Date: Sat, 12 Jul 2014 22:29:16 +1030
From: Robert A. Armstrong <rob.aa@hotmail.com>
Subject: Schoolie - Chapter 32

If you are new to this story, may I suggest that you read from the
beginning, to understand the plot and the characters.

If you are a regular, thank you for your continued interest!

Warning: If relationships between boys and men is not your scene, or if
you're under age, or if it is not legal for you to be reading this, then
please leave, now, before somebody finds out!

Otherwise, enjoy!



From Chapter 31



We head upstairs, Will in the lead. At the top, I cause him to utter the
`squeal of the wild goose'!

"Hey!" he says. "You're good at that, too!"

"Yes, and I've got something better than a finger for you!" I tell him,
then ask, "What was that comment about big cannolis?"

He laughs, "Hey, I've just decided that, apart from custard tarts, I like
big Italian cannolis too!"

"Well, I've got a big Aussie cannoli full of cream for you!"

"Hell, yeh!" he chirps, stopping and bending forward provocatively in front
of me. He squeals again and I close the door behind us.


Chapter 32

There is something extremely sensuous about two guys who, while tightly
hugging each other face to face, release their `cannoli cream' between
their bodies - the feel of the other person's body spasming and the
sensation of wet heat, following those moments of intense frotting.

This ecstasy and some passionate kissing are my last memories before
falling asleep, wet and sticky in the arms and the gently-caressing hands
of the guy whose magnetism I savour more than any experienced or imagined
physical thrill with one of our new friends.

It is still early. I stir, feeling Will in his favoured position - spooned
up behind me, with his morning glory separating my cheeks - lengthways.

I slowly rotate my body so that I am facing him, and I roll him gently 180
degrees away from me then snuggle tightly against him. I slide one arm
under his neck and rest my hand on his chest. With my other hand I reach
over and cradle first his orbs and then his silky stiffness.

Relishing the feeling of my own wood resting along the cleft between his
firm glutes, I kiss his neck and whisper, "I love you, William
O'Brien-Grant". He rouses momentarily, murmuring a contented `Mmmm', then,
as our breathing synchronises, I return with him to the land of slumber.

Sometime later, the need to pee becomes increasingly stronger than the
desire to linger with Will. As my feet reach the floor I realise the need
to spray a large amount of deodorant around my room to dispel the lingering
`aroma of love' from last night.

While directing my yellow stream back and forth within the toilet bowl, and
recalling Tony's playing with me at the urinal, I hear Will turn on the
shower. He asks, "Are we gonna save some water together?" I look around,
smile, shake and flush.

He moves to one side while I join him, closing the shower door behind
me. We alternate stepping in and out of the direct stream of hot water. I
then experience the sensation of extra heat on my leg. I look down to see
Will peeing on me. "What the hell...?" I begin.

"Hey, just saving water," he jokes. "No need to flush."

A tickle fight ensues, with us finishing in a sensuous embrace and kissing
frenzy. We wash each other. Oh, how I love the feel of his firm body, as
his youthful muscles flex and yield to my roaming hands!

Mum's breakfast evokes many senses - not only the aroma, but the colours,
textures and taste. The one sense missing is sound. However, I'm sure that
I can hear the fruits, hotcakes, syrup, bacon, scrambled eggs and tomato
calling out, `eat me!'

As Will and I assuage our usual morning hunger, Amelia seems lost in her
thoughts while Dad is absorbed in the financial pages of the weekend
newspaper. It's Mum who opens up. "Has anyone heard how Mrs Thompson is
faring? I feel so sorry for her. How is she coping? Her boyfriend abused
and tortured her, bashed and raped her son and tried to kill him. And what
happened to Andy's father? Does anyone know?"

"Assistant Commissioner Grayson told my dad that Mrs T. was in hospital,
receiving treatment. That's all we know," Will comments.

"I'd like to visit her," Mum replies. "I think that she could use a bit of
support. I just have this sense that she is a person with not many
friends."

"You could always ring Bill," Dad throws in, looking up. "With his
connections, he should be able to find out and give you the latest
information."

"Of course!" Mum replies, as though it had never occurred to her, and
cheering up somewhat.

"Maybe Uncle Bill will be able to find out the latest information on Andy
as well," I add. "Although, I'm sure that visitors won't be allowed for a
long while yet."

Without delay, Mum excuses herself and takes the phone out by the pool. She
returns just a minute later. "Bill's phone went straight to voice mail. I
left a message about what we wanted to know and asked him to call me when
he knows anything."

Dad grunts, "Hmph. He must have had a late night."

Will and I look knowingly at each other and he winks. I think to myself,
`and a big one'.

Amelia takes her dishes to the sink, rinses them and puts them into the
dishwasher. Will and I follow. "Hey," I say to him, "do you want to go for
a walk? Not much is open this early on a Sunday morning, but it would be a
good chance to just look around without the crowds.

"Sure!" he replies. "I think that we'll be busy tomorrow and we're heading
back home on Tuesday."

"I'll call you if Bill is able to tell me anything," Mum adds. "It's a
beautiful morning so you might as well go out and enjoy it. The weather
forecast if for a change later today or tomorrow."

I step outside to check the temperature then I message Simon and Luke and
tell them that Will and I are going for a stroll around town, if they want
to join us. No response. They're either still asleep or out in the surf.

