but everyone just
calls them `First Street' and `Second Street', as they were designated on Ash's
plans.
It was a pleasure back then to work with
Ash and Jan and the teams of guys that we gathered from around the district.
Ash also brought in some specialist stone masons to assist.
One of the local guys on my team ended up
marrying my sister. Long story! The pair of them initially lived on his family's
property about half-way to Big Town. Then they moved back to my old place, when
I moved out, so that they could be close to Mum (who's getting on in years) but
without being too close to her, if you know what I mean! They were happy to
have my dogs remain down there with them.
Tom is an amazingly generous guy. He gave
one of the 3-bedroom terraces to Jan and Helen as a wedding present. It's the
one at the river end of First Street, closest to the school, almost where Jan's
old house used to be. Helen usually drives in from Whispering Gums with the children
on Monday morning so that her oldest two can go to the school. She stays in the
house and then drives back out after school on Friday.
During the week, apart from looking after
her little 4-year old `Benny' (Benjamin actually), Helen organises the groups
to go out to the property and to Tom's place by helicopter. She sometimes helps
Julie Smith at the pub or drives up to Thunungara Station to assist Di and Jake
with the place and with Uncle Reg.
Ash and I worked so well together that we
joined forces to set up a business, `Cook and O'Brien, Heritage Restorations'.
Ash does the research and designs and I supervise the work projects on site,
all over the state, and even in Sydney and Melbourne. We both travel a lot
together and when we are back here (where our `office' is) we live side by
side.
Designing and setting up the business
office was an `arrangement of convenience' with Tom and Will's blessing. They
granted us exclusive use of two adjoining terraces at the (most private) river
end of Second Street.
Ash designed them like this – the office,
and `his' place, is right at the end. The downstairs looks like, and functions
as, an architect's office, with a couple of drafting tables, filing cabinets,
etc. with copies of plans and photos of our work displayed on the walls. His
`living quarters' are upstairs. `My' place is the one adjacent to it, and entry
is directly to the open-plan living/dining/kitchen area; the modest kitchen
matching those of the other cottages. However, upstairs, Ash's place and my place
merge into one, with the assistance of a retractable, faux-brick, wall, where
all of the other cottages have a double-brick common wall. Very few people,
apart from our closest friends, have ever been up there. When we had to show
Mum and the rest of my family though the places, the retractable wall was
closed. Altogether, there are three large bedrooms, even though Ash and I
really only need, and use, one. LOL. Yep, we are more than partners in
business! For over 9 years now!
During the daytime, we always use the
front doors to move between the cottages, telling people that we work together
in the office, and eat together at `my place'. Even to this day, most people
haven't `connected the dots'.
When Tom and Will decided to move out to
Jintabudjaree Station, there were plenty of opportunities during the
constructions for Ash and me to get to know each other. He `bunked' down at my
old place so that rooms at the hotel could be left available for the workers
who couldn't travel back and forth to their home each day due to distance. At
least that's the reason we gave everyone. Haha. House Rules rule!
I remember the first night that Ash and I
were able to spend alone at my old place. Of course, the dress code was
`shirtless' and `everything-else-less', totally au naturel! We couldn't keep
our hands off one another. Our `little bit of fun' before dinner turned into an
orgy to rival the best of Tom and Will's merrymaking sessions. No protein was
wasted in the process and dinner reverted to being a midnight snack. After all,
we needed to consume some carbohydrates for energy!
I re-visited `him' and `her' in Big Town a
couple of times, but soon realised that Ash could provide every sensual
experience that I would ever need. And, in addition to that, his sense of
humour has me in stitches. Why not spend the rest of my life with him as my
partner? Between you and me, I think that Tom and Will were jealous, initially.
But we regularly get invited to dinner out at their place, and you should hear
Ash and Will trade stories and humorous insults. Tom and I ache from laughter
once they get going! Oh, yes, we occasionally have a bit of other fun, all
together, which usually commences with Will's favourite get-your-gear-off card
game. But, there are limits that we place upon ourselves. Hey! We're not
totally depraved!
Ashley (Ash) Cook,
architect, engaged by Bill Grant for the restoration of the pub and the
construction of cottages in The Village.
Not a day goes by that I don't rejoice at
the phone call that I took from Bill Grant, 10 years ago, asking me if I was
interested in running a project for him `out west'. I had done some work for
him previously but he seemed particularly enthusiastic about this specific
`opportunity'.
He provided me with Google Earth
photographs of the property and a full brief about what I should design. Only
when I had finished the preliminary drawings did Bill introduce me to the
owners, his two sons by different mothers who, he had pre-alerted me, were `an
item' and would be sharing the separation of sheets in the master bedroom.
Maybe that's why Bill chose me for the job, knowing that I was gay and would
probably be sympathetic to their needs. I must say that I was amused by the
interplay between the two boys, once they realised that I knew about them and I
had dropped them a hint about my own preference. As I recall it, Tom patted me
on the back, just at the top of my buttocks, and kept his hand there, which was
followed by Will kicking him in the ankle. There were other times when I
observed the same playful behaviour from them, apparently vying for my
attention, and warning the other one off. Hilarious!
As it transpired, young Tom fell into some
wealth of his own, in the form of a very large property with a beautiful,
historic homestead. Bill reckons that, based on his library alone, Tom could
now be even richer than him (on paper)! But, the result of all that was that
the plans for the big house in town were scrapped and I started over. There
were extensions to the homestead to be drawn by adding stables and a studio for
Will, the restoration plans for the pub, and two streets of English-style
terraces.
The field of weeds between the `First
Street' of terraces, and the school, just part of the land owned by Tom and Will,
became a beautifully-landscaped `village green', opposite the pub, with water
drawn from below the weir to maintain it. The rest of their property in town,
the western end, is used as a community recreation area and everything is
proudly maintained by the locals.
The only thing that remains `out of place'
today in the neat little Village is the old church. We still haven't found the
right people to authorise any work to be done on it. I did, however, organise
to replace the fence and plant some trees, and the locals now keep the grass
cut. The dilapidated chapel is almost a tourist attraction in its own right – a
true indication of the ravages of time and neglect.
Marty was supposed to supervise the work
on the big house and Jan on the terraces, so then, with his part of the
original plan `shelved', Marty worked closely with me and the specialist
craftsmen, on the restoration instead. With local volunteers as labourers, in
addition to Marty's team of three paid workers, we made excellent progress.
With Tom and Will moving out to
Jintabudjaree Station, Marty suggested that I stay at his place. We told people
that it would leave more accommodation available at the pub for workers and,
besides, Marty and I could compare notes and plan for the next day's work.
Actually, after the night of the dinner with everyone at the pub and with Marty
`taking me home' with him, I was expectantly excited about him and me sharing
an otherwise-vacant house together.
I remember the first night alone together.
I don't know whether he planned to seduce me or if I was going to have to
seduce him. Either way, I don't think that there would have been much
resistance. However, after that particularly dusty day he suggested that we
shower before dinner. With me near the living area, he stood in the hallway and
alluringly stripped off all of his clothes, tossing them through his bedroom
door one piece at a time, then he headed for the bathroom. He walked past me
with his manhood fattening noticeably with each step. When he reached the bathroom
door he turned and asked with a smirk, "Well, are you coming, or not?" So much
for the instantly-unnecessary scenario that I had been hatching in my mind to
`get him'!
When I reached the bathroom door, Marty
was adjusting the water temperature, slightly bent over the bath. I stripped
off and moved to stand alongside him and simply asked, "Need a hand with
anything?"
Hands on hips, he turned to face me,
displaying his fully-hard erection. He looked down at it and then looking up
into my eyes replied, "What do you reckon?" He stepped into the bath, allowed
the shower to wet him all over and then handed me the soap. I wet my hands, got
them really sudsy and then started rubbing his chest and abdomen, then caressed
his lower bits. His moan of pleasure was a real turn-on (as if I wasn't more
than half there already). "Get in here!" he growled, and he did to me what I
had been doing for him. We washed every square centimetre of each other's body,
neck to knee, front and back, soft and hard (not that much of him was soft -
every taut muscle of his body was a delight for my excited fingers).
I quickly became over-stimulated and
warned him of what I could tell was about to happen. He nudged me out of the
direct stream of water, dropped to one knee and took it all in his mouth. Even
when I finished unloading, I was still stiff. Massaging his big balls with one
hand, I held his rod in my mouth with the other and sucked and licked it until
I had his load of cream down my throat as well. Even when we rinsed and dried
off, we were both still at full mast. "Dinner can wait a while," Marty
declared, grabbing some clean towels as we headed for the bedroom. Three hours
later we had both been fondled, frotted, jacked, sucked and fucked to the point
of exhaustion. And we used up Marty's total supply of condoms, too.
"I told you once before that I thought I
was going to like it here," I said, lying beside him and reminding him of that
morning when Tom and Will found Marty and me in bed together and the
`four-play' that followed. I added, "Well, we've had the liquid protein, what
else have you got in this place? I'm starved."
That was the beginning of a fantastic
regular ritual that ended up with us discussing with each other whether we
would like our new `friendship' to continue well into the future. So positive
was Marty about it that I altered the layout of two of the terraces so that we
could live together, with one entrance seeming to the outside world as a
separate office-come-residence for me, the other one being `Marty's place' as
Tom and Will had already offered it to him. That Will is a sharp cookie! He
spotted our `friendship' for what it really was almost immediately.
Our restoration business was originally
set up purely as a convenience, to deflect people's suspicions about us
spending so much time together. However, it has actually turned out to be very
profitable. After the publicity that we received regarding the pub and The
Village, everyone who could afford it wanted us to project manage the repairs
and restoration of their old properties. I think that it is a status symbol for
them to brag that their work has been done by `Cook and O'Brien'. We even have
some ongoing government contracts to systematically analyse the needs for each
of their heritage-listed properties, and they have given us grants to assist
private owners whose properties are listed on the national heritage register.
Marty and I travel extensively. Sometimes
I am away scoping out a project before coming back to draw up the plans and
submissions for contracts and grants. Sometimes Marty is away supervising the
work. However, I relish the times when we are away together. And even moreso
when we are back here together!
Tom and Will are definitely our best
friends and confidants.
Ten years ago, I could never have imagined
me living in `the middle of nowhere' and being this happy. Life is great!
Julie Smith, licensee of The Village pub
I can't believe the transformation of the
pub that Tom, his father and the architect, Ashley Cook, have managed to achieve.
