Date: Mon, 13 Oct 2014 22:45:24 +1100
From: Robert A. Armstrong <rob.aa@hotmail.com>
Subject: Schoolie - Chapter 34

If you are new to this story, may I suggest that you read patiently 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 33


When I finished, I put it away, did up my pants and turned around to wash
my hands. He was waiting and punched me in the face, growling, `Fucking
poofter!' I fell down. Then he left. When I got up my face hurt and my
shirt was covered in blood. I got some paper towels and wiped most of it
away by my nose kept bleeding."

I really want to say, `I told you so!' but my sympathy for Will's plight
overcomes the urge to drive home my previous warnings to him. "OK," I
say. "Let's finish up then get you home to clean you up properly."

"I'm really sorry, Tom," he says, giving me a quick hug in an attempt to
make amends for his actions.

As we pass the Games shop, I note that Jarrod is busy with a customer, so
we keep walking.

When we arrive home, I go in first. There's nobody around, so I motion to
Will and we hurry up the stairs.



Chapter 34


"OK. Take your bloody clothes off and I'll get some ice from the
refrigerator," I say to Will.

"You want me naked, do you?" he asks enthusiastically. "I've never heard
you swear that way before! But, if you're desperate, for you, anything."

"I meant `bloodied', you sexy little sod," I turn and say at the
door. "I'll wash them for you and then throw them into the clothes drier."

"Awww!" he returns with fake disappointment but, then, smiles as broadly as
the pain in his face allows. "Oww!"

"Incorrigible!" I mutter treading down the first couple of stairs. I
retrace my steps and poke my head through the door. "But I wouldn't
complain if you took everything off." Then I head down.

"Incorrigible!" I hear him call after me. Smart alec! Totally lovable!

There's nobody in the kitchen. Good! No explanations necessary! I put a
couple of ice cubes into a plastic cup, grab some gauze patches from the
first aid drawer and head back up, avoiding my parent-and-sister-alarm
step.

I'm not as surprised as I could have been to see Will standing, facing the
mirror, examining his face, touching it gingerly, naked.

With him in front of the mirror I get to see the best of him, back and
front, at the same time. I never tire of taking in his perfection. It's
only making love to him that tires me - once we `get started' it's hard to
stop until we are both totally stuffed. LMAO.

Despite the very real temptation, I want to focus on fixing his face so
that it's not too obvious, if he can be serious for long enough, then I'll
take care of his clothes

I shut the door, walk over to him slowly, while ogling his beauty. My
natural instinct is to grab one of his arse cheeks. I force myself to
resist. "Face me," I tell him.

He turns and stares into my eyes, probing seductively to my very soul. I
have to avert eye contact, albeit reluctantly. I glance at the mirror which
doesn't aid my resolve. The angle of the light on his body merely
highlights the firmness of both cheeks separately. I think, `Focus, Tom!
The face, remember?' He continues to stare at me most alluringly while I
use the gauze, wetted with iced water, to clear away all traces of blood
from under his nose, one corner of his mouth and even a little under his
chin. I wrap an ice cube in another piece of gauze and tell him to hold it
on his top lip. He takes it in one hand while, at the same time, reaching
for the front of my pants. His own manhood is noticeably rising.

"Later," I tell him and, holding my fingers across the top of the cup to
prevent the ice cubes from escaping, bathe his all-beef rectal thermometer
with the icy dregs. The temperature isn't the only thing going down!

"Hey!" he protests, looking shocked.

"Later, I told you. Now, hold that ice there until I come back. I won't be
long."

I collect his clothes and use them to mop up the spilled water. I add to
the pile a wet and smelly towel from the other side of the bed that I've
just remembered. Then I head out, leaving him to contemplate a memorable
morning.

Having had some previous experience with blood from cuts and abrasions, I
follow Mum's tried-and-tested method for pre-washing then I set the washing
machine to `cold' water. At least Will's T-shirt isn't white, in case there
are any faint residual marks.

Thinking that my afternoon will be spent attempting to satisfy my little
brother's rampant hormonal needs, I am totally surprised when I return to
our room after about 10 or so minutes, to see Will dressed in shorts and a
polo shirt. He is propped with his back against the bed head, sketch pad
against his raised knees, pencil in one hand, gauze in the other, held to
his lip. He raises his eyes briefly. The look on his face is an expression
of guilt and remorse and pain, all rolled into one - just the look that a
cute little puppy might have when being roused upon for `having an
accident' on the rug. Big, sad eyes.

The fact that I say nothing is more from surprise at Will's rapid change -
both in dress and demeanour. I stand and stare and attempt to make sense of
it all. Was it something I said? The last thing that I remember telling him
was, `later'. Did that upset him? Or was it the ice water? Did he feel that
I was rejecting his advances and needs?

Gazing across the room, directly into my eyes he snuffles out, "Sorry,"
then drops his focus back to his drawing.

I'm stunned. This is so unlike him. Even when he inadvertently told me of
his mother's abuse of him and, again, when he thought that he had burnt
down her house, he was not quite like this. What is this apparent emotional
melt down?

I stare at him, totally withdrawn into a world of pencil and paper. "Will?"
I ask. He ignores me. "Will?" I ask again. He raises his eyes to me,
without lifting his head. He blinks and tears fall onto his chest. He again
looks down to his pad.

I close the door gently, lock it and walk softly but deliberately over to
the bed and sit alongside him. I am about to offer some words of
consolation when he says, almost forcefully, "I'm sorry, Mr Grant." This
breaks me up! I'm no longer his brother and lover, `Tom', but, now, merely
`The Schoolie' - just an evil school teacher who has seduced and abused one
of my students. I feel my world start to crumble, fearing, for whatever
reason, that I've lost him. I suddenly feel very fragile.

"What?" I start, with a breaking voice, and through my own welling tears,
not needing him to go into details, but just really needing to understand
what is going through his mind.

He immediately jumps in, "I'm sorry for being gay. I'm sorry for liking
other guys. I'm sorry for wanting to have fun with them. I'm sorry for
loving you. I'm..."

"Whoa! Stop!" I interrupt. "What is going on, Will?"

He starts to sob deeply.

I lay one arm around his neck and shoulders. Discarding his sketch pad, he
virtually collapses onto me, grasping me with both arms. His sobs become
convulsive and very soon he is openly crying.

Hugging his head to my chest, I hold him and attempt to absorb his pain. I
run my fingers lovingly through his curly hair. "Will," I say as tenderly
as I can and, without waiting for a response, I continue, "There is no need
to apologise for any of those things, and I love you very much." I let that
settle in then ask, "Are you really sorry for what we've shared? Are you
saying that you wish that all of this, all of `us', had never happened?"

He raises his head from my chest and tilts it slightly so that he can look
at me. His expression is one of abject horror. "What?" he declares, more
than asks.

Now I am totally confused.

I'm glad when he continues. "Oh, Tom, I didn't mean that I was sorry for
being in love with you. I'm just sorry that I hurt you and that I embarrass
and upset you by being gay and liking other guys. And I don't blame you for
not wanting me." He sobs once then, being unable to hold his emotions in
check, dissolves into tears again.

I wonder what I can say and I need to unravel this as quickly as possible.