I change from my T-shirt into a long-sleeved polo, shorts and sandals. My
`twin' bro follows suit.

We start in the direction of the mall. We cross to the beachside promenade
and stroll northwards, not driven by time imperatives or any specific
objective. I take Will's hand and he gives mine a squeeze in a tacit
gesture of our `oneness'. This is something that we will not be able to do
once we are back in The Village, the thought of which elicits a pang of
sadness which I quickly dispel by focussing on the here-and-now.

There is not a moving car on the road. The rhythmic breaking of the waves
upon the beach provides a mesmerising background, broken only by the
occasional squawking of the early bird looking for the worm or, in this
case, multiple seagulls each claiming the same morsel of discovered food.

I see an elderly lady being led towards us by a small dog on a leash and I
release Will's hand. He turns and looks at me and his expression asks,
`Why?'. I reply, "Grandma alert!" nodding in her direction as the distance
between us narrows. Will chuckles.

We greet `Granny' and `Fifi', exchange pleasantries, then continue. Will
slips his hand back into mine. I squeeze it. He squeezes back.

I wish that I could somehow preserve this very instant - Will and I
strolling aimlessly together, joined at the hand as well as at the
heart. The moment is made even more idyllic by the wisps of sea breeze
tempering the warmth from the steadily-strengthening sun in a flawless sky
of brilliant blue. The flashes of light reflected from the rippling ocean
surface are hypnotic and the saltiness in the air is heady and
exhilarating.

We zig-zag through streets which are usually crammed with slow-moving
people and even slower taxis and tourist busses, all expressing their
displeasure at the pace by their cacophony of horns and occasional
profanities. Sunday morning is different. Shop windows are unobstructed and
far more interesting, catering, as we comment, predominantly for the
tourist trade with their souvenirs and oddities.

We amble and talk - uppermost in both of our minds are Andy and also what
we are going to tell Marty about us. We agree that Marty should know that
we are biological brothers - me through donor sperm and Will
through... well, he is aware of that saga!

Then there are the sleeping arrangements. How do we tell him that two
single beds no longer suit us, and that we'd really like a double, or
larger? If he's smart he'd work it out and wouldn't even have to question
us as to why. But, even then, I'll bet that he would ask anyway, just to
watch us squirm.

Or, should we `stick it out' until our new house is built? That's another
issue - moving out and leaving Marty alone, without the benefit of our
companionship and my rent money. I do not want anything to break up a good
friendship with him. He's been so good to me... and Will.

Maybe we could broach the subject in a round-about way by asking him if
he's ever shared a bed with one of his brothers and whether we could swap
rooms with him for one night, because we'd like to try out a double bed!
No, that sounds way too corny!

Or, maybe, Will might just come out and say, `Hey, he's my brother and he's
really good in bed and, by the way, I'm no longer a virgin.'

Whatever! It won't take long for Marty to realise what's really going on.

Will and I decide that the topic needs a little more discussion and our
story a lot more finesse. We have today, tomorrow and our travelling time
on Tuesday to `get it down pat'.

Suddenly, in the midst of the main retail drag, we happen across a
landscaped strip; the first thing that captures my attention amid the
continuous shop fronts. Secondly, the neatly manicured rows of box hedge
and sandstone paving leading from the broad curbside area and narrowing
towards the heavy wooden double doors, both of which are opened to their
maximum reach. This is the church that I used to attend as an 11-13
year-old. I pause and contemplate those few years before the `sins of the
world' overtook me.

On impulse I say to Will, "Come with me," and I retrace some very familiar
steps. Despite his uncertain expression, Will obliges,
unquestioningly. It's too early for the morning service and the church
appears empty.

"What are we doing in here?" Will whispers respectfully. I take his hand
and lead him into one of the back pews and we sit.

"Do you believe in God?" I ask.

"I dunno. I suppose so," he replies.

"I remember a verse, `...ask and it will be given to you...'. Would it hurt
to ask God to let Andy live and to make him well?" I put to him, yet
staring straight ahead towards the altar and crucifix.

"No, I suppose not," he answers hesitantly. Then he adds, "I'd feel good
about that."

I say, "Close your eyes then, and quietly as God, in your own words, if He
would heal Andy. I'll do the same." I take his hand and silently make my
supplication. When I'm finished I squeeze his hand. A few moments later he
squeezes back, and we leave.

"I also asked God to fix Andy's mum, and yours," Will confides as we
re-enter the brightness of the street.

His compassion for others is touching and causes my eyes to mist up. We
continue to meander southward, exploring side streets and small malls -
including one displaying a copy of Michelangelo's `David'. I don't know
whether it's true to size with the original, but it's big.

"Wow!" Will comments at David's perfect form and unashamed nakedness. He
walks completely around it to check out all of its `features'. "How would
they react to one of these in our new house back home?"

"Badly," I tell him, and give him a friendly jab in the ribs.

We find ourselves at the southern end of the beach, crossing to the
promenade and turning towards completing our circuit. Among those
frolicking in the gentle swell are some familiar surfers. We stop and watch
then wave when one of them appears to look in our direction. He
gesticulates to the others and they all wave then head for the shore. The
current trio of Simon, Luke and Joey seems incomplete without young Andy.