I think that it looks even grander than all of the photographs of the original.
We have solar panels built into the roof, which largely powers our electricity
and hot water. Even the storage batteries are concealed. The architect is a
genius! Marty and Jan and their teams all worked extremely hard to ensure that
the smallest details were done according to the architect's plans.
One unexpected upside to the work was that
Marty's sister, Anna, found herself a boyfriend whom she has since married.
What a great day that was. You should have seen Acacia - she was in her
element! Tom hosted the wedding out at Jintabudjaree Station and my husband and
I did the catering. Any tourists in town that day were also invited.
Before the restoration here was completed,
Tom's father also arranged for the installation of satellite TV, which the
locals from 200km around come to watch. That's great for business!
We also manage the letting of the cottages
that they built opposite the pub, on the land that Will O'Brien and Tom own. We
employ Jane O'Brien (Reg and Di's daughter) to look after all of the house
keeping – both pub and cottages. She's great with the guests and she has a real
eye for detail. We receive many messages of congratulations on the standard that
she maintains, both by mail and on social media.
We get lots of tourists out here now,
which is great for the local economy. They come to look at the restored pub and
Victorian-style cottages (they have a choice of which to stay in), go out to
Jintabudjaree Station to see Will work and to purchase some of his paintings
and drawings. There is also a regular helicopter service between here (in The
Village), Jintabudjaree, Whispering Gums and Cunnamulla. Young Danny, the
pilot, is very popular with the locals and tourists alike. I adore his
girlfriend whose father is a publican in Cunnamulla, so she knows her stuff
and, when she's here, usually pitches in to give us a hand if things are really
busy.
Tom still likes his lime juice and mineral
water over crushed ice. Jacko nick-named it a `Peter Pan', after a comment that
Tom made many years ago about not being ready for a man's drink yet. Once each
year, on the anniversary of Tom becoming the owner of Jintabudjaree Station,
everybody toasts The Mayor with a Peter Pan. It has become a popular drink,
especially in summer.
Jane O'Brien, daughter of Reg and Di,
sister of Jake
I still have my boyfriend who lives and
works in Big Town. We've been `going steady' since I left school and I wonder
when he's finally going to `pop the question'. I've been pretty busy since the
pub was restored and the cottages built. My job is to be in charge of the
housekeeping - everything about the rooms - décor, cleanliness, services and
overall hospitality. I love my work and I meet some amazing people, not just
from around Australia but from overseas too.
My Dad had a stroke a few years back so
Mum, Jake and I all look after him. Maybe that's why my boyfriend is so
hesitant. I haven't had a lot of spare time to be alone with him, but he does
come out to Thunungara fairly regularly when I'm not working. Mum and Dad both
like him and he and Jake get on well, too.
Jake O'Brien, son of Reg and Di, brother
of Jane, cousin and school friend of Will
Hi. If you're wondering whether I have a girlfriend
or not, the answer is `no'. Since Dad had his stroke, I've been taking care of
the property. The animals keep me pretty busy, so does looking after Dad. Mum
doesn't hear too well and Jane spends a lot of her time working at the pub. Mum
feeds Dad and I bathe him and help him go to the toilet. I think he likes it
most when he sits in his rocking chair on the verandah and I read to him, or
when I tell him what everyone in The Village is doing. He nods and hums a lot
but doesn't speak much.
My old school friends are terrific. Will
always comes out to help with the work when he's back here from his travels and
commitments, and he sometimes brings either Karl or Kurt with him. They are all
so supportive! When Will is here by himself I love to get away with him for a
while. We ride the motor bikes up to one of our favourite spots along the
river, talk a lot about what's happening in our lives, and usually end up
having a bit of relaxing `private fun', like we used to back in our school
days. Even though I'm 24, I just don't have time for a girlfriend at the
moment. Anyway, I know that I'm not gay, and that fun stuff I can do myself, or
I can let my buddy Will give me a hand. LOL.
Reg O'Brien, brother of Acacia, husband of
Di, uncle of Marty and Will, father of Jane and Jake
I don't get around too well these days.
Having a stroke has been extremely humbling, with other people pitching in to
do just about everything for me, even bathe me, dress me and take me to the
toilet. But they take it in their stride and I have learned to get over my
embarrassment and am so thankful for them - especially my son, Jake. He's
amazing - he takes after his mother!
I remember the day that it happened. It
was a family gathering at Acacia's for Anna's birthday. I remember feeling
uncoordinated and unbalanced. I attempted to walk but fell over. Somebody said,
"Hey, Uncle Reg, you should lay off the booze!" My nephew, Sean, knowing that I
had only been drinking water, and, after checking my face and arms, concluded
that I was having a stroke. Thank God, he was there. He had driven out in the
ambulance with Chad and had everything at hand that he needed. I must have
blacked out, because when I woke up, I was in the hospital in Big Town and
stayed there for a couple of months.
I love my wife, my children and my
friends, but some days, when I feel really low, I would just be happy to die,
and relieve them of the burden of looking after me.
Anna O'Brien, sister of Marty, daughter of
Acacia
I'm married. I finally got myself a man! I
thought that the day would never come. In the end, it all happened so quickly.
Marty brought three guys on his work team, from the restoration, home for
lunch. One of them told me that he'd met me out at Jintabudjaree Station and
had been thinking about me ever since. I recognised him. Then he started coming
for lunch or dinner a lot and we used to go for long walks. He was a great
kisser. Still is! One night he asked me to marry him, after he had spoken to
Mum. Of course, I accepted! I was tempted to use one of my cousin Will's
favourite expressions, `Hell Yeah!' but I restrained myself.
I'm 28 and my husband is 30. We live in
Marty's old place, and Mum and I have done it up really nicely! Marty moved all
of his stuff up to one of the cottages that Tom and Will let him use, in the
cottage next door to his business partner. I like it over here. It's private,
away from Mum, and she can't hear us having fun. We decided to wait for a
number of years, but at the moment we are trying for a baby. Every night. My husband
doesn't complain!
Acacia (`Mum') O'Brien, mother of Marty,
Chad, Sean and Anna, aunt of Will
Finally! One of my children got married. I
don't know what's wrong with the boys, but Anna found herself a handsome young
man who was working on the restoration of the pub with Marty. Marty brought a
few of them home for lunch one day and Anna was like a kid in a toy store.
Anyway, this particular one of them reminded her that he had met her
previously, out at Jintabudjaree Station the day the Tom became the official
owner. They hit it off and he became a regular visitor. One night, after
dinner, he asked if he could speak with me privately. I was a little worried,
but he came straight out and asked me if I would consent to him marrying Anna.
What a gentleman! I think I hugged him so hard that he was winded, and I heard
something crack. We both laughed. I insisted that they let me tell everybody.
And the wedding was amazing. Tom let us
use his big house for the wedding and its enormous hall for a sit-down
celebration dinner. Julie Smith and her husband and their team did an
incredible job with the food, and they even brought out a truckload of trestle
tables and chairs from the pub. And the wedding made the local paper in Big
Town, photographs and all.
I offered them to live in the cottage out
the back of my house, but Marty suggested something else, which they preferred.
He told them that they could have his place when he moved into one of the
cottages up in The Village, because Tom (bless him!) had offered one to him,
rent free, in appreciation for all of the work that Marty had put in. And that
was in addition to what he had been paid!
I can't wait to be a grandmother. A little
bird tells me that it shouldn't be too far off!
Simon, Gold Coast resident, tenement
neighbour of Luke and Andy, surfing friend of Tom and Will
My friend Luke and I met up with Tom and
Will a few times during school term breaks in the Gold Coast when we weren't
away on holidays ourselves. We all had some good jerk-off and oral sessions
together but it became obvious that there would be no lasting relationships
beyond a bit of occasional and brief pleasure.
When Luke's parents bought a house up the
coast and moved away, that heralded the end of any fun that the two of us would
have with the boys from the bush, especially since I had decided to join the
army. However, I do get my share of pleasure in the barracks, but that's
something that none of us guys ever talk about.
We know that our young mate, Andy Thompson,
and a younger guy from Tom and Will's little Village, Kurt, became best mates
and whenever he came to town, we hardly saw Andy at all.
After Andy's miraculous recovery from his
injuries of 10 years ago, he went on to become a famous swimmer and even won a
medal at the Olympics. Andy started `going bush' in the `off season' for a
month or two at a time. Still does, apparently. When we asked him what he did
out there, he would only tell us about his friend's property, the horses, the
bikes and the tourists. He was always a randy little devil and I suspect that
there was a lot more going on, but we could never get out of him what he got up
to between sunset and sunrise! Andy just used to touch his nose and say, `House
Rule!' Like life in the barracks, I suppose.
All of us still keep in touch on Facebook
but we rarely bump into each other.
Rocco Verdi, nephew of restauranteur,
Giuseppe, cousin of Tony, friend of Will
Tony and I never did get to visit Tom and
Will's school, but they have kept in touch with us every week as they promised,
and we catch up whenever they are `in town'.
Regarding the bullying, it was Tom's
suggestion that Tony and I try for a while not `hanging out together' at school
and to keep our distance, but to always stay within sight of one another, with
our phone cameras at the ready to capture video of any harassment that the
school continually denied was actually happening. Tony told me not to worry
about him and that he could endure a few bruises if it meant that we could put
a stop to the hoodlum activity. He was so brave.
Tom was right. In the very first week,
without me as his `bodyguard', Tony was accosted on at least a dozen occasions
by a variety of the thugs. I caught it all on camera. At the end of the week,
after speaking with Tom and Will, Tony and I went to see the Principal. Tony
was sporting a black eye. We made our accusations. Those whom we named were
called to the office to explain and, as usual, had their contrary stories
well-rehearsed, throwing the onus for everything back onto us.
It was only when the Principal threatened
to expel Tony and me for continually lying and trouble-making that I produced
the videos. I told him that I had already shared them with friends `in
education circles' (aka Tom) and was going to post them on social media, exposing
not only the bullies, but the school's indifference to their actions, plus the
possibility of potential legal action. The Principal called in the Deputy to
see the videos and they both seemed to become very flustered.
Then, when I called them, Uncle Giuseppe
and my dad, who had been waiting outside the school in their car, came in and
presented the principal with a legal order for the school to make available
every bullying complaint that we had ever made, together with records of the
subsequent actions that they had taken. Well, did that ever release the wild
cat amongst the apathetic, sedentary pigeons! Yes, there were expulsions, but
they weren't us. And there were a couple of sudden, unexpected staff transfers
by teachers to whom we had made direct complaints and by whom we had basically
been told to `piss off, you queers'.