"Will, where did this come from? Where did you get the idea that I don't
want you? I love you, and I do want you!"

"You said `later'," he blubbers.

"And I meant it. Even though I was tempted to strip off my own clothes and
grab hold of you, I wanted to help fix your poor face first, and to take
care of your clothes. Why did you think that `later' meant something else?

"That's what she always said," he sobs, gaining a measure of control of his
tears. "Whenever she said `later', it always meant `never'. Always."

"Who?"

"My mother."

"Why would you think of her, and that, now?" I ask him, gently combing my
fingers through his hair.

"I saw her."

"When? Where?"

"On the way back from the mall with you. I saw her. She's here."

"What do you mean?"

"She's here Tom. I saw her. She's right here where we are!" He snuggles his
head onto my chest and hugs me tightly.

As his words sink in, I feel my anger start to rise - not at Will, but at
Lilly and the effect that the memory of her has on him. Whether it was her,
or somebody who resembled her, it's obvious that feelings with which I
thought he had already dealt are still very raw and debilitating.

My eyes squint and I feel my teeth grind together as I recall the
altercation with Lilly outside the pub at The Village. Yes, I'm angry, and
I can understand that Will's emotions are much more deeply affected by how
she treated him - inflicting him with the `Little Willy' persona and
abusing him when he hit adolescence. She used him to obtain financial
support from the government which was spent on booze in the pub where she
would pick up men then have sex with them in the family home, telling Will
to `get out' while she `entertained them'. Yes, I am very angry.

"Will, are you saying that you saw somebody that reminded you of your
mother?" I ask, hoping to deflect any fear that she might come back into
his life.

He props himself up so that he can see me. "No, Tom. I'm saying that it was
her! I'd recognise her anywhere."

"Are you sure, Will? They say that everyone has a double out there
somewhere in the world."

"Tom, it was her, I'm telling you! I wasn't just her looks. I know that it
was her by her little mannerisms - the way she was standing and constantly
flicking her middle finger with her thumb. It was definitely her."

"Did she see you?" I ask.

"No. She was with some people and their bikes. She didn't even look when we
got near to them. I would have died if she had recognised me," he replies,
with a hint of genuine fear.

"Was that why you suddenly swapped places and walked on the other side of
me?"

"Yes."

"I think that I noticed them - rough looking bunch, in their leathers, with
their tattoos. I never like to look or stare at those characters in case
one of them wants to pick a fight. It happens around here."

"I thought that they would bash us if she recognised me," Will admits.

"I've never seen them around here before," I confide. "Maybe they are just
passing through. Anyway, we are leaving tomorrow, so we probably won't see
them again, ever." I try to be as encouraging as possible to allay his
fears.

"But she's still alive. I thought that maybe she wouldn't be. I hoped that
she wouldn't be," Will confesses.

Multiple thoughts race through my mind. Should I contact Chad, Marty's
brother, the cop, in Big Town? Or, ask Uncle Bill to tell Monika, or speak
to Joey's dad?

But, then, what could any of them do? She's not dead, she doesn't appear to
be kidnapped and there is probably no evidence to link her friends to the
arson in The Village. I chastise myself for not having Will's powers of
observation. But, why would I have had any reason to look at, and memorise,
the licence plates of their bikes so that they could be identified -
especially since I actually avoid looking at them to escape `incidents'?

I think that it's extremely unlikely that Lilly would ever return the The
Village with her new `friends' unless it was the result of some drug- or
alcohol-induced nostalgia. Or, alternatively, if this new liaison were to
come unstuck, leaving Lilly at the mercy of the world, then she might seek
`sanctuary' among her family. Let us hope not!

Let sleeping dogs lie, as they say. The battle now will be for Will's mind
and emotional stability.

"Hello! Earth to Tom! Come in Tom!" I hear Will's voice and I return to the
reality of the here-and-now.

"I'm so sorry, Will," I apologise. "I was just thinking about the chances
of ever running into your mother again. I'm sure that it won't happen."

"But I did run into her, didn't I? Here, of all places! The best place that
I've ever been in my life! And she was here!" he groans.

"Will, listen to me," I try to be firm but encouraging and
supportive. "Things are different now. You will always have your `guardian
angel' with you," I say, looking into his eyes, and reminding him of how we
had scared her those many weeks ago. "I believe that she's afraid of me and
what wrath I might invoke upon her, from up above." He smiles.

Then I add, "And we have some powerful contacts, apart from Chad, there's
Joey's dad who seems like a great guy with a lot of influence around
here. And let's not forget Assistant Commissioner Grayson, and the
resources that she has at her disposal. Your dad would never let anything
happen to you! You know that, don't you?"

He reflects for a moment on the totality of the situation and mumbles,
"Uh-huh." He kneels beside me, wraps his arms around my neck and kisses
me. "Thank you, Tom. I love you so much. Don't ever leave me. I need my
guardian angel with me forever."

"Love you too, bro," I reply. "Remember that I'm always here for you. Just
talk to me if you ever have a problem. I can't always promise that I'll
have a magic wand to make the wicked witch and goblins disappear, but I'll
try my hardest for you."

He draws his head back slightly, looks at me and smirks, with the oddest
expression.

"What?" I ask.

"I love your hard magic wand," he almost giggles, dropping one hand to my
crotch. "Happy to be goblin' it down any time."

"Incorrigible!" I say to him at his parodying of my words, and laying my
hand on top of his, both acceptingly and, at the same time, protectively.

"So, is it `later' yet?" he asks, moving his hand around and being rewarded
with a firming response.

It's weird. With my hand on his, I can feel the muscles of his fingers
exploring and stimulating me while, at the same time, my package is
responding to his touch. It's like playing with myself - but different!

I remove my hand and use it to undo the lone button on his shirt that he
has fastened. His roving hand responds. My cock responds.

My hand moves to his pants, unbuttons them with measured deliberation, then
slowly slides down his zipper. There are stirrings evident. The dragon has
awoken and, without any CKs to restrain it, emerges, steeling itself for
action.

He reaches for my zipper. "Don't rush. Go slowly," I encourage him. I fold
back the flaps of his shorts and slide my hand up under his shirt and run
my fingers around and over each of his nipples. I alternately tickle his
abs and the sides of his abdomen then run my open palm firmly over them,
and repeat this multiple times until he begins to quiver. His cock jerks. I
lay my palm on it to quieten it, but this has precisely the opposite
effect. It jerks twice more.

He fondles the front of my underpants while I remove my shirt. He removes
his as well. We move to a near-69 position and, with measured restraint,
denude each other completely.

In this position, the next actions are almost inevitable. I let Will lead,
and I mirror his actions exactly. Thigh licking. Ball sucking. Cock
teasing.

"That's driving me nuts," he confesses, "having you do everything to me
that I do to you."

"I know that you're loving it," I tell him. "Teasing you is fun."

He takes my cock into his mouth and pretends to bite it, as some sort of
punishment. I punish him in the same manner. His pseudo-biting turns to
frenzied sucking. I respond appropriately.

He slows. So do I.

Then he gets the message that he is actually controlling his own
stimulation by showing me exactly what he wants. Forceful sucking. Backing
off. Head teasing. Taking in the whole length. Exploring my hole. When I
insert my finger into him he freezes. Then it happens, and his body's
convulsive outbursts trigger my own hip-thrusting, ecstatic raptures of
pleasure. Time slows to a stand-still.