It's the first time for a number of days that we've seen Joey. "Hi guys!"
he calls, leading the others in their dash out of the water and up the
sand. He uncouples his leg rope, drops his board and stretches up to us to
shake our hands, adding enthusiastically, "I've missed you. How long are
you going to be in town for?"

"Hey, mate, missed you too," Will says. "We're leaving Tuesday
morning. How've you been?"

"OK... `til I heard about Andy," he replies, his voice becoming more
subdued.

I join in. "He's alive, Joey. He's alive. We all hope and pray that he can
recover from his injuries over time."

Simon and Luke catch up. "Hi Will, Tom," Luke says, panting. "We thought
that you might have come down for a swim this morning."

"And a shower," Simon adds, raising his eyebrows. That elicits an expectant
and supportive giggle from Joey.

"Maybe tomorrow," I tell them. "Even though the weather may be showery in
the morning, it really shouldn't matter, should it, if we're in the
surf..." Then I add, "... or in the showers."

That brings a smile to everyone's face.

"We couldn't leave without saying `goodbye' properly. See you tomorrow." We
all high-five although, for me, it's the lowest one I've ever done as Will
and I reach down to them.

Will and I stand to watch their perfectly-rounded backsides as they return
to the water. Wet Speedos rule! Then we continue walking. The loud tone on
my new phone alerts me to a message. Will looks at me. As I retrieve it
from the deep pocket of my Chinos, Will's phone sounds off too.

"It's from Tony," I tell him, glancing at the screen.

"Mine's from Rocco," Will replies.

Before reading the messages we stop, look at each other and smirk. I read
Tony's message aloud. `Hey, Tom. Great to meet you yesterday. Any chance of
seeing more of you?' I look at Will. "He wants to meet up again."

Don't be stupid," Will tells me. "He's saying that he wants to get you
naked and muck around."

He reads Rocco's message. "Hi Will. You and Tom wanna come over to Tony's
later and play?" Will adds, "It sounds like he has computer games too."

"Yeh, right!" I say sarcastically. "We're not talking Mario Brothers! I
think the Verdi cousins have their minds set on a game called `cannolis and
cream'! You up for it?" Predictable response coming up...

He doesn't disappoint. "Hell, yeh!" Will replies too enthusiastically,
while at the same time, grasping the front of his shorts and giving them an
exaggerated jiggle.

"Grandma alert!" I call out, which startles him.

He whips his hand away from the now-obvious bulge and asks, "Where?"
anxiously looking around.

"Just kidding!" I laugh. "Good reflexes, though!"

"Swine! You scared the shit out of me," he complains, then punches my
shoulder.

"Hey, I'll get you for that," I tell him.

"I hope so!" he smirks back. "And you'd better brush your teeth tonight,
too!"

I grab him in a headlock. He doesn't fight back, but just slips his arm
around my waist. I relax my grip and just leave my arm draped over his
shoulder. He gives me a quick squeeze. I reply in kind, then we loosen our
grips and continue.

While walking I reply to Tony. `like 2 C more v U 2! Where? When?' I
receive a quick reply, inviting Will and me to lunch at his place. I tell
Will. He texts back to Rocco <smiley face> C U @ Tony's <smiley face>
<smiley face>. He shows me before he sends it. "You only put 3 smiley
faces. There should be 4," I tell him. He adds another one.

We arrive home relaxed after taking in the Gold Coast sights on a sleepy
Sunday morning, but with the prospect of an active afternoon. Karen and Mum
are having coffee with Dad out by the pool. No sign of Amelia. She could be
anywhere from back in bed to out jogging with a friend.

As we walk past the jug I flip the switch to `on'. It lights up and the
electric buzz and crackle of water heating begins almost immediately. We
greet Karen, who rises and kisses each of us on both cheeks. Will
blushes. He looks even cuter whenever that happens!

He nervously says, "I'll make us a coffee, Tom," and retreats hastily to
the kitchen. I smile as I think that I will be able to corroborate his
assertions to the cherubs at school that my `girlfriend', Karen, had kissed
him - more than once!

Karen backtracks over her discussion with Mum and Dad about alternatives to
chemotherapy. Some of it's technical and I learn a new term, `cruciferous'
vegetables. I quite like cauliflower and cabbage, endure broccoli, hate
Brussels sprouts and am suspicious of turnips!

I also learn that cancers are reported to feed off sugar which, Karen says,
Mum should attempt to avoid, in all forms. `Black Seed Oil' sounds like a
witch doctor's concoction. Karen explains that while the medical
authorities and drug companies pooh-pooh the idea of `natural' remedies,
there are plenty of documented testimonials from those for whom they have
`worked miracles'. The key, she reiterates to us, is to strengthen the
immune system so that the body can fight the cancers itself, while
depriving them of the very thing that feeds them.

I'm sceptical. Mum is determined. Dad is supportive and hopeful.

Will is back, and places two coffee mugs on the table.

"I don't suppose you guys like custard tarts?" Karen asks, smiling at Will,
whose eyes widen. "I brought some, just in case." I see her cast a sideways
glance at Mum and wink.

"In the pantry," Mum says. Will gracefully executes a half pirouette and
disappears.