As it turns out, Tony and I weren't the
gang's only victims and we were suddenly heralded as heroes among our
newly-acquired school mates for helping to rid the school of the vermin.
Despite doing reasonably well in my final
exams, I had no idea what I wanted to do after school. Uncle Giuseppe offered
to `teach me the restaurant business', considering that his only son, Tony, had
other interests that he wanted to pursue. Today I am one of the three managers
that Zio Giuseppe employs. He says that I should be able to run my own place in
another year or two and that all I would need to do is find is an excellent
Italian chef, like him.
Tony Verdi, son of restauranteur,
Giuseppe, cousin of Rocco, friend of Tom
Tom changed my life. I thank him always
for rescuing me and Rocco from the bullying that we were enduring. It got worse
before it got better especially when, while still at school, I took up dancing
seriously and won a couple of state and national school eisteddfods. After
leaving school I was offered a scholarship to work with a national ballet
group. I even made it to understudy for the principal, performing on a number
of occasions and receiving great applause for my performances.
I am thrilled that I was able to return
the `rescue' favour for Will, but I'll let him tell you about that. Dreadful
episode!
Unfortunately, during one energetic
rehearsal, I stepped on some electrical cable that had been left at the back of
the stage; I fell and I broke my ankle - badly. End of dancing career, although
they did suggest that they would `look after me' if I took up choreography. Not
my passion!
Reluctantly, I went back to work with my
papa, in the restaurant. He tells me that I have the makings of a fine chef and
is teaching me what he knows, including a few `secret family recipes'. He
couldn't quite understand why I was so keen to master cannolis, but Rocco
knows! We see Tom and Will a couple of times each year when they come back to
the Gold Coast, and they always appreciate our cannolis. And cream.
("Horse Boy") Sam, son of the motel owners
between The Village and the Gold Coast, older brother of Mikey
It's a few years since I've seen Will from
The Village and his brother, Tom. They used to always stop in at the motel on
their way to and from the Gold Coast. Will and I used to love playing games
together - both computer and `private' ones. I couldn't wait as the date of
their next stay would approach. I was so excited. Will was the only person who
really understood my needs, and he loved to play with me and I always looked
forward to playing with him.
Unfortunately, all of that changed when
they sadly told us on one trip that, in future, they would be flying instead of
driving. I was devastated. So was Mikey, who used to love `hanging around'
Will's older brother, Tom, who had also been Will's teacher. I never quite
understood why Mikey liked him so much. Perhaps he just missed having our dad
around and took to Tom as a substitute. Tom was very patient with him and used
to read to him and play board games with him, taught him chess and he was one
person whom Mikey could always beat at computer games. He loved beating Tom
because he had no chance against me or Dad!
We visited Will and Tom once. They had
mentioned a couple of times that we were welcome to come and see the school. It
was just before Christmas the year that we first met them. Dad was home for two
weeks and said that he would look after the place for one night if we left early
on the Friday morning and were back again by late Saturday because there was
only one booking for the Friday night. Mum drove us out there and we went
straight to the school.
It was before lunchtime and Tom introduced
Mikey and me to all of his students. We had brought some of our home-schooling
work to do while we sat in the classroom with the others. However, we didn't
get much done because everyone was interested in hearing about what we liked to
do and about our motel. Tom allowed us all to talk a lot.
Tom had arranged for the nice lady at the
hotel, Mrs Smith, to bring us over some lunch. Mikey and I ate our food quickly
and then went to join in the games with everyone in the playground. Mum went
back to the hotel with Mrs Smith who said that she would show Mum all around
because it was in the final stages of being renovated. Mum and she have become
good friends and ring each other all the time now. She comes to visit us each
year at the motel.
It was funny just after lunch when I
needed to go to the toilet. Will showed me where it was. We were both hanging
out starting to take a pee and I remember getting a bit hard just being next to
him and looking at him. All of a sudden, the three older boys in the school
appeared, the twins and another one, and said that they needed to pee as well.
(I think that they just wanted to have a good look at my big cock because I was
aware that they had all been checking me out from the moment we arrived.) When
he saw it, one of the twins said it was the biggest one he'd ever seen, except
on a horse, and asked if he could feel it. Then, of course they all wanted to
do it! To be fair, they said, they would all let me feel theirs too. When the
three of them left with Will, I had to stay a bit longer until it went down. I have
trouble hiding mine because it's so big. Will told me to wash my face and arms
with cold water. That helped.
During the afternoon Mikey and I did some
of our work, but we also sang songs with everyone, listened while the biggest
girl, Jake's sister, read everyone a story and then we walked to the weir and
talked about the local birds, some of which I'd never seen before.
We all stayed at Tom's big house that
night. Mum had her own room (nearly everything in it was pink). Mikey and I
shared the `green' one next to hers. When I was sure that Mikey was asleep, I
sneaked over to Will's room. He was very happy to see me! He even had some
towels ready for what he called my `fountain'. It was a couple of hours of my
life that I will never forget!
These days, I work with my dad in the
mines. I drive one of the big loaders. The job pays really well, and it takes
all the pressure off the finances of the motel which still just manages to pay
its way. Mum said that she wanted to keep the motel even though there were not
a lot of customers on a regular basis.
Mikey helps Mum run the motel and now he
does most of the maintenance. Dad said that if he and I are both home when it
coincides with a school holiday time, then Mikey and I can go and spend three
or four days with Will and Tom and he will stay with mum to look after the
motel. He's arranged it with Tom, but it just depends on our work rosters and
the school terms. We are both really dying to seeing them again. Mikey and I
will take turns driving. Hey, the handsome little squirt has turned 21 already.
Where does the time go?
Jacko, local farm hand
I knew that if I sucked up to him long
enough, the soft-hearted Tom would give me a job. Most people wouldn't like it
but I enjoy looking after the horses and even don't mind mucking out their
stables. Besides, Tom lets me keep my own mare here as well and he won't let me
pay him for her feed. When the stables were built, they included a small, but
very comfortable, living quarters for me at the far end. Tom has entrusted me
with the care of the landau and on special occasions I add a team of four of
Will's prize horses to show it off. That's one of the best parts of the job
deal.
I was a little disappointed that I wasn't
able to convert Tom to a real man's drink, but, hey, I've actually developed a
taste for lime juice and mineral water over crushed ice. Refreshing rather than
intoxicating. Who would have thought? It has become a local joke, and I even
named it the `Peter Pan' after Tom. My mates at the pub always pretend to gag
when they see me drinking `that stuff'.
Sometime after Tom offered me a job, we
went horse riding together one day and, about an hour's ride west of here, we
came across a series of below-ground caves full of aboriginal paintings. One of
them contained a pool with a hot spring; warm enough to enjoy like a relaxing
bath but not hot enough to cook us. We still go out there occasionally
together.
Bathing naked in hot spring water is
better than swimming in the cold Village weir. Yeah, Tom's seen my `magic wand'
and I've seen his, and, after performing some initial magic back then, we
manage to keep our hands to ourselves these days. Well, most times. Except,
maybe, when Will has been away for an extended period and Tom invites me to
remember that I am `his hired hand'. LOL.
I feel privileged to be one of only very
few people who know of the caves' existence. Tom doesn't want any `outsiders'
to know about them and has sworn me, Will, one of the Andersen twins and his
Olympic swimmer friend to secrecy, or else he'll invoke some curse on us. I'll
bet that he could too, after all, he did bring an end to the big drought 10
years ago.
I know about him and Will, and he's the
only person I've ever told about some of my `mates' in Big Town. Mutual trust
and discretion! Tom's a great boss, and I'm delighted to call him my friend.
William Grant (Snr), world-renowned
photographer, known affectionately to many as `Uncle Bill', father of both
William O'Brien and Thomas Grant by different mothers.
I'm proud of my two boys.
My eldest, Thomas, is well respected in
The Village where he is still the sole school teacher. The people there even
made him the unofficial `Mayor' when, 10 years ago, most attributed to him the
end of a long drought.
That was the same year that he became the
legal owner of that magnificent Victorian-period homestead on `Jintabudjaree
Station' through some quirk of fate that I still find difficult to believe or
even comprehend. Part of the homestead included a library of documents and
first/second edition books that are rare and extremely valuable. Nobody can
understand how they remain so well preserved. Thomas has insisted that nothing
may leave the library because he won't part with any of the house's original
items, but he did allow some historians and university researchers to come and
photograph all of the documents to display whichever they wanted at the State
Museum in Brisbane.
Speaking of being well-preserved, I think
that Thomas and my second son, Will, hardly look too much older than they did
10 years ago. Amazing! It must be that clean Jintabudjaree air in Thomas's
lungs that is keeping him young. If anything, Will, who has spent a large
amount of time travelling, now looks as mature as Thomas. Anyone who doesn't
know them well could easily mistake them for identical twins, and many do.
Will, the surprise of my life, is the most
amazing artist with a unique talent. Do you remember when I introduced him to
Monika, the Director of the City Art Gallery? She thought I was joking when I
first told her how good he was, until she saw his work for herself, especially
Will's ability to capture the inner soul of people in his drawings and
paintings.
Monika organised an exhibition of his work
in her gallery and invited a `who's who' of art critics, none of whom could
believe that the incredibly realistic landscapes, horses and portraits were all
done by the same artist. They fawned over his portraits and spent a lot of time
extolling the virtues and skills of this `previously unknown master'. Then, they
were absolutely astounded when, later during the opening, Monika finally
`unveiled' the artist, aged 17. The disbelievers were placated when Will,
handed a pencil and paper by one of them, promptly produced a drawing that
perfectly captured his scepticism, much to everyone's amusement and applause.
From that day onwards, he has been greatly
sought after throughout the country and has even been invited to exhibit in
some of the most notable galleries in France, England and the United States.
During each of his exhibitions, he has made it a custom to paint a portrait of
either the gallery's director or one of its patrons. On the closing day, the
portrait is auctioned and the proceeds are split between Will and the gallery.
The value of the successful bids has increased rapidly in recent years. He has
also picked up quite a number of private commissions as a result. He is in
great demand.