When we are done sucking each other `dry', I turn around, press my hips
against his and offer him my mouth, tenderly.

With my hand on his butt, and with him grasping mine, we drift into a most
pleasurable slumber.

I'm not sure who rouses first and, even though we have not encrusted each
other's body, this time, we decide to `save water' anyway.

His fat lip is less obvious. I probably wouldn't notice it if I didn't know
what had happened.

We dress. "What were you drawing when I came in?" I ask. "Me with horns?"

"No," Will replies, laughing. "I've already got horny drawings of you."

"What?" I ask him. "When? Why haven't I seen them?"

"They're in a different book," he says. "I don't show that one to other
people like I do with this one." He picks up the sketch pad and offers it
to me.

I leaf through the pages and am impressed by what I see. Amazing likenesses
of the people Will has met while he has been here - Mum, Dad, Amelia, Uncle
Bill (his real-life father, and mine), Simon, Luke, Joey, young Andy,
Jarrod, Tony and Rocco, and the last one whom I don't know, not done in as
much detail as the others.

"What? No nudes?" I put to him, having expected quite a few.

"Not in this book," he smirks back, raising and lowering his
eyebrows. Then, catching my surprised expression, he adds, squinting at me
in mock admonition of my earlier words to him, "Later!" He's a cheeky
bugger!

"I started keeping track of people so that I could remember them, and
perhaps show Marty, Karl, Kurt and Jake," he adds, "and tell them about my
time here."

My expression must betray my concern.

"Don't worry. I won't be telling them everything!" he smirks. I feel my
face relax.

"I especially like the one of young Andy," I tell Will, ruffling his
hair. "You've captured him at his playful best. I hope that we see him like
this again, sometime." Will nods.

"There's an early one missing," I comment.

"I know," he replies, smiling at me.

We look at each other and say simultaneously, "Horse-boy Sam."

Will adds, "I know that we'll see him tomorrow, so I thought that I'd wait
until we're back at the motel."

I have to ask about the `stranger'. "And who's this cute number, eh?" I
tease, digging him in the ribs.

Will pauses. "He's to remind me to be careful."

"What? Is he the cause of your bloody nose?" I ask. Will nods. "Hmm," I
reply. "I can see why you tried to make friends with him!" I see a certain
tension melt from Will's face.

"I haven't finished that one yet. I was doing it when you came back in."


The family dinner tonight is a stimulating time - good food, good company
and interesting discussions. Will and I sit together, opposite Amelia and
Uncle Bill, with Mum and Dad at each end of the table.

Amelia gushes about her `new cousin' and her improved drawing skills. She
dashes away briefly, returning with a single page of family
`likenesses'. They're not to Will's standard, but each is recognisable. I'm
delighted that I am no longer portrayed as a stick figure topped by a
vampire's head with blood dripping from my fangs!

At one point, Uncle Bill moves to stand behind Will and me. He lays one
hand on each of our shoulders and boasts, "Two weeks ago I had no children,
and now I discover that I have..." I think that he is about to say `two'
but stops short, perhaps realising that Amelia doesn't know about me! He
continues, "...a very handsome and talented son." He makes a show of
ruffling Will's hair, but I feel him, more covertly, squeeze my shoulder as
well, in tacit recognition of our own relationship. He resumes his seat and
winks at me. I return his wink and smile.

We discuss Will's potential, Marty, school, the new house and possible
reactions from The Village people (LOL). There are positive wishes
all-round for good health. It's an allusion to Mum's cancer treatment, but
nothing further is said about it.

Before leaving Uncle Bill gives us all a hug, even Dad, his brother. Then
he bids Will and me `safe travelling', with the intention to catch up, at
The Village, with architect Ashley, next week. Will shoots me a quick
glance. I know why. That's another face that he needs to draw. Maybe next
week.

Our love-making throughout the night in interspersed with recollections of
our most sensual moments over the past two weeks - the multiple occasions
with the boys in the shower at the beach, fun at Simon's place with him and
Luke, giving hairy Jarrod an introduction to fucking another guy, and the
raunchiness of Tony and Rocco at the Villa di Verdi. All carry expectations
of repeat performances in the future. Each anecdote spurs us on, and we
spurt on, both outside and inside of each other.

We cling to each other (in both senses of the word) and we finally succumb
to exhaustion. Sweet dreams! Indeed!

I rouse and feel Will nestled into his favourite position behind me with
his arm across my body. When I wake more fully I sense the great need to
spray deodorant around. A lot of deodorant!

Saving water together is slow, soapy and sensual. I didn't think that I
could cum again after last night, Will either. I am wrong on both counts. I
think of having a small AAA Eveready battery turned into a key ring for
him. The only problem with the brand is the spelling. It should be `Ever
Ready'!

I shampoo his curls - up top and down below - both from behind him (his
crack and my vertical shaft dock perfectly). I let him rinse off, then he
settles back onto me. I reach for the conditioner. I do his head first. He
rinses. Then, with a new handful, I reach around him and do his pubes and
play with his stiffness at the same time.

"Holy shit!" he exclaims. "That feels fantastic!" And he drives hard into
my fist. "What is that?"

"Just hair conditioner," I tell him.

"We've got to get ourselves lots of that stuff!" he gasps, pumping
forcefully. He pushes and grunts and moans and explodes. He relaxes his
full weight against me. I wrap my arms around him and kiss his neck. He
shudders.

Regaining his composure and balance he tells me to "Swap places". He leans
against the shower screen for support then pulls me back onto him. His cock
is still rigid. He repeats everything that I did for him. He's right! I'd
better pick up an ample supply of conditioner at city supermarket prices!
Oh, and plenty of deodorant.

I don't want Mum snooping around my room, just in case she finds something
that I wouldn't want her to see. Will and I leave it and the bathroom in
`pristine' condition - sheets ready for the laundry, no clothes (or towels)
under the bed, all `bits and pieces' tucked away in a drawer; nothing out
of place. I ask Will to use his super eye for detail to double-check. All
OK!

After a final `swish' of deodorant, I close the door and we carry our bags
downstairs, placing them to the side of the front door. Mum's breakfast
teases my nostrils and my eyes. Even before my taste buds get their turn, I
am salivating. Bacon, scrambled eggs, sausages, hot buttered toast, coffee!

Amelia daintily consumes her fresh fruit salad and Dad settles for a lesser
version of my and Will's huge helpings.

It's time. After a quick trip to the toilet, I help Will to load our gear
into the car.

Dad shakes our hands and wishes us a safe journey.

Will receives a long hug from Amelia and he gives her a peck on the cheek,
much to her delight.

She gives me a quick hug and a poked tongue. I poke mine back at her, then
grab her in a huge hug and say, "Love, you, Sis."

At first she is stunned then smiles, shakes her head and mutters her
recently-favourite word for me, "Weird!"

Mum hugs Will and kisses him. "Welcome to the family. We all love you," she
says quietly. It's a personal comment, not intended as a throw-away
line. She has a tear in her eye. She adds, "I hope to see you during the
next holidays."