Will and I make short work of the pastry and custard and, while we `mop up'
the crumbs with saliva-moistened fingers, Mum says, "Bill rang just before
you boys came in." We both look to her in anticipation. "Of greatest relief
is that Andy's position has stabilised this morning. They had operated to
relieve the pressure on his brain. He has a broken arm and a number of
broken ribs. They still have him in an induced coma."

I frown.

Karen adds, "It's a good sign, Tom. An answer to a lot of prayers, I'd
say." Will and I look at each other in amazement. Could our humble prayers
have helped?

Mum adds, "Mrs Thompson is being kept in for a couple of days for
observation and counselling. I feel the need to go and visit her. Can you
two fend for yourselves for lunch?"

"No problem!" I tell her. "We'll probably go out again for a while." I see
Will smile but he avoids eye contact with anyone, opting instead to collect
the plates and empty cups.

"Amelia and I won't starve," Dad says and returns his attention to his
trusty newspaper companion.

I follow Will to the kitchen. We give the cups and plates a quick rinse,
leave them to drip dry, then head upstairs.

"What do you reckon is going to happen?" Will asks, "How much will Tony and
Rocco want to do?"

"You know, the important question is how much do you and I want to do?" For
me, the purpose of any relationship with Tony and Rocco is friendship
(albeit with benefits), not just to have more sex. "Let's play it cool and
just enjoy ourselves. I think that we should find out as much about the
bullying and other stuff as possible. We can be the friends they need
without having to let them try to push their telegraph poles into places
where they won't fit!"

"I knew you were smart the first time I saw you," Will replies.

"What? You can tell how clever a person is by just staring at him from a
muddy river?" I ask.

"Of course! Especially if he looks just like me!" he says, smirking. I give
him a quick swat on the tail.

"And what does your smart meter tell you about Tony and Rocco?" I inquire.

"Well, let's just say, Rocco's smart and Tony's smarter." He pauses, then
adds, "but not up to your standard!" He smirks. I think of Will's ability
to observe things that others miss, his quick wit and his artistic
skills. I ponder that, despite a poor early education, he may be the
smartest of us all. His physical magnetism is dynamic. He makes my skin
(and other parts) tingle just being near him. And I love him.

The drive to Tony's takes about 20 minutes. It is on land elevated above
the coastal strip, at the foot of the escarpment. Even without having seen
it, I can tell immediately that the view across the vista of the Gold Coast
from near the house is going to be spectacular.

While I am looking for a button to press, the heavy wrought iron gates
swing open to reveal a crushed granite drive, lined with carefully-trimmed
ornamental trees. It leads to a broad annulus that encircles an ornate
triple-tiered fountain featuring animals and naked people - round-breasted
maidens and amply-endowed youths.

The entrance reminds me of photos that I have seen of Italian villas in the
rolling hills of Tuscany.

Tony and Rocco come bustling through one of the two huge, carved wooden
front doors then both slow to a more sedate pace. They extend their hands
and we shake them, in a manner reminiscent of the end of a doubles tennis
match.

"Welcome to Villa di Verdi," Tony pronounces proudly.

"Thank you; beautiful place; magnificent views," I reply, indicating the
vista of the gardens and the panorama beyond, up and down the expansive
stretch of coastal beaches which are partially obscured by clusters of
high-rise developments.

"My grandfather bought this land when it was covered in scrub and was too
far from the beaches to be of much interest to anyone else. He employed the
best builders and gardeners to create something that reminded him of `the
old country'. My father continues to add to Nonno's dream. Please come in."

The grandeur of the interior matches that of the grounds - marble-tiled
floors, paintings by European masters, tapestries and ceramic display
pieces. However, I think that the indoor fountain of three little boys
peeing towards a central dish, which then flows into the shallow pool where
the boys stand, is a bit `over the top'.

We follow Tony and Rocco through to the `back' of the Villa. Multiple
French doors lead onto a broad porch with grape-vine covered pergola
running the full length of the house. Each supporting stone pillar is
accompanied by a large planter pot shaped like a white Romanesque urn. I
wonder whether they are marble too. Their multi-coloured contents are
vibrant and healthy specimens.

The view from here is, indeed, spectacular and the boys point out to Will
and me various landmarks, I think, more for us to `gain our bearings' than
of their intrinsic interest.

A large table is surrounded by sixteen chairs. I can imagine jovial family
gatherings with matriarchs incessantly urging children, grandchildren,
nephews, nieces and friends to eat more! In my mind I can picture
freshly-baked bread, platters of cheeses, olives, salamis and bottles of
wine. And the broad, flat strip of lawn would be perfect for a friendly
kick-around of a soccer ball by aspiring young World Cup stars and their
semi-inebriated fathers.

My mental images are dissolved by Tony's voice. "Just so you know," he
says, "there's nobody else at home today... just us. My father has prepared
some pastries for us to have before lunch. Would you like them with coffee,
or a limonata or chinotto?" I glance at Will. His focus is looking at a
couple of cannolis and I smirk.

I say to Tony, "Would it be rude to ask that Will be able to try the
limonata and chinotto? He's never had them before. Then he may want
coffee." I suddenly realise that I've spoken for him without even
asking. "Sorry, Will," I apologise, drawing his focus back to the drinks
and offerings on the platter.