One of the proudest moments of my life was
when the director of the Tate Gallery in London, whom I had met on a number of
previous occasions, asked if she could organise a father and son showing - his
paintings and my photographs. It almost coincided with Will's 20th birthday
and, to celebrate, Thomas flew over and joined us. It pains me to say, purely
from an egotistical point of view, that Will's work, today, is even more highly
prized than my photographs!
Needless to say, he has met a multitude of
people - famous (including movie and sports stars), influential (the rich,
politicians, nobility and royalty) and artistic (from the creative, visual and
performing arts). Many of these people had a great effect on him, either as
paying commissions, or by way of introductions, or supportingly stroking his
ego and encouraging his `gift'. There are too many for me to detail but one in
particular, I should tell you, nearly brought about Will's demise.
His name was Gregor and he was introduced
to Will following one of the Brisbane shows in which my friend Giuseppe Verdi's
son, Tony, was dancing. Will was invited, since he was `in town' at the time. I
had to decline Tony's invitation because of a prior commitment, and Rocco, to
Will's disappointment, was left `at home' to run the restaurant.
At the after-party, the charismatic
Gregor, a principal dancer, swept Will off his feet with his charm, humour and
flattery. I imagine that his physical appearance (by all accounts handsome
facial features, slim and with classically-defined musculature) stirred
something deep within Will as well. They became instant friends and spent a lot
of time together when it didn't interfere with either of their professional
commitments. They were often seen around town, arm-over-shoulder, and at
parties, and I believe that Will started staying for a night or two, then
regularly, at Gregor's place instead of in hotel accommodation. It was Tony who
first alerted his father that he thought something was wrong. Of course,
Giuseppe rang me straight away.
It came about like this: Tony said that he
rarely went to the Saturday night after-show cast parties, but had relented on
this particular occasion because it was also to celebrate his first major
supporting role. After he arrived, he noticed that Gregor seemed already well
on the way to being under the influence of something, and that Will (whom he
had not seen for a few weeks) was not the normal, coherent and happy self that
Tony remembered, appearing gaunt with the beginning of dark circles under his
eyes. When Tony questioned them, Will said he was `just having fun' and Gregor
told him that Will had had `a few too many' and that he would take him home to
his place to sleep it off. They left soon afterwards, with Gregor supporting
Will as they managed to find their way out.
Concerned and suspicious because he had
never seen Will drink alcohol, or in such poor physical condition, Tony
followed them, and rang Rocco from his car to tell him what was happening and
the direction in which they were all heading. Rocco headed off and Tony
confirmed the address after the cars stopped. When he arrived a few minutes
later, with noises coming from inside, Rocco knocked, then banged, on Gregor's
door. Nobody answered.
Fearing that something injurious to Will
was occurring, with one hefty shoulder charge against the door, Rocco was in,
only to find them naked, Gregor on top of Will on the day bed, `pounding his
arse' (as Rocco so un-delicately expressed it). Noticeably, it was without a
condom, which he knew that Will always insisted on using (except with Tom).
Rocco was so incensed that his friend was being abused, he pulled Gregor off
him and punched him in the face before his feet even touched the ground.
Will appeared to be barely conscious.
Rocco rang for an ambulance and Tony called his father who rang me. I
immediately excused myself from my engagement and contacted my friend, Angela
Grayson, Assistant Commissioner of Police, who had local officers there within
minutes. I arrived at Gregor's just as the officers were putting Will into the
ambulance. I travelled with him to the hospital, held his hand and talked to
his near-lifeless body while one of the medical officers worked on him. We came
so close to losing him! I cried. I will be forever in Tony's debt for saving
Will's life.
I didn't tell Thomas the details when I
rang him, but said that Will was in trouble and that I had arranged for young
Daniel, Danny's son, to pick him up at home in the helicopter and take him to
Cunnamulla where a Lear jet would be waiting to get him to Brisbane as quickly
as possible. Thomas was beside himself with grief, but I didn't tell him all of
the details. I just said that Will had been taken to hospital and needed his
brother's support.
When I met him at Brisbane airport, Thomas
was a mess, worried sick and imagining the worst, as you do. On the way to the
hospital, I explained everything to him, just as Tony conveyed it to me, and as
I have just told you. Thomas and I both waited by his bedside until Will
regained consciousness. I'm sure that Will and Thomas may reveal more to you
about that.
The police uncovered a stash of drugs in
one of Gregor's bathroom drawers. Despite the fact that Will was in no
condition even to be aware of what was happening, Gregor claimed that the sex
was consensual. He was subsequently charged with drug possession, trafficking
and administering an illicit drug to gain sexual advantage, and rape. Angela
saw to it that Will's name never emerged in the press and that all records of
the case were `secured from general access'. Gregor `disappeared', which gave
Tony his big break on the stage.
While the work teams were re-developing
The Village, I made sure that I took lots of photographs, and I am pleased that
I was able to sponsor the venture. It has not only put The Village (back) on
the map, it has provided employment opportunities for many of the locals both
in construction and in tourism. Young Daniel has benefited from charter
helicopter services, Jan Andersen's family has created a working farm-stay
business, the pub does a roaring trade and Will sells some of his art works,
but keeps the best ones for showing in galleries world-wide.
Acacia loves it when I visit the boys, and
she loves cooking for me at her place, followed by our own `after-party'.
William O'Brien Jnr (Will), previously
`Little Willie', half-brother of Tom, son of Bill Grant and Lilly O'Brien
Hey guys! What has everyone else told you?
Let me add my thoughts of the past 10 years.
Last year of School
My last year of school was a life-changing
one. I turned 17, got my driver's licence, had a lot of fun with my friends,
lost my virginity, met my dad, `got discovered' for my art work and ventured
`out into the world'. Eventful, eh?
And, on top of all that, I discovered that
I had a brother! OMG! Not just some illegitimate urchin (that would be more
like me), but, by some incredible power within the universe, my brother was
none other than the new school teacher! To this day we still debate, during
times of friendly rivalry, as to whose prayer (for a brother) God answered -
his or mine!
I remember the day that I first saw Tom.
All of us kids were playing in the weir. When Jane announced that she thought
that the new schoolie had arrived, everyone dashed off to meet him, except for
me and Jake, who got out and hid up a tree. I chose to hide in the space behind
the waterfall of the weir. After a long while I slipped out, close to the bank
farthest from the school, and stuck just the top of my head out of the water to
see what was going on.
I couldn't believe what I saw. The new
schoolie looked like me, except that he was older, of course, and better dressed
than I ever was. All I could do was stare. Then his eyes locked onto mine. For
some reason, perhaps in shock, I stood up, open-mouthed, and just gawked at
him. Then, when I realised that I was having one of those sudden, unwelcome,
teenage erections, I turned and dived underneath again, with my heart thumping.
What had I just seen? This couldn't be the schoolie, I thought. Somebody's
playing a joke on us, especially on me.
I don't remember how long I hid behind
there with the image of the new schoolie person running through my mind, over
and over. Was he real? Did he really look like me? How come? Did I just imagine
it? Jake popped up in the water next to me and said that he had to go because
his dad was here.
Eventually, when I plucked up the nerve to
emerge again, everyone was gone. Still dripping, I walked across to the school.
I knew the schoolie was inside because a car which I'd never seen before, was
still there. I crept as quietly as I could to the door and looked in. I knocked
and he said, "Come in". When he came to meet me, and told me that his name was
`Mr Grant', I shook his extended hand and told him my name was `Little Willie',
which is what I had been called, and answered to, all of my life.
Neither of us let go of our grip and just
stared at each other, sizing each other up. I could tell that he was as puzzled
as I was. What raced through my one-track mind was whether any other part of
him was like me, not just our faces, blue eyes and hair. We could pass for
brothers, sort of like Karl and Kurt.
Then his eyes dropped away from mine to
the lower part of my body. He stared at that too for a while. When I looked
down to check what he was gazing at, I could see that my wet shorts didn't
disguise much at all, and my dark curly pubes and chunky cock were very obvious
in my tight, wet, near-transparent shorts. Was he like me down there too? Did
he like guys too? Would he like me? OMG! What if? I couldn't help but grin at
the possibility.
Just after that he told me that he
couldn't call me `Little Willie' ("for obvious reasons" he said, clearly
checking out my still-conspicuous cock and balls again), and that he would
prefer `Will'. It hit home that I actually had met a person who would not
simply call me `Little Willie' because everyone else did, but `Will' instead. I
instantly thought that he and I might, in some way, become friends. I somehow
knew then that he must be just like me! I could feel it. I was so thrilled. I
didn't know what to say. I simply continued grinning. But, then, just as
suddenly, I realised that none of this could ever be possible because he was
the schoolie, my school teacher, and I was just a dumb, big-dicked, fatherless
school kid who liked guys instead of girls. I was so overcome, knowing that my
momentary joy was actually a ridiculous delusion, that I began to cry. How
embarrassing! I couldn't face him, crying, so I just ran.
However, as fate would have it, when I
moved to Marty's (where Tom was staying) to get away from my drunken mother,
that heralded the beginning of a lot of fun with Tom, getting to know him and
finally `getting lucky' with him, which led to us sharing our beds (in reality,
his bed mostly) and our bodies.
Then, so much happened so quickly; like
how I met my dad, William Grant, who wasn't the demon that my mother (I don't
want to talk about her!) had said that he was. He was (and is) a kind and
generous man, an extremely talented photographer, and world-famous. Tom brought
us together. Then, through Dad, I met Monika, Director of the Brisbane City Art
Gallery and the rest, as they say, is history. But more about that in a minute.
I had so much fun with lots of guys during
that first school holiday after Tom invited me to stay with him at his parents'
home. Let's see, there was `horse-boy' Sam at the motel, the guys at the beach
(Luke and I took a real liking to one another), Rocco Verdi (Tony's cousin)
and, of course, Jarrod at the games shop. Tom and I `went all the way' for the
first time in his bedroom. It's a wonder that I didn't wear the skin off my
cock during those two weeks! Oh, and back here in The Village, how could I
forget Karl! After I taught him to masturbate, we jerked each other around for
a long time, and we probably would have the opportunity to do a lot more if Tom
had shown some genuine interest in Kurt and had kept him away from Karl and me
for more than about fifteen minutes at a time!
That year went all too fast, and I
suddenly found that my school days were over. Anyway, by the end of the year, I
had an exciting and prosperous career. I'm coming to that!