I wonder at her choice of words. Is there any doubt that Will and I will
return together? Or is she referring to the possibility that the cancer may
take its toll on her? Is there something she hasn't told me? At this
thought, my eyes mist over and I feel my heart sink.

I take her in my arms and feel both her love and her frailty. She kisses
me. "Look after him!" she whispers, then picks up a cooler bag and offers
it to me. "Something for the trip," she says. "There's a thermos of coffee
and some of your favourites to eat."

"Love you, Mum. Take care. See you soon."

"God willing," she replies. I kiss her and don't even want to consider the
possibility of this being `good-bye'.

I throw Will the car keys. He gives them some consideration then tosses
them back. "Later!" he chuckles. I know that he is not keen to negotiate
the morning traffic, but also smile at his use of our `new word' from
yesterday.

After about 2 hours `on the road' I see a `Rest Area' with covered tables
and seats as well as a toilet. I pull in.

We both relieve ourselves. No hanky-panky, this time!

I retrieve the cooler bag and place it on a table. Will sits opposite me. I
wait, then ask him, "Do you notice anything?"

He ponders my question and picks up on my thoughts. "No cars. No horns. No
surf. No crowds." Then he adds, "Just us!" He smiles.

"Give me your hands," I say. He extends both arms across the table. "Now
close your eyes."

We sit, holding hands, for two or three minutes without moving. My senses
heighten. I can hear Will breathing. I feel his heart beat through a pulse
in the soft firmness of his hands. I hear the subtle gurgle of a creek
somewhere nearby, falling over rocks or logs into shallow pools.

The mid-morning sun warms my back. Leaves rustle in the slight breeze. I
discern at least four different bird calls - not a seagull amongst them!
The air smells of eucalyptus, not salt water.

I contemplate how fortunate I am to have found a lover - not just a sex
partner; a friend - not just an acquaintance; a little brother - not just
some handsome young guy! I squeeze his fingers, open my eyes and stare into
his. "I love you, Will," I whisper with sincere emotion. "I will always be
your guardian angel."

He replies, with a twinkle in his eye, "I love you too, Tom. And I will
always be your little devil." He squeezes my hands.

I laugh at him then reach for the cooler bag. Coffee, plastic mugs
and... some... guess! Bless her! Mum is one very special person!

We make short work of two of the custard tarts and drink half of the
coffee. I re-seal the bag, hand Will the car keys, telling him, "It's
later!" He cackles the most infectious laughter, this time accepting them.

The scenery changes from tall forest trees to what can only be described as
`scrubby timber'. We disturb a flock of sulphur-crested cockatoos whose
raucous calls make known their displeasure. I've heard a dozen before - not
hundreds all together. Almost deafening! They fly off, continuing to
complain, leaving boring, now uninhabited, dead eucalypts that a few
moments ago resembled huge living magnolias in bloom.

A town, much larger than Big Town, provides a late lunch of custard tarts
and coffee, and a much-welcomed pit stop. I take the opportunity to phone
ahead to the motel. Sam's mother asks our location and advises that we
should, therefore, be there about 5:00pm. "Well in time for dinner," she
adds. "It will be good to see you both again. Sam has been driving me
crazy, asking when you would be here. Your brother made a big impression on
him when you stayed here two weeks ago. At least Sam can spend his time
watching the clock instead of pestering me every ten minutes."

I thank her and relay to Will, Sam's anticipation at seeing him
again. "Probably anticipating `getting lucky'," I tell Will. In fact, I'm
certain that he'll be very disappointed if he doesn't. After all, wasn't it
Sam `who shoots like a fountain' who left a large impression all over Will
last time?

"Yeh, me too," Will smirks.

"Thought so!" I tell him.

"You might get lucky too," Will fires back.

"Yeh, we'll see about that! I'll be happy just to get a look at his
hung-like-a-horse equipment."

"As if!" Will admonishes. "Once you see it, you'll want to feel it, and
when you get your hands on it, the rest is predictable. I know you,
brother!"

Lost for words, with no prospect of a redeeming come-back, I just
laugh. Will punches my shoulder then, jumping away from my attempted
retaliation, tosses me the keys and says, "My turn to relax."

The landscape changes again. Trees become bushes. Sparser. Greenness gives
way to brown, and the first appearance of saltbush clumps and
kangaroos. The occasional large lizard scurries to safety from its
sunlounge of hot asphalt as we approach and pass. There is ample evidence
along the way of many that had not been quick enough.

Will not only relaxes but stretches his legs out and drifts off to
sleep. One knee drops to the side. At one point I notice a very discernible
erection in his pants. Who knows what he is dreaming, but the odds are that
could start with S.. and end with ..M. I resist the urge to lay my hand on
it, and leave him to enjoy the completion of his fantasy, undisturbed.

I muse on the possibility of Will and Sam, 200km apart, both concurrently
dreaming up strategies to seduce each other into jacking off - or more. My
thoughts wander to devising a couple of my own - a) make myself scarce for
a few minutes (perhaps talking to Sam's mother then return to catch them in
the act of something); b) let Sam sit between Will and me so that he can
demonstrate a car-racing game on Will's new tablet, with appropriate
leaning, touching and `stick-shift' changing; c) taking a shower while they
sit on the bed playing and then, after a little while, appearing naked
whilst drying myself, and see where that leads!

Whatever! From what Will has told me about Sam being so horny, it shouldn't
take the pair of them long to get into the `swing of things', regardless of
the scenario.

Will stirs from his slumber. The clear outline of his rigidity has subsided
into an amorphous bulge. "Where are we?" he enquires, gazing out at the
formless countryside.

"Not far now," I tell him, and his alertness kicks up a notch. His hand
goes down, almost automatically, to his crotch, has a feel of the residual
lump and then he sits up straight.

I'm tempted to interrogate him regarding the cause of his stiffness, but
decide to leave the poor guy alone, allowing whatever it was to remain
private.

I turn into the motel and, even before the car stops completely, we are
greeted by a waving, enthusiastic Sam and a slightly shorter version of him
- young Mikey. Sam reaches his hand through the passenger's side window and
it is grasped by Will's own. "Hi, Will. We've been expecting you."

He hurries around to my side of the car, extends his firm right hand and,
in his customer-service voice announces, "Good afternoon, Mister
Grant. Welcome back. Mum will have dinner ready in about 45 minutes."

I smile at him, noting that his hand isn't the only part of him that
appears extended at the moment. "Thank you, Sam. It's good to see you
again, too. You too, Mikey," I call to him.

"I'll tell Mum that you're here," Mikey smiles, rushing back inside.

"I've prepared your room myself," Sam announces proudly. "Same one as last
time."

I think, `Hmm, Scenario a)' and kick it off by saying, "Will why don't you
take the car down to the room with Sam, while I fix up the paperwork with
Sam's mother?"

Sam opens my door and holds it while I clamber out and stretch. Will takes
my place in the driver's seat and Sam immediately sets off towards the
room.

In the afternoon light it appears that Sam's trousers have shrunk to skin
tight; his high butt cheeks, separated by his pulled-up-too-far pants are
attractively highlighted either by a light dusting of something on which he
has sat or by being constantly worn. Either way, the view beats any scenery
that we've seen along the way! Will nudges my hip through the open car
window and regains my attention. "I'll be down in about 10 minutes," I
smile at him. "I'll spend a little social time chatting to Sam's mother."