"No problem, bro," he answers. "I wasn't going to ask, but I did wonder
about those things."

It hadn't escaped my attention either that both Tony and Rocco are wearing
lightweight grey tracksuit pants, taut across their backsides and
showcasing quite distinguishable shapes at the front. The way that those
things are moving back and forth with every step and movement that Tony and
Rocco make, I could hazard a guess that they are not wearing any
underwear. I feel my own pants tightening.

We sit, facing the garden with the urban sprawl, beachside skyline and blue
ocean beyond. Chatting, we sample the cold drinks. It's strange that even
though I prefer the sweetness of normal Cola to the slightly bitter
chinotto, I quite enjoy the tang of the limonata. Then, the coffee is
strong and aromatic.

Nothing of a sensual nature has been suggested, until... Tony disappears
momentarily and brings out four longer-than-normal cannolis, about six
inches long, with piped mascarpone cream extending form their ends. Rocco
smiles.

"Yum!" Will comments, looking at the delicacies and then at Tony and Rocco
in turn.

"Can you do this?" Rocco puts to him. He picks up one cannoli and pushes
most of its length into, then out of, his mouth.

"Easy!" Will responds, and demonstrates his own oral ability, taking it all
in, before making it reappear.

"What about this?" Rocco continues. He displays the cannoli with cream
still showing, then places it in his mouth and sucks on it, eventually
displaying the creamless tube to all of us.

"Yeh. I can manage that," Will suggests, then with vacuuming cheeks,
emulates Rocco's effort, in less time.

"I think that, with those skills, we could have some fun today," I say,
repeating the sucking efforts of the previous two, but in a much more
suggestive manner.

Not to be outdone, Tony picks up the remaining tube, licks the protruding
cream from one end, then pretends to jack it off, adding commentary... "Oh,
that's good... Yeh... Nice... Can't stop... Oh... Ohhhh..." Then, placing
it in his mouth and sucking the remaining cream from it, he deliberately
smears some of it around his lips with his tongue.

I reach over to him, wipe his lips with one of my fingers and then lick it
clean and murmur, "Mmm, very nice!" Everyone laughs.

"I'd love to do another one," Tony says, looking at Rocco. Then he turns
his gaze directly to me and waits for a response. "Well?" he asks.

There is no sense in trying to read anything between the lines. It's as
obvious and the aching firmness in my pants. "I'm game if you are," I tell
him. "But not out here!"

"My room then," Tony shoots back. He stands up, revealing that my pants
aren't the only ones concealing a stiffness begging for release.

I rise from my chair slowly. Tony lowers his eyes and I juggle my cannoli
to a more comfortable position, pointing sideways. He leaves his straining
outwards and I'm tempted to grasp it here and now.

"What about you?" Rocco puts to Will. I think... `Wait for the
response... 3... 2...'

"Hell, yeh! Just point the way."

Rocco stands, then leaning his solid frame backwards a little, points his
erectile projectile towards the open doorway. He thrusts his hips forward
and says, "That way!"

There is much light-hearted bumping and jostling on the stairs to the upper
floor, accompanied by anything-but-subtle nudging, patting and grasping of
one another - front and back.

Tony, in front of me once we reach the top of the stairs, stops. I don't
stop (accidentally of course), pressing myself against his firm
backside. Then I feel Rocco's pole push hard against my cheeks. "Oops! Bad
brakes!" he jokes.

I reach back and feel him. "I think I've found the handbrake."

Then we all fall forwards as Will deliberately pushes against him. "Hey, I
didn't see any brake lights!" he remonstrates to Rocco. We roll apart and
continue, laughing at our own boldness and in anticipation of what we know
will follow.

Tony's room is towards the northern side of the floor. He enters a code on
a touchpad next to the door. I hear a `click' and he pushes it open. I
wonder, `Why?'

I discover that his room takes up one complete end of the building, with
west-facing windows overlooking the driveway to the escarpment, the sea to
the east and rows of what appear to be olive trees plus grapevines to the
northern side.

Apart from its size, the room's most striking feature is its matching
furniture in beautifully carved wood. No cheap DIY flatpacks here! Its
colour is lighter than the oak that I've seen in some historic houses but
it's darker than pine. Everything in between I would have no idea about!

The king-sized bed is placed between two of the northern windows and
flanked by matching, low, bed-side chests. To one side of the bed, nearest
the ocean, is a full set of exercise equipment.

On the other side, with driveway views, is a large, matching desk, inlaid
with what appears to be dark green leather, and supporting a large computer
monitor which is currently displaying CCTV images of the front gate and
entrance.

Beside the door and opposite the bed is a long set of mirrored
robes. Hmmm. To the other side of the door is a large wall-mounted TV
screen, fronted by a 3-seater settee alongside the weights. And then there
are more fixed mirrors, floor-to-ceiling - just right for admiring your
body while you work out. Wow! Then there is the ensuite in the corner.

I cannot see anything innocuous that might necessitate the security -
unless he has secrets that he doesn't want his parents or hired help to
discover. Or, which is more likely, to ensure his total privacy.

Tony flops, no - dives, onto his bed, face down, than looks expectantly
over his shoulder when nobody joins him. He rolls onto his back and, as if
I could possibly have not seen his alluring bulge, he grasps it and wiggles
it around. His puzzled expression says, `Well? What are you waiting for?' I
know he's anxious but it doesn't seem right, somehow, to just jump on him.