The visit by Sam, Mikey and their mother
Before I forget (how could I?), let me
tell you about Sam and Mikey's visit. Tom and I stayed at their motel every
time we travelled back and forth for the holidays. Sam and I loved playing with
each other and we usually ended up in the shower with Sam thrusting his giant
tool between my legs, as he loved to do. I loved the feel of it too, pressing
and emerging from under my balls, lifting them each time he pushed! My spurt
and his fountain were always the best ending to our fun. One time we actually
spurted at exactly the same time. What a fantastic feeling and experience that
was!
Tom, bless him, always managed to keep
young Mikey entertained and distracted long enough for Sam and me to have our
fun. Mikey loved it the first time that he beat Tom at chess! As I suspected,
Tom confessed to me that he had let Mikey win.
I even let Mikey (`pony boy', as Tom and I
nick-named him because he was `horse-boy' Sam's little brother) come down and
wake me up each morning, whenever we were there, by `tickling' me (you know
what that means!) just like he did the first time. I pretended to be asleep and
when I would suddenly wake up and grab him, he was so excited that he squealed
with delight and (perhaps) mock concern, especially when I convinced him that I
was about to throw him, fully clothed, into the shower. I used to lift him with
one arm across his chest and the other between his legs from behind, which gave
me a `convenient' and playful feel of his boy gear, which was most often hard.
He seemed to relish that game too. I could tell by the end of the term three
holiday that our `pony boy' Mikey (who was `twelve and eleven twelfths' as he
reminded us then) was already growing into a bit of a young donkey! At least,
part of him was. LOL.
Anyway, on our way back home on that third
holiday break, Tom again extended an invitation to them to come and visit The
Village because, by then, we were well settled into our 4-bedroom house with
visitor accommodation available. Their mother said that she would organise it
and bring them out, only they couldn't stay more than a day or two, and it
would have to be when their father was home to look after the motel.
`The planets all aligned' for the boys
just a couple of weeks before the Christmas holidays. Tom had been in contact
with their mother who was going to bring Sam and Mikey down on the second
Friday in December, but they would have to be home by the Saturday night. So
that would give us Friday afternoon and night with them and all of Saturday
morning.
They arrived late Friday morning and Tom
introduced their mother to Julie Smith who brought lunch over for them, Tom and
me. When their mother went with Julie to look at the pub, Sam and Mikey joined
in with our lunchtime games, including everyone's favourite, soccer, where all
the kids play on two evenly-balanced teams. Mikey was on my side and Sam was on
Jake's. Karl and Kurt were always on opposite sides with the little kids evenly
allocated. It was a rule that everyone had to get a kick at goal so we used to
take turns, by age.
When Sam asked where to take a pee, I said
that I needed to go too and showed him the toilet. We stood next to each other
at the longish urinal, hung out, and started to let fly, looking down at each
other's hoses. "Bit of fun tonight?" I asked Sam. He grinned but became more
concerned at his growing stiffness especially because, almost predictably,
Karl, Kurt and Jake came in. "I had to go too," Karl said, standing up close
next to Sam and immediately checking him out. "Me too," Kurt added. "And me,"
Jake smirked. I could tell from the small amount that they peed, and by their
erections, that they were more interested in Sam's hard-to-disguise,
horse-sized tool than in relieving their bladders.
It was plucky Karl who was the first to
succumb to the temptation and ask Sam if he could feel it. Sam agreed and Karl
let him feel his too. Of course, Kurt and Jake both had a turn. The three of them
left, grinning, with their shirts hanging out to cover and disguise their
excitements. Poor Sam! There was no way that he could hide his, so I told him
that washing his face and hands in the cold water would help and that he should
come out only when he was comfortable. He thanked me and I don't know where he
tucked it but, when he finally re-joined the game, it wasn't obvious.
Five minutes later, when Mikey said he
needed to go, Karl and Kurt went again. I knew why, and it wasn't to pee! Sam
came over to me and said, "The little squirt's grown a lot since you saw him
last. He's as big now as those two are, from what I saw of them, or maybe even
bigger." Then he asked me, "Hey, actually, have you ever seen Mikey's dick?
It's a nice one. He'll be thirteen soon. He's around the age that I was when
mine went absolutely crazy and just kept on growing. I didn't think it was ever
going to stop!"
Well, that probably accounts for why the
three of them took so long in there. I asked no questions!
At the end of the day, Tom, Sam, Mikey and
I all walked over to the pub for afternoon tea. I discovered that Tom and I
aren't the only ones who like custard tarts! Julie even presented us with some
dinner to take home. At least, by then, we had the ability to re-heat our food
without having to use firewood.
I gave the boys a tour of the house, while
Tom escorted their mother around. She was envious of the kitchen. After dinner,
we all had coffee (or a chocolate milk shake) and dessert in the lounge room.
Mikey and Tom played chess. Sam and I stuck to our electronic games. I actually
won some! The boys' mother took a great interest in some of the albums and
historic magazines that Tom had placed on the coffee table.
Tom had organised for the boys to have the
room between their mother's `pink' room and the bathroom on the southern side
while I took the `blue' room next to Tom's on the northern side. We all went to
our own rooms once people started dropping hints about being tired. The boys
were a bit antsy but their mother was actually really `beat' after driving the
long distance.
I lay in bed waiting for Sam to `visit' as
we had previously arranged. He finally opened my door then closed it again. "I
had to wait for Mikey to drop off and then make sure he was out to it," he almost
apologised. That was the first time that he and I had been in bed together.
Previously we had played with each other on the motel bed and had fun in the
shower, but to be able to be fully naked between the sheets was a thrill for
me, as I know it was for him. Tickling, frotting, jerking and sucking, and
Sam's couple of fountains ensured that the towels needed a good wash by the end
of a couple of hours. And I had to spray lot of deodorant after Sam went back
to his room.
On the Saturday morning Sam's mother
couldn't help herself and made excellent use of the big kitchen. I could smell
breakfast cooking when I woke by being tickled by Mikey. I opened one eye. He
was alone. I jumped out of bed, grabbed him and picked him up (like I usually
did) and was able to confirm Sam's assertion of his little brother's
nether-region growth. We didn't make it to the bathroom shower. LOL. I
`wrestled' him to my bed, while he kept a firm grip on my cock, laughing
"tickle, tickle". I tickled him too, until he exploded. Lots of subdued moaning
rather than overt squealing! More wetness for the towels from another family
fountain. And more deodorant.
It's going to be very interesting when the
two of them (now adults) drive back out here for a few days later this year. I
can't help but wonder whether Mikey is as big as his `horse boy' brother now.
And what will Tom say if Sam and Mikey both want to play `tickle' with me? I
wonder, could I ever persuade Tom to keep Mikey busy while I play with Sam
again?
The extension to Jintabudjaree
station
You all know the story of how Tom came to
own this place, Jintabudjaree Station. Even before that, he and I had decided
that we couldn't live apart, and Tom had plans drawn up for a big house in The
Village. But, when he became the owner of Jintabudjaree, we decided to live
here instead. The architect who had been engaged by my dad to draw up plans for
the restoration of the pub also designed an art studio and gallery for me here,
out the back. The plans balanced the location of the studio with stables that
were to be added on the other side of the house. I love my horses. Ash made
sure that the stables were down-wind of my studio and not the other way around.
Smart guy. Not just a cute arse! LOL.
Here, today, I still draw and paint. People
come from all over the world to watch me and talk to me, and many of them pay
me to paint their portraits. I like to have those people stay for a few days
while I get to know them better so that I can paint them as they really are;
not just as they appear at first glance. My dad is amazed at my skills. I tell
him that I must have inherited them from him and thank him every time that he
mentions it. He loves that!
First exhibition
I recall vividly the first time that
Monika wanted me to display my paintings and drawings. I didn't think that my
work was such a big deal at the time; it was only what I had loved doing for
years. However, everybody kept telling me how good it was, so I began to
believe it. Anyway, Monika invited me to send her a whole range of my work -
horses, landscapes and people. Dad helped Tom and me to pick out a number of
them - `early' ones and `later' ones, then he took them to her for me so that
they didn't get lost or damaged on the way. I know that he enjoyed any
opportunity to meet and spend time with her. LOL
When Tom and I met Dad at the Gold Coast
he took us to the exhibition. We arrived about two hours after everyone else,
as Monika had requested. When I walked in, I was amazed at what I saw. At first
glance, I didn't even recognise the paintings and drawings as my own. My
pictures were hung on various walls with a light above each one to highlight
it. Monika had spread the portraits and the horses among the landscapes. I had
thought that she might have grouped them but she said later that it was better
for people who had a particular interest to walk around and see all of the
others as well. It also prevented people from `bunching up' in any particular
area.
Monika greeted us and then, after making
sure that we had something to eat and drink, rang a little bell and called for
silence. She made a wonderful speech, thanked everyone for coming and hoped
that they appreciated the works that they had been viewing and discussing.
There were comments floating around about the skill of `the artist' in his or
her ability to work with such a variety of subjects, and in different media. To
that point Monika had obviously revealed very little about `the master' of the
artwork. All they had to go on were two different signatures, `LW' and `WOBG'.
I heard her assure them that they were by the same artist and that the `LW'
signature was what he used in his `early period'.
Monika motioned to me. Dad and I walked
and stood a little behind her and to one side. "That's Bill Grant," somebody
was heard to say, then added aloud, "Don't tell me you've traded your camera
for brushes and pencils, Bill!"
I should have guessed that many of these
people would be familiar with Dad because of his photographs. One particular
remark came, "Who's the kid, Bill? Have you taken on an assistant? What,
getting too old to read your own light meter?" There were a few sniggers but
most ignored the semi-inebriate's comment.
Monika overlooked him and simply said,
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you my latest, and most talented
discovery in decades, perhaps ever, the artist of all the works that you see
displayed today, Mr William O'Brien-Grant," and she motioned to me to stand
alongside her. There were a few seconds of absolute silence and then some
polite applause. The same drunk guy piped up, "What's this, Monika? Are you
pulling our leg? It's not April Fool's Day, you know! You've just wasted two
hours of my time!" I felt my temperature rise, my lips tighten and the hair on
my neck bristle, like it did when my mother used to drink or when she
`entertained' a guy.
Monika obviously knew how to handle people
like him. She ignored him. Then she said, "Ladies and gentlemen, let me assure
you that Mr William O'Brien-Grant IS the artist. I will invite him to speak and
then you may ask him some questions." She smiled at me. This was unexpected. I
looked to Dad for reassurance and he nodded.