When I go in, Mikey is behind the desk. He rings the bell and his mother
appears. "Hello, Mr Grant," she almost sings. "How lovely to see you
again. Mikey, can you please go and turn the hotplates to `low'. Thank
you." Mikey smiles broadly at me, then disappears.

We complete the tariff formalities and go through an information exchange -
the differences in weather between here and the Gold Coast, what the boys
have done during the past weeks and what Will and I have done to fill in
our time (well, not all of it), how Sam and Mikey loved having their dad
home for 4 days last week and how they miss male company. She remarks how
animated they have been at the thought of seeing Will again. I ask about
their education and she fills me in on the pleasures and pain of `home
schooling' and the materials that they use. She comments that although
their grades are high, she's sure that they miss out on some social
benefits - cricket and soccer, friends with whom to chat and exchange
stories and even just `hanging out' with someone other than a big/little
brother.

"I expect that Will is showing off his new computer tablet to Sam and that
they're probably into playing some game or other," I comment. And I think
to myself that it's more likely that they're already into a bit of `or
other'. "I think I'll go and freshen up before dinner."

"I'll send Mikey down when it's almost ready," his mother replies. "About
30 minutes or so. That should give you enough time." She smiles politely
and I thank her.

Unlike the previous occasion, there is one other car at the motel, parked
in the middle of the row of units. Ours is right down at the end.

Our door is shut but they've left the key in the lock. I turn it and walk
in. Will and Sam are propped up against the head of the double bed. They
appear somewhat startled, as if they've been disturbed in the middle of
something. LOL.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," I smirk.

"No. It's all good," Will says then adds, "I was just showing Sam my
games." He has a wry smile on his face. Sam, on the other hand, looks as
guilty as a fox in the henhouse.

"Keep going," I tell the pair of them. "I'm going to have a shower before
dinner. Sam, your mother said that she would send Mikey down to let us know
when it's nearly ready."

"I've already set the tables," Sam chimes in. "It's Mikey's turn to clear
away tonight." He returns his focus to the screen. Will rests one hand on
Sam's thigh or, maybe, returns it there. Sam looks at Will's hand, then at
me. I wink at him and his apparent consternation relaxes to a returned, if
hesitant, smile.

There is something different about the room this time. It's not quite how I
remember it. But what? It can't be smaller and I see no additional
furniture. Single bed, Double bed. Desk. TV. It's all here.

"Are you guys playing a game, or just checking out certain features?" I
ask.

Will looks at me and replies, most ambiguously, "Yes." Sam says nothing,
but looks at me blankly. I move over to the bed and poke my head in front
of the screen Racing cars. Hmm. Ready... set...

I turn my gaze away and, as I look up, it hits me. The bed has been moved,
not much, just sufficiently to see from it into the bathroom, directly at
the shower, in fact. I recall Sam's words, `I've prepared your room
myself'. So! Horse-boy Sam has a scenario of his own in mind, does he? A
bit of voyeurism?

I strip down to my underwear, throwing my clothes onto the single bed,
noting Sam's poorly-disguised surreptitious glances at me. I smile at him
and he looks back to the screen - fleetingly. I pick up one of the folded
towels from the bed, collect my toiletries and wander into the bathroom. I
place the towel on the toilet seat and turn the hot water tap. When I turn
around, I realise how much of the bed that I can see from here. Aha!

I step towards it, and pull the sliding bathroom door about two thirds
shut, in a pretended move towards privacy, then I check. Yep! I can still
see them and they me.

I drop my undies and step into the shower, closing the glass door, which
won't impede anybody's vision. I deliberately keep my backside to the door,
but turn occasionally to glance through the gap, teasingly keeping my
`gear' mostly covered in a lather of soap. Sam is staring. I pretend not to
be able to see him. Does he really think that vision through the opening is
only one-way? This works both ways, Sam!

I maintain my back-to-the-door orientation while I shampoo my hair yet,
occasionally, stealing a quick glance doorward. The tablet has been put to
one side. Will and Sam have changed their attention to each other's `gear
stick', just feeling each other up. Sam's gaze, however, remains focussed
in my direction. I decide to tease him by turning sideways and letting him
see me full profile, head to toe, soaping, rinsing and re-soaping my
body. I know that he will be enjoying the sight of my expanding and rising
member. I'll bet that his is already at full stretch. A quick glance. Yep!
Will is making the most of it. Sam appears to be getting a handful as well.

I turn almost 180 degrees, again pretending not to see them. They now have
their hands inside each other's pants. I didn't think that there was any
more room in Sam's! Will looks in my direction and smiles. He knows! Sam's
gaze is unwavering. I decide to show him a bit more than he would have
hoped for. I start to stroke my stiffness, varying my stance in his line of
vision from profile to full frontal.

I rinse off, without any attempt at a final release, and reduce the water
temperature, which also relaxes things down below. Scenario c) coming up!

I use the face washer to remove the excess water, squeeze it then step
out. I don't want to leave a wet trail. Sam is watching but I can see that
he and Will have both quickly withdrawn their hands and are re-adjusting
their clothing to a more respectable appearance. For Sam, that's not going
to be as easy.

Allowing my towel to hang down the front of my body, I use one end to dry
my hair, face, ears and neck as I walk over to the bed and stand close to
Sam who is nearer the edge. It looks as though I am being modest. Actually
I'm deliberately teasing him.

"Mikey will be here soon," I say matter-of-factly. "Would you guys like to
finish your game after dinner?" Sam looks at Will. Will looks at me. I
smirk back and wink. "And if you're not going to shower before dinner,
Will, you'd better have one later." They look at each other again and
smile. I continue, "Now, you'd both better go and wash your hands and faces
with cold water. It will help those things to go down," I joke, pointing my
fingers at their bulges. They follow the direction of my pointing then
glance at me, then at each other.

I throw my towel onto the single bed and stand there totally exposed. Sam's
expression is priceless. He knows that he should look shocked, but his face
betrays his excitement. He should really learn to close his mouth when he's
staring!

I get dressed. The boys utilise the cold water then make themselves as
respectable as residual swellings allow. "Come on. Let's go," I say. "We
won't wait for Mikey to fetch us." I open the door. As Will leaves, I give
him a friendly smack on the bum. Sam slows as he approaches the door and he
looks at me - not in fear, but in anticipation. He gets his swat as well; a
couple actually! I enjoy the feel of his firmness as much as he does being
patted, I'm sure.

The daylight is fast diminishing but there is nothing gloomy about being
behind Will and Sam; the slimness of their figures clearly discernible with
their rounded cheeks contracting enticingly as we walk to the other end of
the complex.

Once we are inside, Mikey insists on sitting next to Will, so there is
quick rearrangement of place settings with Mikey, Will and Sam on one side
of the table and `we oldies' opposite.

Another, as-yet-unoccupied table is set for three telecommunications
workers who, I am told, are out west checking the regional
infrastructure. They are using the motel as their base for about a
week. Good income for her, according to the boys' mother - paid by the
federal government. "We don't see much of them," she says. "They leave
early each day. Sometimes I pack a hamper for their breakfast if they have
a long way to travel. Also one for lunch. They come in for a big meal at
night, collect their hampers for the next day if they are leaving early,
then disappear."