Will, with Rocco close behind, heads for the weights and extensive
resistance equipment.

I say, "Hey, Tony! Slow down a bit, buddy. We'll get to that. There's no
need to rush. I smile at him. "I'm interested in more about you than just
what's between your legs."

I park myself on the settee and, patting the seat, beckon him to sit next
to me.

He looks confused. He sits up and slides until his feet are on the floor at
the end of the bed then, almost reluctantly, stands. His smile has suddenly
gone. So, observably, has most of his erection, even though a healthy soft
bulge remains. His expression is that of a chastised child for doing
something wrong. He drifts across to the lounge and sits a short distance
apart from me.

I lean across to him, put my arm around his shoulder and encourage him
closer to me. He slides his backside until our bodies are touching. A faint
smile has displaced the gloom on his face.

"Hey," I say, "let's talk for a bit. Tell me about school."

He hesitatingly, and almost reluctantly, begins to open up, occasionally
glancing sideways at Rocco, either for support of confirmation of what he's
telling me. Essentially, because of a gang of bullies, nobody at school is
game to show friendliness towards him or Rocco for fear of being branded as
`one of them' and suffering similar torment and ostracism.

He says that if they report one bully to staff, as they've been advised to
do, that person appears to desist while being monitored, but another of the
gang will, almost immediately, take his place as the primary
perpetrator. Whenever questioned, they all, of course, corroborate each
other's innocence, making Tony and Rocco appear to be incarnations of the
boy who cried wolf or simply vexatious complainants.

"And," Rocco adds from across the room, "if we retaliate in any way, we are
the ones who are punished. I was suspended for a whole week because I
punched one of them in the gut who deliberately knocked my lunch onto the
floor and then saying, `Oh, dear, princess. You should learn to be less
clumsy and take more care.' They really piss me off sometimes!"

Tony continues, "Even if we try to keep out of their way by going to the
library during recess and lunch breaks, some of them do things like walk
past us and fart, then complain to the librarian that we did it."

Tony's self-assurance and bravado that I had seen previously have
evaporated. There are tears in his eyes. I put my arm around him and hug
him. He melts against me, resting his head on my shoulder and wrapping his
arm across my chest. He sighs deeply. It is almost a sob.

I try to offer sympathy and encouragement, but my words sound hollow even
to my own ears, let alone how they must come across to Tony. I finally put
to him, "Are you sure that swapping schools is not the best option?" I
glance over at Rocco, who simply shrugs in obvious frustration.

"Hey," Will throws in to the conversation, "You should try my school. The
teacher's pretty cool and wouldn't stand for anything like that!"

I shoot him a dirty look, as if to say, `You're not helping!'

`Why not?' he mouths silently, raising both eyebrows.

Tony lifts his head and looks at my face. "Is that possible?" he asks.

"Well, it's not impossible," I tell him, "but there would be a lot of
things to organise, not the least of which would be where you would live."

Will says, "I know of a new house that's going to be built with plenty of
room for visitors."

It starts me thinking. I'm not convinced that having Tony and Rocco in The
Village would be a good idea, but just the possibility appears, at least,
to have opened Tony's mind to changing schools, and lightening his mood.

"Would the teacher punish me if I was naughty?" Tony says while, at the
same time, lowering his hand tentatively from my chest to my crotch.

Laying my hand on top of his, I reply, "We have a lot to talk about. How
long do you think you can hold out here?" I realise that this is a bad
choice of words the moment I let them escape my mouth.

"I reckon I can last about another 10 minutes at the most," he says,
smirking and giving my gear a gentle feel-up. He's as incorrigible as my
little brother, who is smiling. So is Rocco.

OK. That did it! I move my arm from around his shoulders and lay it across
his lap, giving his opposite thigh an encouraging pat before drawing my
hand back and leaving it resting on his bulge. It starts to expand and
harden. I find this an incredible turn-on - as I feel it rise from semi
flaccid to rigid. I assist in its freedom by manoeuvring it to one side.

I acquiesce to his hands and allow him to undo my belt, release the top
button of my pants and lower my zipper. He folds the two flaps to the side
and slips his hand inside. I shudder at his gentle touch then I recline to
give him better access. He leans back as well and stretches out his legs.

I glance at Will. He is doing bench presses with Rocco who is spotting for
him at his head. What is noticeable is that Rocco's crotch is directly over
Will's face - touching, in fact. Will seems more intent on raising his head
to nudge Rocco's bulge than in lifting the weights. Rocco smiles at me. I
nod encouragement and return my attention to Tony.

We say nothing but continue rubbing and playing with each other. I feel his
monster jerk a couple of times, causing mine to react similarly. He
obviously enjoys the apparent control that his cock has over
mine. Jerk... jerk, twitch... twitch, action... reaction - is this what
Isaac Newton meant?

Time to find out if he's wearing any underwear! I slide my hand upwards
then firmly down against his stomach and under the waist band of his
trackies. No undies! I feel hot flesh even before I encounter his
hair. Hot, hard and hooded.