I remember, heart thumping and hair still
bristling, taking a deep breath, then I said, "Thank you Monika for this
opportunity, and thank you ladies and gentlemen for coming to look at my work.
I would like to hear all of your comments later, and I'm happy to answer any
questions that you might have."
Then I looked at the drunk, squarely in
the eyes, and said (not in my sweetest voice), "And thank you, sir, for
availing yourself so freely of Monika's liquid refreshments. I can tell that
your two hours have not been wasted at all."
I swallowed hard, suddenly pondering that
I had opened my mouth and just insulted one of those people to whom I should be
most grateful for possibly promoting my work. However, instead of any reprimand
from those present, the room erupted into laughter and spontaneous applause.
"I don't fucking believe it!" the guy shot
back, much to everyone's overt disapproval. Now I could see that Dad was
getting a little agitated too. The guy continued, "If you're the artist, why
don't you prove it. He's a pencil and paper. Let's see you draw me."
There was a sudden hush in the room, but I
readily accepted the challenge. It took me only around ten minutes to capture
his squinty eyes, the sneer of his mouth and the nastiness of his attitude.
"What is your name, sir?" I asked, to which he replied haughtily, as if I
should have recognised him, "I'm Frank Osborne!"
I smiled and wrote in bold letters under
his pencil sketch, `F.O.', happily thinking to myself of an appropriate ribald
rendition of those letters. I signed it `WOBG' and displayed it to everyone, at
which there were raucous hoots and whistles, before I handed it to him. I think
that I answered a barrage of questions for nearly another hour before Dad
`rescued' me (or was it them? LOL). We thanked Monika and left. Dad kept
commenting all of the way back to my hotel on how well I had put that
widely-despised bore in his place. He said that that action alone had instantly
won me a multitude of supporters, apart from their fascination with my artistic
talent.
Travelling with Dad
During the next couple of years, I had the
opportunity to travel around with Dad. When that happened, he always booked us
separate hotel rooms. Despite his assertions that he wanted to afford me `my
space', I suspect that it was more for his benefit than mine, so that he could
smuggle in some female acquaintance and have some fun in private.
However, there was one occasion when the
reservations had somehow been `screwed up' and the embarrassed hotel manager,
knowing who we were, offered us his best suite instead, gratis - two bedrooms,
one bathroom, large living area and even a kitchen. I remember that, years
before, Dad and I were supposed to share a room at The Village pub the day that
Andy, Mrs T and Aunty Susan came to town with him after his friend's funeral,
but, because I hardly saw him, I believe that he changed his mind about
spending the night with his son, and slept somewhere else.
What was even more memorable than simply
sharing the suite with my Dad was that I actually got to see his body naked for
the first time. I'd be lying if I told you that I hadn't wondered about it,
multiple times, before then. We needed to get ready to go to an exhibition of
his work and both of us required a shower because of the heat and humidity
during the day.
"You go first," he told me, and he said,
"when you're done, just leave the shower running and let me know."
So, I showered and when I stepped out, I
called, "I'm finished! The shower's free," expecting him to wait until I
emerged. However, while I was still drying my nakedness, he walked in with a
towel around his waist. I was still a little plumped up from the hot water, but
hanging quite freely.
His face flushed a little with
embarrassment and he apologised, "Sorry, son. I thought you that said you were
finished in here."
What could I say? Other than, "That's OK.
I guess you were destined to see your son in his birthday suit one day."
Having mucked around with so many guys in
the past, being seen naked didn't faze me at all, even if it was my Dad. I'm
sure that Karl and Kurt's dad had seen them without their clothes plenty of
times. I almost felt an element of `closure', being naked in the presence of my
father. Dad shrugged, took his towel from around his waist and hung it behind
the door, then tested the water temperature with his hand. I couldn't help but
look at his body, all of it, even though he was my Dad.
"Have you ever seen one this big?" he
asked, facing me and grinning knowingly at my focus on his manhood.
"Yes," I replied simply, adding no further
comment, but continuing to dry myself. I was thinking of Sam. However, two
things crossed my mind immediately - firstly, my mother was actually correct
about one thing and secondly, it was evident that I was still the `Little
Willie'.
"Who?" he asked, surprised. "Not Thomas?"
This caught me off guard but told me two more things. One, that he thought he
was the biggest donkey around and, two, that he had never seen Tom's - at least
in its adult form.
"No," I replied, smirking. "In that
department, I'm the big brother."
"Well, I'm glad that you inherited more
from me than just your artistic talent," he replied, stepping into the shower.
The Tate Gallery exhibition
Then there was my first trip to London.
The director of the Tate Gallery had arranged for an exhibition of Dad's and my
work at the same time. She thought that a father and son showing would be
unique. I don't know if Dad had negotiated the dates or not, but it was during
the Australian school holidays, so Tom got to come over too.
On that occasion, I was so glad that there
was no confusion over his room and ours. As a bonus, Tom and I also had our own
private, blond, trim, handsome `steward'. (I still haven't worked out why the
Americans call them `bellhops'. Do they actually hop when someone rings a
bell?) He brought our room service order up to us before Tom and I had even
dressed. We were in our underwear when `the cutie', as Tom and I referred to
him behind his back later, arrived. It was immediately obvious what his
orientation was when he couldn't take his eyes off us. It wasn't just the
apparent `twin' thing. He didn't say anything while he served the food, but
continued to focus much lower than our faces, and the growing tube down the
inside leg of his tight black uniform trousers `sealed the deal', as far as I
was concerned. He was either wearing boxers or no underwear at all. He looked
about 15 but he assured us, when I asked, that people had to be `over 18' to be
employed there.
To cut a long story short, without much
persuasion needed, Tom and I ended up with him in our bed after he was off
duty. He was so good with the lights out that we invited him on three
consecutive nights. I certainly `hopped' when he rang my bell! It was a great
early twentieth birthday celebration for me. We tipped him well when we left. I
don't think that Dad ever found out.
The exhibition was a huge success, and
I've made a point of staying at the same hotel the two other times that I've
been in London, with Tom's knowledge and blessing, and the `bellhop' even
provides the essential protection and flavoured lube. Great service! Ding!
Dong!
Life at Jintabudjaree
It was fairly Spartan when Tom and I first
moved into the homestead. There wasn't even a refrigerator, and we relied on
what the Smiths lent us from the pub. Needless to say, we bought our own
generator and used it until Ash designed some solar panels to fit in. Almost
the entire roof areas of my studio and the stables now generate our
electricity.
And, Ash solved the mystery of the water,
discovering that the house was actually built on top of a spring which
force-feeds the water into a series of just-below-ground cisterns which, apart
from inhibiting leaks, stores the water and gives us the water pressure to run
showers, etc. Ash said that he'd never seen anything like it and that one engineer
back then certainly knew his stuff! When we first had showers here, the water
was warm, heated by the hot sun on the thin layer of earth covering the last
tank. That's now been hooked up with the solar panels so that we can have quite
hot ones.
Tom discovered another passage (a sliding
panel actually) between his bedroom and the adjacent one, the `blue' one, which
became `my' room. This meant that whenever we had people staying Tom and I
could slip into each other's room without being seen.
The visitors were given the `pink' and
`green' rooms on the south side, with their own bathroom. We tried not to be
noisy during our love-making if there was anyone else here; unless, of course,
it was Marty and Ash. Whenever they came to stay, we all agreed to leave our
doors open. It was fun to listen to them going at it, and it was often joked
about over breakfast as to who heard what the other two were doing through the
night. They still visit. We still leave our doors open. Breakfast discussions
are still a time of much merriment.
Karl
I can vividly remember the day that I
spilled the beans to young Karl on what Tom and I had been doing. It was a
Saturday morning. Karl had Helen's permission to stay with us at Jintabudjaree
over the weekend as a reward for having worked extra hard with some tourists
every weekend during the previous month, and that Kurt would be the one `on
duty' at home this weekend instead.
Tom had gone into Big Town. We were alone
and it was one of those mornings when we just took the rare opportunity to play
with each other, like we used to do after school when I was still a student. Up
until then he and I had only jerked each other off, but, on that particular
day, with nobody else around within coo-ee of the place, I just felt like giving
him a bit more, so he ended up getting his first blow job. He had just jerked
me off first that time, but I hadn't finished him off yet. He just lay there on
my bed, thick erection straight up in anticipation of his turn. The
conversation went something like this:
"Want me to try something different?" I
asked him.
"Like what?" he replied, grinning, but
with obvious suspicion about what I had in mind.
"Just lie back and enjoy it," I told him.
I continued to stroke him up and down, like I usually did, until his body
relaxed. He closed his eyes and I licked him from his balls to the tip of his
cock, which shuddered. I did this a couple of times and then just took him into
my mouth and sucked. I massaged the sensitive spot below his head with my
tongue. At first, he just groaned in ecstasy.
Then he lifted his head off the bed to
look, or to check if what he felt was really happening. "What the hell...?" He
began.
I pushed him back down and repeated, "Just
relax and enjoy it." He took another look then lay back and took a couple of
deep breaths. I knew when he was about to blow. (Hey you don't jerk a guy off
three times a week for a couple of years and not be able to tell when he's
about to shoot his stuff! Apart from his stomach and leg muscles tensing, he used
to make little gurgling noises in his throat.)
"You better watch out!" he told me. "You
know what's gonna happen!"
I ignored him and, after re-positioning
myself a little, took him right down my throat and began to hum. I knew that
the vibrations would drive him over the edge. He screamed as he blew, then I
backed off, cleaning him on the way.
"So how was that?" I said as nonchalantly
as I could muster, although I was pretty excited about doing that to him for
the first time.
"Fuck!" he panted looking up at me from
the bed. "How long have you known how to do that?"
"A while!" I replied.
"Bastard! And you never showed me! So, who
have you been practising on?" he demanded.
I suddenly realised that I may already
have said too much, but, hey! This was Karl! I thought that if he and I could
to do this for each other, then it would certainly help make the most of the
precious little time that we were spending together, since I was travelling
more and he was mostly up on the farm, Whispering Gums. And I could certainly
have fun teaching him to do it to me.
I said, "I'll bet you can't guess!" There
was a pause while he contemplated the possibilities. Before he spoke, I added,
"But, you have to swear that if you do guess correctly, you will never tell
another soul! Or I'll kill you if HE doesn't!" He nodded in agreement, still
thinking.