"They're really old!" Mikey pipes up, to join the conversation. Then he
adds, "Like Mum and Dad!" He giggles. His mother picks up her serviette and
throws it at him in mock offence.

If I was to hazard a guess at her age, I would put her in her early
40s. Old? Well, I guess that I might consider somebody more than three
times my age to be old, too. I understand Mikey's perspective, but still
smile.

Sam asks his mother's permission to finish the computer game with Will
after dinner. She agrees. Mikey frowns. "You're on clean-away,
squirt. Remember?" Sam reminds him.

Mikey pouts, "It's not fair. I never get to play with nobody."

"Anybody," his mother corrects him.

"I don't never get to play with not anybody," Mikey reiterates, emphasising
the `anybody', regardless of the multiple negatives. I smirk.

His mother looks at me and sighs, "He'll get it one day, I hope."

"Yes, probably when he's really old," I say, grinning at him. Then I add,
"Like Sam."

Smiles around the table erupt into infectious laughter, as Sam gets up and
imitates an old man hobbling around the room.

Mikey dutifully begins to collect the used plates and utensils as his
mother heads back to the kitchen for dessert.

"Here, let me do that, Mikey," I offer. "Why don't you stay and talk with
Will?"

He beams, "Thank you, Mister Grant." Sam adopts a sour face momentarily, as
though I had given away some advantage that belonged to him.

In the kitchen, I explain to their mother that I've let Sam's little
brother have a bit of time to talk with my little brother and she smiles,
"Thank you, Mister Grant. I think that Mikey was looking forward to seeing
Will as much as Sam was. All we heard from Sam for the first few days after
you left was, `Will this...' and `Will that...'. I think that Mikey was
feeling as though he'd been deprived of something special."

"Do you think that Mikey might accept a `substitute Will' for a while?" I
ask her. "I'd be happy to spend a bit of time with him. Maybe he would be
happy to show me how to play one or two of the games on my new computer
tablet. Most of them I've never seen before; the salesman put them on
there. He'd probably beat me, regardless of whatever it is."

"Oh, would you, Mister Grant? I'm sure that he will be thrilled! His father
is either too tired to spend time with him or is really busy doing
maintenance when he's home and even Sam seems to want to be alone a lot
lately. Even though I spend time with him, I think that Mikey is outgrowing
his `Mum' all too quickly. It was about this same age, almost 12, when Sam
really shot up and started giving up on his childhood toys and
interests. Mikey just loves it when Sam wants to spend time with him. They
wrestle a lot, which both boys enjoy, but some days Mikey just seems to get
under his big brother's skin."

I can't help but wonder if and when Mikey will want to be included in Sam's
games - not the computer ones.

"Give them another year or so, after Mikey grows a bit more, and I'm sure
that they'll be the best of mates," I encourage her, displaying a little of
my child psychology knowledge and thinking to myself of other ways that two
teenage brothers could become closer; regretfully exactly what Will and I
had both missed.

"Oh, by the way, I'm Barbara," she says. "I'm sorry. It was rude of me to
not introduce myself earlier."

"I'm guilty as well!" I tell her. "Please call me `Tom'."

I help her carry the bowls of apple pie, custard and fresh cream back to
the table and ensure that all three boys have the largest servings. Their
eyes sparkle, especially Will's. The sweets disappear quickly. Sam pushes
his plate across in front of Will towards Mikey saying, "There you go,
squirt." Mikey dutifully but unenthusiastically takes it, collects the
other empties from everyone and heads towards the kitchen.

"Coffee?" Barbara asks.

"Thank you. Milk and one sugar, please," I reply. She disappears.

"Would you like a milk shake, Will?" Sam asks.

"Really?" he replies, surprised.

"Sure! I make them all the time. Chocolate?"

Will nods, "How did you know?"

"Just a guess," Sam replies. "Mikey and I love chocolate."

As Sam is about to enter the kitchen, he is nearly bowled over by Mikey
coming the other way. "Hey! Watch it, squirt!" Sam remonstrates. "No
running inside!"

Mikey ignores him. He is beaming and rushes over to me, positioning himself
`in my face', astride my thigh. He couldn't get much closer. "Gee, Mister
Grant. Thank you! Mum said that you'd play with me while Sam's playing with
Will."

The pouty look on Will's face reminds me instantly of Garry Coleman's
favourite expression for his brother in the `Different Strokes' TV series
that Mum has on DVD - `Wots you talkin' `bout, Willis??' It conveys an air
of suspicion: `What's going on? What are you up to?'

I Wink at Will, then say to Mikey, "Yes. Are you any good at computer
games?"

"You bet!" he quips.

I reply to him, but mainly for Will's benefit, "You don't mind if Sam plays
with Will in our room on Will's computer while you and I play here on
mine?" Will smiles at me.

"No way! That'd be so cool!" He's bouncing excitedly, almost springing,
above my leg. Then he sits on my thigh, relaxing his whole body weight onto
me, with one of his knees very near my crotch and the other one outside of
my leg. "Thank you, Mister Grant!"

I ruffle his hair. "No problem, Mikey. But you're not allowed to beat me
too badly, OK?"

He chuckles and bounces, his knee brushing against my pants. I cup my balls
with one hand, smile at him and say quietly, "Just be careful down there,
eh, sport?"

He looks down at his knee and my hand then giggles, "Sure thing, Mister
Grant!" He moves back until his bottom is touching my knee, which I raise
and lower, bouncing him up and down. He enjoys the `ride' and then,
clutching his own little package, he leans forward and whispers to me,
"That tickles!"

He hops off, collects the salt, pepper and sauce from the centre of the
table and heads back towards the kitchen.

Before Will makes any smart-arse remarks about Mikey, I get in first. "I
hope you appreciate me giving up my time so that you and Sam can be alone
for a while."

He says, "Thanks, Tom," and I think that he is about to add more when Mikey
re-emerges with a tall glass of chocolate-coloured milk, followed by Sam
carrying two more and by Barbara with a couple of coffees.

Everybody resumes his own seat. Will and Sam talk about different computer
games. Barbara and I discuss the lack of rain and she tells me that it's
much worse where he husband is. The local farmers there are in dire
straits, with many having to resort to shooting their emaciated livestock
because there is no feed and they can't afford to have any trucked in. Most
of the water there has dried up. At least here, at the motel, water is
pumped from a natural spring not too far away.

I can tell from the look on poor Mikey's face that he doesn't know which
conversation to listen to. He occasionally makes a comment to Will and Sam
about his score in a particular game but is largely ignored by those
two. He also looks very sad as he contemplates what Barbara is saying, or
is it just that he feels that he's the `odd one out' now that both his
brother's and his mother's attentions are on somebody else?

Will and Sam finish their milkshakes with a pair of noisy slurps and Will
offers to take the tall glasses to the kitchen. Sam says, "It's OK. Mikey
will do it, won't you, squirt?"

I see Mikey `give Sam the finger' below the level of the
table. Unfortunately, so does his mother. "I saw that Mikey," Barbara
scolds. "Just for that you can take their things when you have finished,
plus Mister Grant's and mine." Then she adds, "I've a mind not to let you
play with Mister Grant at all!"