As he opens his legs, I push my hand down his shaft and over his balls,
which I cup and lift as I retract my hand upwards. He emits a slow, low
groan of pleasure and then begins to explore the inside of my CK's. He
fully liberates my stalk. I glance at his face. His eyes are closed. He's
enjoying the feelings of touching and being touched, just as I am. However,
I love to look as well.

He squeezes his legs together momentarily and my hand becomes slick with a
release of his pre-cum. I use it as lubrication and liberate his head. I
tighten my grip and slide firmly down his length. He raises his hips to
meet my fist and moans loudly as I push down again.

All is not silent beside us either. A quick glance reveals that Rocco has
his trackies around his ankles with his heavy elongation dangling at Will's
mouth. Will is humming. Rocco inhales and exhales loudly as Will's mouth
envelops then releases his head.

My loins tingle, then Tony's hand is also oiled. He opens his eyes, taking
in the sight, then raises his fingers to his lips and sucks them
dry. "Hmm," he murmurs. "Nice."

He uses both hands to take off his track pants and nudges my own
downwards. I oblige. Then, removing our shirts, we are naked.

Apart from what's between his legs, Tony's firm body is slim. His cock and
balls are hairless but sit in a thick, black bush, with only the beginning
of a hair line to his navel. I look in the other direction at Rocco who, by
contrast, has the makings of a very fine specimen of a young gorilla. I
wonder how, as cousins, their genetics, when it comes to body hair, can be
so different.

Tony and I spend a little time caressing each other. "Friends?" I murmur to
him.

"Uh-huh," he replies. He leans across and kisses me on the cheek. Then the
chest and navel. Then he gives my cock a quick peck as well, removing all
of the freshly-generated man oil. He says, "Would you like to do this on
the bed? It would be much more comfortable, you know." It sounds like a
sales pitch. Not necessary!

I nod and smile and give him a soft, "OK."

He stands and the heaviness of his engorged young manhood prevents it from
rising even to horizontal. It almost looks out of place on his slim but
firm body, like a picture that has had part of it Photoshop'd to abnormal
proportions. It waggles as he walks. I think of the `normalcy' and beauty
of Joey, Andy, Karl and Kurt, and smile. There is absolute beauty in
`average proportions'.

I glance back at the other two. Rocco, naked, is at Will's feet, removing
my brother's pants while Will is removing his own shirt.

Tony clambers onto his bed then rolls onto his back, patting the space next
to him, just as I did to him on the lounge. I oblige but lay myself head to
toe. We tacitly shuffle ourselves to enable a mutual cock/mouth
alignment. Tony wastes no time in grasping, pumping, licking and sucking
me. "Nice equipment," he says, reminiscent of his restaurant compliments.

Without desisting from his oral enterprise, one hand tickles my thigh
muscles while the other explores my abs and pecs. His is no novice at this,
and I wonder how much he and Rocco have done together. I cannot imagine
them fitting their poles into each other's holes without perseverance and
extreme pain. I am barely able to fit his head into my mouth, but do my
best to pleasure him with my tongue and suction.

"Hang on," he says, then clambers to my legs, forces them apart, kneels
between them and focusses on my member from this different angle. It gives
me the opportunity to observe that Rocco is kneeling on the bench at Will's
head, leaning fully over him, with them both enjoying their own 69
action. Will's hands are exploring Rocco's hairy body - everything within
his reach.

Tony explores my nether regions with his tongue, glancing at me regularly
to gauge my reaction as he moves to a different location. "Friends with
benefits," he says, smiling at me. He confesses that he has never had the
chance to do what he is about to try (probably due to Rocco's size), and
takes a large amount of my length deeply into his mouth - then gags.

"Hey, go slow, and practise breathing through your nose," I tell him, and
his actions become less frenzied.

He gets into a smooth bobbing rhythm and I watch more and more of me being
taken in. "You're doing a great job," I encourage him, "but it won't be
long now - I can't last!"

He pulls off me and we chuckle as we hear Rocco and Will both gagging. "Go
slow!" Tony calls, "displaying his new-found expertise." He and I laugh
again at that.

"I'm really close," I tell Tony. "We'd better swap." He lays himself his
back and I take up a position between his legs.

I try to practise what I've preached by attempting to go down on him
slowly. I jiggle his low-hanging balls, tickle the inside of his thighs and
his abs and I suck hard. "OMG," he moans. "You've gotta teach Rocco to do
what you're doing to me."

I give my stretched jaw a rest and ask, "Maybe after lunch?" He smiles an
evil smile, probably knowing that he will also get to have some time with
Will.

"I think I'm gonna cum," he whispers raspingly, and gritting his teeth.

"I'm ready too," I tell him. "Where do you want it? In your mouth or on
your body?"

"I want to watch us spurt," he says. We take hold of each other and start
pumping. I feel his cock swell. He lifts his hips and cries out,
"Aarrgghhh!" and projects a fat stream up his body onto his face, which he
turns quickly to one side to avoid hitting his eyes. His hand stops jacking
me momentarily as his fire hose continues to pump. There's almost enough to
quench a small fire!

He drops his head back onto the pillow then, seemingly recovering
cognisance of what else he was doing, lifts it again watching his resumed
hand action on me. I'm right on the edge and it only takes a couple of
strokes. "Here it comes," I warn him then my slimmer hose does a pretty
good imitation of his fat one, including reaching his face. He continues
rubbing until I become hyper-sensitive and I have to stop him.