"Swear!" I said, or I'll never do it
again. Then I lay my body on his, and I held his arms at the wrists, so that he
was pinned and unable to move, not that he would have wanted to, with our cocks
pressed hard against each other's. "AND," I said, in his face, "you will tell
me, forever, everything that you ever get up to with those visitors of yours."
He had previously made mention of the sexy tourists that had worked with him up
on the farm, and I wondered what he did with them, and, based on a couple of
his comments, whether females were included.
Regaining his breath, he said, "If I
promise to tell you stuff, then you have to swear too, not to tell anyone else
- especially not my brother Kurt, or your brother Tom, or anyone! Deal?"
Little did I realise that, in the
following years, he would have so much to tell me!
"Deal!" I said. "Now swear."
"You first!" he told me, smirking.
I said to him, "Karl Andersen, I swear
that anything you ever tell me about what you do with other people will never
cross my lips. I promise not to tell anything to anyone."
"OK," he replied. "Will O'Brien, and I
swear, too, that I will never tell a living soul anything that you tell me
about what you do with other people. I promise and swear."
Then I did something really weird. I
licked the tip of his nose, as if it was some pagan way to `seal the deal'.
However, I had totally underestimated his strength. He replaced my grip with
his own, and rolled over, until he was on top of me, and he licked my nose,
before I even realised what was happening. "I'd much rather do something else
to you, like what you did to me before!" he said. "I've always wanted to try
that, but Kurt won't let me do it to him."
There was a moment of silence and I
repeated my earlier remark, "Guess who, then!"
"So, you must have practised on my
brother, Kurt. That's why he didn't want me to do it, because you're so good!"
He looked down on my face.
"Nope," I said. "Never have." I knew that
it was a lie.
He paused. "Jake, then."
"Nope." True!
He had to think. "Hmm. Who's left? ... Not
your cousin, Marty?"
"Nope. Strike three!" Another lie. I
should have stopped there, but was enjoying my little game too much.
He had a blank expression on his face as
though his mental list of potential bedfellows had just been erased. "There's
nobody else," he said. Then I could see the wheels turn, one final crank.
"Wait. Not... No; it wouldn't be him!" I raised and lowered my eyebrows and
grinned. "No, that's not possible!" he said, seriously. I grinned more. "You
don't mean to tell me that you and, ... and, Mr Grant, have been doing that?"
"And more!" I smirked. I knew the instant
that the words left my mouth that I'd really stuffed up this time, and that
keeping the remainder a secret would be impossible.
"What more?" he replied, in almost a
reflex reaction to my words, without even considering what he was asking.
"Come on, Karl," I said to him. "You've
seen enough animals doing it to know what else there is!"
He thought, then let out, "Fuck!" It was
more an expression of shock than an answer to his own question.
"Right!" I replied.
"But, that's what males and females do.
Not guys. I've seen you two smooching, but that?"
"Really?" I questioned him. "Haven't you
ever seen a ram try to mount another one? Or two stallions? Or two bulls?"
His wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression
told me that the answer was in the affirmative, but that he was trying to
process the implication. So, I added, "What makes you think that two guys
couldn't give it a go?"
"I've seen pictures," he replied, "but I
thought that they were just pretending. Do you mean that two guys actually ...
can do it?" I nodded. "What, up the arse?" I nodded again. "What, you and Mr
Grant have done that?"
Three nods were enough. "Yes," I replied.
"Now, you have sworn that you will never repeat that to a living soul!"
"Doesn't it stink? I wouldn't want my cock
in anyone's shit!"
I explained to him about enemas and
condoms and how great it feels. When he asked me whether Tom put his in me or I
put mine in him, I simply answered "Yes!"
"You've got such a big cock. Doesn't it
hurt him? And I've seen his. How does he get that into your little arse hole?"
He laughed at his own words.
And so, the conversation went on; me sharing
much more than I ever intended, and him telling me about his dreams about both
male and female tourists, and having to relieve himself the way I had taught
him way back when he was thirteen.
"Teach me?" he said. It was half command
and half plea.
I never did.
That honour went, not long after, to a
young but, apparently `very experienced', Swedish teenager who was staying at
the farm. The boy, while they were out together in one of the shearers'
cottages, said that he admired Karl's `great body' and that he wanted Karl to
fuck him. Karl replied that he didn't know how. The boy produced the condoms
and showed him. Karl said that he got `very lucky, very often' that week!
To this day I don't know how good Karl is
at it. It's almost like a mutual respect for each other that we don't do it.
I sometimes go up to Thunungara and help
Jake. He has a lot to do up there, now that he has to look after his dad,
following Reg's stroke. Jake and I had been playing around long before I taught
Karl stuff, so we get on very well. He's told me that he's not gay, but is
still happy for him and me to `give each other a hand' from time to time when
he can get away from the house.
We usually head up the river on our motor
bikes for an hour or so. Nobody asks any questions, and I've made sure that
I've never told him about me and Tom, beyond the fact that we live together as
brothers. He's never asked me.
He supposed, one time, that I might find a
girlfriend while I was away travelling. He doesn't know me as well as I thought
that he might, probably thinking that guys just do stuff for fun until they
find the right girl!
Local exhibitions and media events in
Brisbane
I suppose that you've already heard about
Gregor from somebody. Looking back, I'm not sure how I allowed things to get to
that stage. It began innocently enough one night when I was away from home, in
Brisbane, and Mr Verdi invited me to a performance in which his son, Tony, was
dancing. (Tony and Tom had become good friends.) Because he was Tony's father,
Mr Verdi was allowed `backstage' after the performance, and Tony had obtained
permission for me to accompany him.
I had never seen Tony dance professionally
before, and I was enthralled at his graceful performance, gliding around on the
balls of his feet, probably hoping not to show too much of the balls in his
tights.
When we were alone, I complimented Tony
and then whispered to him, "Who was the male principal? He looked `hot'."
He smiled and said, "Be careful! There are
stories about him!" He didn't explain but introduced me to him, at my request.
I enthusiastically complimented Gregor on
his performance and his muscles. He had seen my work, and there was an
immediate mutual admiration. He admired the horses. Loved the portraits. I
offered to do his, if he wanted me to. He looked me up and down and said, "You
can do me any time."
You know what I'm like with double
meanings. Plenty of practice with Tom, and with Marty. However, I took the
bait.
One warm afternoon at his place, I did his
portrait, a body pose, which he requested be fully naked. More bait. I took it.
He said, "Now that I've got my gear off, you must be feeling uncomfortable,
being so over-dressed. Why don't you take off a few bits?" With each piece that
I removed he applauded. The shoes, the shirt, the singlet. He stared at my
pants and I finally succumbed and removed them too. He applauded again, stared
at my CKs and waited. "That's enough," I told him, laughing. "If I remove any
more, I won't be able to concentrate on painting."
How he seduced me into mutual masturbation
and sucking I don't remember. It just seemed a natural progression, after
having done it with so many other guys in my life. He asked if I wanted to do
more and I said `No'. I had learned where to draw the line.
Everything short of the limit that I had
set became the `normal' fun that we shared together; after rehearsals, after a
show, after an exhibition, after dinner at a restaurant, or just any afternoon
when we were both in the mood. I was a long way from home and from Tom, and
Gregor was charming, funny, experienced and gentle.
I would sometimes travel to Brisbane even
when there was no artistic event and I started seeing him every spare moment
that we could be together. He taught me a few things that I would try out on
Tom, who asked where I had learned that. I told him "Santa Claus". Maybe it
should have been the `tooth fairy'. Gregor was very masculine and yet had a
very gentle nature about him, almost feminine. Does that even make sense?
Amazingly masculine body, with superbly defined muscles, and yet ... I don't know
- not effeminate - just soft.
We made each other's body tingle with
excitement and he told me on multiple occasions that he wanted me `totally'. I
knew exactly what he meant, but my answer was always `No'. I knew where to
stop. I'd gone all the way with Jarryd from the Games Shop, but that was with
condoms, and with Tom. If I could deny Karl that pleasure, I certainly wasn't
going to give in to Gregor. (There was fun with the bellhop, but that had been
with Tom, who actually encouraged me to enjoy him when I was away from home!)
Gregor's constant requests to `go all the
way' were polite but persistent and my responses were unyielding and adamant.
There was an increasing number of times when I could tell that he was
frustrated at my `No', but his reactions were controlled and I never saw him
angry.
During times when I stayed at his place,
he would often have visitors who came and went within a few minutes. They would
hand him some money and he would give them something in return. I never saw, or
knew, what it was. How naïve I still was back then!
I remember staring in the mirror one
morning, after I'd been with him for a whole week, and thinking that I was
looking really thin in the face, but I wasn't sure why. It just seemed to have
crept up on me.
And I remember the night, at the end of
that week, when I was invited to a ballet performance plus the after-party.
Gregor was dancing principal, as usual. Tony was performing his first really
important supporting role. Mr Verdi asked that I be there and told me that he
had invited Dad, but he was busy. I was looking forward to seeing Rocco again,
but, unfortunately, he was busy too - running the restaurant for Mr Verdi.
Both Tony and Gregor were wonderful. I
could have watched their muscular bodies do jumps and spins around the stage
for hours. Gregor graciously enlightened me that they were `ballons' and
`pirouettes'. Tony told me to go on ahead to the party with Gregor and that he
would catch up with me shortly. He firstly wanted to spend some time chatting
about the performance with his father who was anxious to get back to the
restaurant.
Gregor had got me a couple of drinks. He
knew that I preferred not to drink alcohol. They were just like lemonade but
with a funny taste. I thought that they were just a different brand, like Tony
and Rocco had at their Villa. He introduced me to all of the cast. I started to
feel strange. That was about the time that Tony arrived and asked me what I had
been drinking. I replied that it was only lemonade and that I was having a good
time. Then I told Gregor that I was feeling really sick and he offered to take
me home and he told Tony that he would look after me.
Gregor helping me undress for bed was the
last thing that I remember clearly until I woke up in hospital with Tom holding
my hand and Dad on the other side of me. They both looked as though they had
been crying. It was only afterwards that I understood why. They did some tests
and told me that I was `all clear'.
My strength quickly recovered when I
returned to Jintabudjaree. I could almost feel the health flowing back into and
through my body. This house is amazing. I experienced the miraculous
restoration that others feel when they come here; what Andy and Mrs Thompson
felt; what Aunty Susan felt.