There is a look of horror on the faces of all three boys at this withdrawal
of anticipated `freedom' and fun, but I don't want to intervene in parental
discipline, so I simply raise my eyebrows to Will and Sam and take another
sip of coffee.

Mikey's eyes fill up with tears and he splutters out, "Sorry, Mum."

"OK, then," Barbara tells him. "You can still play, but it will only be
about half an hour."

Sam and Will both noticeably relax. Mikey goes to his mother, gives her a
hug and apologises again.

Will and Sam head out, in order to `maximise' their available time
together.

Barbara and I continue chatting while Mikey clears the table and wipes it
down.

"Should Mister Grant and I play in here, or on the lounge?" a chastened
Mikey asks his mother.

"It doesn't matter, dear," she replies. "Whichever is easier." She looks to
me for some direction.

"I have no idea, Barbara," I tell her. "It's all new to me. Why don't we
leave it up to Sam, once he sees the computer tablet and the games?"

"Sure. That sounds reasonable," she replies. "It will take him about ten
minutes to finish his jobs." We continue talking for about another five and
I suggest that I should get my tablet so that I'll be ready when Mikey is.

I stroll back to the room. The boys have had almost ten minutes head
start. I wonder where they'll be up to, or what they'll be up to! The door
is ajar and both of them are propped up on the bed, with the tablet on
Sam's thighs. They look up at me, obviously having anticipated my
return. Will indicates where he has placed my device, ready for me.

"Thanks, Will. I will probably be more like 45 minutes, I think. You two
have fun." I smile at them, grab the room key and close the door on my way
out. I stand and listen. No laughs, no `hell yeh's. Maybe they do intend to
just play computer games after all. As if! I'll give computer games 5
minutes; 10 absolute max.

I greet Barbara then sit at the table, get the tablet `going' and locate
the folder in which Jarrod has installed all of the games. There seems to
be many more that what I paid for. I hope that there's nothing to which
Mikey shouldn't be exposed.

"Ready for inspection?" Barbara intones as Mikey enters the room from the
kitchen and professing that all is done.

"Yes, Mum," he replies, subserviently, and she follows him out.

In a matter of seconds, Mikey bolts excitedly back into the room and plonks
himself next to me, shuffling his chair as close and it will go. Barbara
follows and busies herself with replenishing stocks in cupboards and
drawers.

Mikey cranes his neck to look at the screen, then asks, "Can I sit on your
knee, Mister Grant, so that I can see better?"

"You'd better ask your mother if it's OK with her," I reply, with a measure
of trepidation at his question.

"Mum?" he asks, raising his voice, knowing that she would have heard his
original request.

I look towards Barbara for her decision, with a suitable expression of
surprise on my face. She looks at Mikey and smiles, "OK, if Mister Grant
doesn't mind."

I pat my knee and Mikey jumps on, sitting astride my leg like a cowboy on
his horse, with his back to me. Barbara smiles and gives me an `AOK' sign
with her hand, then busies herself between the dining room and
Reception. Mikey wiggles his firm little bottom back as far as it will go
and leans his body back against mine. I suspect, from what Barbara has told
me that he doesn't get a lot of this close contact with his dad.

I jiggle my knee up and down a little, making `horsey' noises, while Mikey
takes control of the screen and begins exploring the games folder. Then he
stops, looks around seemingly to confirm that Barbara is not within
earshot, then says, a little louder and his previous whisper, "That tickles
again." He swivels himself around, sideways to me, so that both of his legs
are between mine. He adds, out of the blue, "When it tickles like that, it
goes hard."

I look at him. "What do you mean, Mikey?"

He displays the front of his shorts to me and fingers a pencil-thin but
none-too-short erection. "When it tickles, it goes hard, like this." This
appears to be spoken with matter-of-fact innocence, but as though he is
confiding in me a great personal secret, not for his mother's ears.

Out of interest I ask, "How old are you, Mikey?"

"Eleven and eleven twelfths," he proudly replies.

Then, finding a particular racing game, he announces, "Hey, I know this
one. Can we play this one, please?"

"Sure, if you like, sport," I tell him.

He looks around as if searching for something. "What's up?" I ask.

"There's no controller." He replies. "That means we'll have to take turns."

"OK," I tell him. "You go first and I'll watch."

He starts the game then wiggles and squirms as if trying to find a more
comfortable position. He finishes up sitting right in my lap with his legs
between mine. He continues to play and squirm, leaning right then left and
his bottom slides in sync with his leaning. I feel his cheeks contract
whenever he hits the brakes. Uh-oh! His movements are causing me some
unwanted stimulation and I can feel a certain firmness developing
underneath him.

Mikey continues to move back and forth, left and right and, occasionally,
up and down. My swelling bump has become a hard lump. He presses `pause' in
the game, but continues to swivel and slide, trying to get comfortable,
presumably because of my stiffness under his backside. Then he reaches
behind him as if to locate the source of his discomfort. He gets it first
go! His young hand grips my erection and then he lets go.

"Oh," he says smiling at me. "Does yours tickle too?"

"Yes, Mikey, it does." I tell him and add, "But it's not something that I
think you should tell anyone. OK?"

"OK, Mister Grant. I won't tell. Sam says that I shouldn't oughta tell
stuff too."

Should I ask him? I'm curious, but shouldn't go down that path. "Good boy,
I reply. You shouldn't tell stuff if your brother asks you not to. And
maybe there's some stuff that you wouldn't want him to tell either. It's
called trusting each other."

Fortunately, there is a lot of noise in reception and I can tell that the
workers have come for their meal. Mikey jumps down and somehow is able to
hide his hard pencil. "Sam should be helping Mum tonight, but I guess I'm
gonna have to do it. He can do the big `clean away' afterwards. Ha, ha, ha,
Sam!!"

I rearrange my own thicker piece of `stationery' while Barbara shows her
other guests to their `usual table'. She apologises to me for interrupting
and says, "Mikey's going to help me for about 10-15 minutes. You can
continue playing in the lounge room, if you like."

I thank her and say, "I'll put the computer tablet in there and come back
shortly."

Barbara and Mikey go into their obviously-well-rehearsed customer-service
flurry. Orders. Drinks. Cooking. I head off to check what the boys are up
to.

I reach our room and immediately note that something is different. No light
is shining from inside. I wonder whether they have turned the light off to
better see the screen, or if they are playing a ribald version of `Murder
in the Dark' or do they just find doing touchy-feely `stuff' more exciting
in total darkness.

I insert my key in the lock as silently as possible and turn it. No
squeaks. The door opens. I see a shaft of light emanating from the bathroom
and hear the sound of a running shower. I close the door quietly, creep
over to the bed and sit myself where Sam was earlier. I can see them but,
with the bedroom darkened, I doubt that they would be able to see me. I sit
very still and watch.

I take in the beauty of Sam's naked backside - two firm, rounded globes
that bulge to accentuate his crack even more! I watch them contact and
relax, over and over. He is hunched over Will's back. Surely he cannot have
that massive tool inside Will's arse! It's not possible!

When they swivel profile-to-me I see the end of Sam's horse-sized cock
continually reappearing from under Will's balls with each thrust.