I lower myself onto his body, hose against hose, and we gyrate, mixing his
seed with mine on our stomachs and chests. I lick his face clean and then
feed him some, mother-bird style. He rolls me over so that he's on top and
we continue to gyrate before he stops. I feel his full weight as his body
relaxes, then I run my hands all over his back , squeezing and massaging
his firm, hairless butt cheeks.

"Amazing!" he whispers. "Thank you."

"Hey, what are friends for?" I ask, smiling. He gives me the Italian
double-cheek kiss. I respond similarly. Then we settle into watching Rocco
and Will blow their loads. They both try, unsuccessfully, to swallow all of
each other's outpouring. Will, on the bottom, ends up with a sticky mess at
both ends of his body.

Everybody laughs. Rocco, the cleanest of us all, fetches some
towels. Tony's shower is large but obviously not intended for four. This,
however, only adds to the sensations of soaping and groping.

Lunch on the terrace is a feast of breads, cheeses, salamis, vegetables and
pastas in sauces. I decline the offered vino but savour the aroma and taste
of the freshly-ground coffee. Two cups.

Conversation is dominated by `school' and associated issues. We discuss
strategies for coping with the bullying and I assure them that I, as
another interested educator, will contact their principal and alert her to
what I've been told - the side of the boys' story that has been readily
dismissed by staff. I tell Tony and Rocco that I can't promise any specific
outcome but I will definitely do whatever I can to help them.

We agree to talk to each other once each week and that they can always
phone or email me or Will if there are any urgent issues.

The possibility of transferring schools has brightened their outlook -
whether it's to my school (which I actually consider to be impractical) or
another. In any case, Will and I offer to host them for a `holiday' when
our house is ready.

This is not the only highlight of their afternoon - with four well-fed,
naked bodies ending up on Tony's bed together, followed by another
necessary soap `n' grope.

As we leave, I wonder whether I've done enough to establish a friendship or
if I've merely used the opportunity for Will and me to indulge our passions
for `the benefits'.

We arrive home only minutes before Mum does. I offer to make coffee while
Will hunts for some tasty morsel to eat with it. There are no custard tarts
left and he's had his quota of cannolis and cream for the day! Peanut
cookies are fine.

"How was Andy's mum?" I ask, to kick off the conversation.

"Physically, she's not too badly hurt," Mum replies, taking a sip, "but
emotionally she's a mess." I really want to ask about Andy but leave Mum to
tell us whatever is on her mind first.

Will and I listen to the disturbing tale of how Mrs T. came to meet `the
mongrel' and how, during a moment of weakness, she allowed him to stay the
night, which turned into regular visits and, ultimately, with him moving
in. This seemed OK, she had said, because he and Andy appeared to get on
well together, providing the boy with a father-type that he had never
known. "I wanted know why but didn't ask," Mum said.

Amongst details of the subtly-increasing violence, I soak up any tid-bits
about Andy and, finally, I have to ask the question, "How's Andy? Is there
any news?"

"It's too early to tell," Mum replies. "Because they are in the same
hospital, she was allowed to visit him. When she saw his small bruised
body, connected to all of his monitor leads and tubes, she screamed and
broke down and had to be sedated. She blames herself for what happened to
him. She kept repeating, `if only...', but Andy's signs are positive
according to the doctors."

"Is there anything we can do for Andy?" Will queries.

"No, I don't think so. It's up to the medical professionals as to when they
feel it's safe to bring him out of the induced coma. They're going to keep
him like that for a while to ensure that he doesn't move around, while his
brain is recovering from the severe bruising and also to help the healing
of his arm and ribs."

"Is he going to be OK?" Will asks, very concerned.

"Nobody can tell at this stage. We can only pray that he will be."

I know that Andy will be on our minds for many weeks to come. I have to say
to Mum, "Are you going to keep in touch with Mrs Thompson? Will you let us
know if you hear anything about Andy?"

"Of course!" is her simple reply. I know that the discussion is over when
she changes the subject. "Dinner will be ready at six o'clock."

That gives us a couple of hours. I suggest to Will that we should make a
start on packing our things, except for what we might use tomorrow. Mum
says, "Bring down anything that needs to be washed and I'll do it for
you. At least everything will be clean and smell fresh when you get back."

"Thanks, Mum," I reply, standing up.

"Yes, thank you, Aunty Susan," Will adds.

Will and I sort our things into three piles - `needs to be washed', `needs
to be worn tomorrow or Tuesday' and `everything else to be packed'. We also
end up with a fourth - `undecided', which includes our computer
tablets. Maybe we will play some games, or need them to Google something,
or to take photos. And, we need to set up Facebook accounts. We should have
done that with Tony and Rocco, but maybe Jarrod can help us.

Sorting done, Will and I lie side by side on the bed, holding hands,
reminiscing about our day with Tony and Rocco and how, realistically, we
can be friends with them. Our discussions also include Simon and Luke,
Jarrod, Joey and, of course, Andy.

It's inevitable that we also re-visit what we need to say to Marty. Our
hands end up in more intimate touching but without the need to `do'
anything apart from holding each other. However, I feel the real desire for
both of us to `brush' our teeth' tonight.


To be continued...

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