Tom was wonderful. He remarked on how my
countenance had changed, but didn't blame me for what had happened. He said
that it was a blessing just to hear Marty and me trading insults again, and to
hear Ash and me laughing at each other over breakfast. He just told me that he
loved me and that he was glad to `have me back' from whatever dark place I had
been in. I burst into tears when he said that. He just held me and let me
blubber all over his shoulder. I love him so much!
Life now
After that episode with Gregor, I decided
to spend as much time as I could at home, even turning down opportunities to
appear at exhibitions. I initially limited them to two per year. I think all
that did was to make gallery directors even more keen to have me present at
their particular event. Tom and Dad helped me choose which ones to attend.
Apart from rural landscapes I also began
to draw and paint cityscapes. I discovered that I could even give them their
own personalities - from depressed to vibrant. I didn't know that I could do
that. It just seemed to happen. Monika was thrilled. Gallery directors pleaded
with me and almost begged that they be allowed to exhibit more of my work.
I painted two pictures of Gregor
rehearsing. It was cathartic. In one he was the charismatic and athletic beauty
that I first saw, almost angelic. The other portrayed him as the devil that he
became, or was all along, perhaps, - still athletic but discernibly scheming
and conniving to satisfy his own lusts.
One canvas was almost a mirror image of
the other. Apart from that obvious difference, I made other, more subtle,
changes. I painted the second one in slightly more muted tones. And Dad was the
first one to notice that the small pictures on the wall in the background were
different - in the first it was my picture of The Village weir. In the second I
substituted a city building in a laneway outside the dance rehearsal hall. The
first painting Gregor's handsome, soft bulge. The second displayed an erection
in his tights; I originally thought that I would increase his stiffness by
about 25% to indicate the magnitude of his evil. However, upon reflection, and
as a final act of my revenge, I reduced his actual size by a similar
percentage!
Both paintings were propped against one of
my studio walls for months. Tom said that it was painful for him to look at
them. He told me that he could see, in the first one, what had attracted me,
but that he hated the person in the second one, and wanted to kill him. That
was so unlike Tom's loving, caring nature, and I realised then that I couldn't
keep them because the second one might have the potential to spawn a dark side
in Tom. I offered them to Monika, who knew the story but she thought that
showing them in any gallery would not be a good idea. What happened had not
been reported in the media but Gregor was a celebrated identity who had
suddenly `disappeared'. There would be too many questions if my paintings ended
up on public display.
In the end, I gave them, with his
concurrence, to Tony. He said that they would always be a reminder to him of
how something so good could deteriorate into something so bad, with the wrong
life choices. Having broken his ankle and terminated his dancing career, he
appreciated them even more. I have offered to paint one of him at his best, and
told him that he must visit us at Jintabudjaree and that perhaps his ankle will
be healed. He is willing, but sceptical.
There are days now when I feel like a kid
again. Not a little kid, but just like the year that I first met Tom. That was
the beginning of a positive change in my life (despite the Gregor `thing').
Even though Karl and Jake and I are all 10 years older, we still manage to
reproduce our teenage fun - sometimes in the weir (with Tom and Kurt) but, most
often, in private.
Ash and Marty are terrific! I love having
them around. We seem to have no inhibitions when they are here, especially
since the dress code is, well, basic... the most basic. LOL. And, even though we
stay with our own partners there have been a couple of occasions when the four
of us have playfully wrestled together. Lots of massage oil adds to the fun!
At the end of the year, we are expecting a
visit from Sam and Mikey. Who knows what will happen then!
Thomas (Tom) Grant, school teacher
appointed to The Village school, half-brother of Will O'Brien, son of Bill
Grant
I'm sitting on my upstairs verandah ready
to watch the early spring dawn turn into sunrise. This is, perhaps, my
favourite time of the day. My earliest memory of this countryside waking up was
the day that I went jogging and ran into the man-eater, Anna. The sunrise was
heart-stopping; my encounter with her was too, but for the totally opposite
reason.
I take another sip of coffee and place my
favourite, oversized `souvenir' mug that Will brought me back from New York
onto the decking beside me. I pull the blanket more tightly around my body and
I wait.
A strip of sky across the eastern horizon
has, from the black of night, become a discernible dark grey.
Dormant in the house behind me are William
O'Brien-Grant, artist extraordinaire (in my bed), and `Cook & O'Brien,
Heritage Restorations' in the green room. All three must be totally spent after
the activities of last night! What I didn't participate in, I heard.
The dark grey turns a shade lighter and
extends upwards and across a broad stretch of the horizon.
Marty insists on cooking breakfast for all
of us whenever he and Ash stay here. Sometimes he surprises us, but this
morning he has promised scrambled eggs with sliced mushrooms and herbs, crispy
bacon, sausages and a couple of his `Marty-made' hash browns, all served with
buttered, thick toast, courtesy of his most recent visit to the bakery in Big
Town. What a combination! My mouth is watering. I flush the saliva away with
another mouthful of coffee and stare towards the horizon.
The horizontally extensive light grey now
has a peach-coloured tinge to it, and the blackness above it has been forced to
rapidly retreat.
The morning after Marty and Ash `paired
up', I have to admit that I was a little jealous - well, maybe not just a
little. It was true that Will and I had each other, but there was something
alluring about Ash. When Dad first introduced us, I immediately fancied him as
my `number 2' guy. I loved his cute, tight backside from the moment that I
first laid eyes on it. I knew that Will was `on to me'. He kicked me in the
ankle. Who was he kidding? The lust in his eyes was as strong as mine. I kicked
him back.
However, I cannot deny Marty his amazing
partner; they have been together now for many years. Their antics in bed, when
they are here, seem only to be matched by those of Will and myself. If they
become too noisy, Will and I turn up our own volume, just to tease them.
Occasionally, but not often, the four of us play together, almost without
inhibition. There is only one thing that we don't do - that which is especially
reserved for our own partners in our own beds, after `brushing our teeth'. Yes,
we still use that term and I remember fondly inventing it as a secret code for
Will and me to clean ourselves in preparation for a full-on penetrative session,
bareback.
The peach is becoming quite orange now;
brightest at the spot at which I know the sun will soon emerge. The gradation
from that to the navy blue which has totally replaced the blackness, is
indescribably beautiful.
I feel hands on my shoulders. They slip
inside the blanket and begin to massage my shoulders. "Good morning, Sunshine,"
I whisper to Will. "Don't stop. That feels wonderful."
"Just repaying a bit of pleasure for last
night's marathon," he replies. "You were amazing. You get better with age; Dad
would say, `like a good wine', but I think, like a well-worn saddle."
"I've got a saddle for you right here," I
tell him, patting my lap. "And it's not worn out at all!"
"Hey, it must be somewhat worn," he jokes,
"especially after last night."
I open the blanket and Will eases his bare
backside onto my naked front-side. He leans his weight back onto my chest. I
enfold us both in my ample covering, and hug him tightly. He purrs, and rubs
his cheek against my own. My right hand, inside the blanket, rests first on his
abdomen and finds its own way naturally between his legs then completely
enfolds his manhood, which is as familiar to me as my own. There is no attempt
to arouse him. I just enjoy the pleasure of holding his body. My cock and his buttocks
have this understanding - when it's not inside him, it prefers to lodge in the
crack between his cheeks, except, today it is pointing down instead of upwards.
He contracts each cheek alternately, ensuring that everything down there is in
its proper place. He turns his face to me and kisses me on the cheek. "Love
you," he whispers into my ear.
The sky above the broader horizon has
turned into a light grey-blue, with a centralised deep orange glow. The bright
blue all the way above it heralds another fine day. I'm just waiting for the
sun. This is the best bit - like the anticipation just before an ejaculation.
It won't be long now!
"Love you too, handsome devil!" I tell him
back.
There is a pause. "Do you really?" he
asks, rubbing his face against mine again.
I'm taken by complete surprise. "What do
you mean, do I really? Of course I do. Why would you even ask me such a
question?"
"Because of what I did with Gregor," he
says, placing one hand over my right hand.
"That was years ago!" I tell him. "I thought
that we had put that well and truly behind us."
"I'm just so, so, sorry that it happened,"
he tells me, and he emits a single, deep sob.
"Hey, we agreed to chalk that up to
experience, remember? Just a youthful folly!" I try to encourage him out of his
mood. I add, "Besides, I saw the first portrait that you painted of him. He was
beautiful, wasn't he?"
"Very," Will responds, after a reflective
moment. "And it wasn't just his body. He was great company when I didn't have
you with me. He was good at making me laugh and forget the formality of the
exhibitions and media conferences." Will is quiet for a moment, then says,
"Please don't hold it against me, Tom. I couldn't stand it if you ever doubted
my love for you.
"OK. But, there's just one small thing that
I will forever hold against you," I reply.
"What's that?" he asks, with a sudden
perplexed tone. I don't reply but thrust my hips upwards. "Hey, that's not so
small," he jokes. We both laugh.
There is a brilliant flash of white/yellow
light at the horizon. It rises rapidly to reveal an orange/red disc, suddenly
too bright to observe any further.
The laughing conversation between two
kookaburras echoes from the distant river gums.
"Pair of noisy love birds!" Marty remarks,
strolling naked onto the verandah, accompanied by the world's cutest backside.
"They're not love birds, Marty," Will
chastises.
"I wasn't referring to the kookaburras!"
Marty hurls back in a most jovial tone. It takes a moment for his meaning to
sink in.
"Yeah," Ash contributes. "You two were in
fine voice last night!"
Ash walks to the railing and takes in the
panorama. "Beautiful!" he utters.
"Exactly what I was thinking," Marty
replies, looking at, and then covering Ash's backside with his own body. He
wraps his arms around Ash who leans back into him.
Will eases himself off my lap and stands
next to them. He turns to look at me. It's not an idle glance. It's a hint; more
of a directive. I stand up, move to also cover his body with mine and I share
the blanket with `Cook & O'Brien' so that it covers four pairs of
shoulders.
"I told you that I was going to love it
out here," Ash sighs.
The End
[Author:
Thank you all for continuing reading my Schoolie fantasy through to the end. It
took me three years to write and another seven months to `re-write'. I have
appreciated your emails, feedback and even suggestions. Not to mention the
occasional pic of somebody that reminded you of one of the characters. The plot
and the majority of characters will live on in my Kurt series, if you decide
that you want to follow their lives and `adventures'. I pray that you will keep
healthy and stay young, regardless of how many times you celebrate the
anniversary of your 21st birthday! Sincerely, Rob in Sydney,
Australia.]
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/kurt-series/
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