"Oh, Will," he moans. "This is fantastic." He pounds Will a few more times.

"Don't cum!" Will tells him. Sam pulls back. OMG. Look at the size of that
thing!

I wonder whether Mikey's long pencil will end up like his big brother's
down-pipe!

Will turns Sam around, soaps his own cock and does some thrusting of his
own. He closes his eyes and I can see ecstasy on his face with every
push. He reaches around and takes Sam's giant cock and commences jacking
it, alternating between one and two hands.

I can tell from Sam's face that the geyser is about to erupt. He warns Will
who keeps jacking. Then I see a huge stream of white reach almost to the
top of the shower screen. And another. And more. OMG. Will was right - he
does shoot like a fountain! How on earth...?

I see Will slam up against Sam's backside and then sprays of cum emanate
from below Sam's balls. Sam turns and they mash their hips together. Will
cups Sam's globes and Sam returns the favour.

Now is a good time, I think. I creep to the bathroom door, poke my head in
and announce, "Nice show, boys!"

"Shit!" Sam says, as he jumps, unsure whether to cover his mouth, his heart
or a small part of his gear.

"Fuck!" Will shouts, equally shocked. "You fucking scared the life out of
me, Tom!"

"Yeh," I laugh. "I just saw that life spray out of both of you."

I push the door wider, go in and say to them both, "What a pity we don't
have time for a threesome!"

"Hell, yeh!" Will shouts. Sam looks dumbfounded.

"What's wrong, Sam? You saw mine earlier!" I put to him with a leery smile.

"But..." is all that he can manage.

I walk to the shower door, undo my pants and release my stiffness. "Go on,
you can touch it if you want to." He tentatively takes it in his
still-soapy hand and begins to rub me up and down, slowly. I moan in
pleasure at the feel of his touch and reach for his softening but still
bulky tool, and play with it. The feel of this, after watching their show
together with the thought of being felt up my Mikey earlier, tips me over
the edge, very quickly!

I spray them both and Sam milks me for the rest, as they both contemplate
my streaks on their bodies. "Hey," I tell them, "You can just rinse it off!
I'll be back later."

I withdraw, clean off the excess from my cock with a clean towel and zip
up. I hope that there will be no leaks!

As I pull the unit door closed behind me, I can hear squeals and laughter -
from both of them.

The workers are noisy. Barbara ushers me through to the lounge. I pass
Mikey who says, "I won't be long."

Barbara adds, "He'll be finished in a minute. I can handle the rest."

I sink into a low, leather, 3-seater, and boot the tablet back into life. I
restart the racing game and attempt to get in some practice, according to
what I observed Mikey doing. I think I'm getting the hang of it although I
could be black-flagged for going too slowly!

Mikey laughs from behind me. I didn't hear him come in because I was
concentrating.

"Come on, then. You show me how to do it, smarty pants!" I encourage and
provoke him. He heads straight for my lap and `settles in'. He takes over
and the pace of the car increases dramatically. However, his wiggling,
swivelling and sliding is far more that required by just syncing with the
game. The little imp! The thought of him trying to stimulate me
intentionally, simply hastens the achievement of his objective, despite the
fact that I've just cum, back in the unit.

"Tickle, tickle!" he laughs, without taking his eyes off the screen.

During a slight pause in the game for a restart, he reaches under his
backside and has a quick feel of my elongated tool.

Rather than dissuade him, which propriety and the law dictate that I should
do, I just say, "Don't let your mother catch you doing that!"

"She won't!" is his glib reply, as the game restarts.

I rest one hand on my knee and the other beside me on the lounge, then just
relax and savour what his tight little backside is doing to me.

During the next pause he grabs my hand and transfers it from my knee to the
front of his shorts, straight onto his hard pencil!

"Go on," he says. "Tickle it." He resumes playing. When I don't make any
movement, he adds, "...Please."

Against my better judgment, I accede to his plea and feel him up, rubbing
and gauging the length, girth and firmness of his spike, then search for
his balls. Their curvature is not hard to discern. I run my fingers lightly
over them and feel his pencil twitch. "Tickle, tickle." I say, parroting
his earlier words to me.

He laughs, pauses the game, raises his butt and sandwiches his hand between
him and me - palm down. "Tickle, tickle," he echoes, exploring all of my
gear.

We continue for about 30 seconds.

My conscience says `stop'. My senses counter with, `don't stop.' Conscience
wins. But, how can I stop without hurting Mikey's feelings?

I use both of my hands to lower him down off my lap. "Sorry, Mikey, I've
got to go to the toilet. Where's the closest one?"

Without thinking, he says, "In there," indicating the dining room. Then he
recants, with a measure of desperation, "Or, there's one down there between
my room and Sam's room."

I think to myself, `That's all I need - having to explain to Barbara why I
was down with Mikey near his bedroom!' "Thanks," I tell him, "but this one
will be fine." I head back into the dining room, look around for it then
head over to the door in the corner.

I wash my hands and face in cold water, as I had told Will and Sam to do
earlier, then I do take a pee and pack my diminished gear away as securely
as possible.

Without interrupting her too much, I chat to Barbara on my way back, and
tell her, "Mikey's really good in a racing car! Way better than I am."

Mikey comes in probably following the sound of my voice. "Are you gonna
play some more, Mister Grant?" I look at my watch and Barbara picks up on
my cue.

"Not tonight, Mikey," she says. "Mister Grant needs his sleep. He has a
long way to drive tomorrow."

"Awww!" he laments.

Neither I nor his mother is going to get into a debate with him.

"Mister Grant was just telling me how good you were. Please don't spoil
it," she says smiling a motherly smile, in an attempt to placate his mood.

Mikey takes the bait! "Yeh, he was pretty good... but I was better." He
grins at me with a deeper understanding than that which he has conveyed to
his mother.

I add my two cents worth, "Give me some time to practise and let's see if
I'm any better next time, eh?" I wink.

He says, excitedly, "Are we going to see you again? Are you gonna come
back?"

"Of course," I reply. "Next holidays, for sure! And if a game gets too
hard, I might need you to give me a hand, again." He looks at me as if to
clarify the meaning of what he's hearing. I add, "We might even find
something more exciting than the car game." I'm hoping that Barbara doesn't
pick up on any double entendre. I can tell from Mikey's wide eyes and broad
grin that he certainly does.

I turn to Barbara, "At some time, Sam and Mikey might like to spend a few
days at my school, when there's some appropriate accommodation
available. They can bring their home schooling lessons and also play with
the other kids, I mean `children'". Barbara smiles.

"Oh, wow! Can we mum?" he lets burst forth, then adds, "Pleeeze!"

"But..." I add, "you have to be good for your mother and father. I'm sure
that they'll let me know if you're not!"

"Thank you, Tom," Barbara responds. "I'll talk with my husband about it."

"Thank you, Mister Grant," Mikey echoes enthusiastically.

"Now, young man, you'd better get ready for bed," Barbara tells him. "But
first, can you please get Mister Grant's computer for him?"

"It's called a `tablet', Mum," Mikey corrects her, to display his
newly-found superior knowledge of technology, as he disappears into the
lounge room.

Barbara asks, "What time would you like breakfast Mister Grant? The workers
said that they will `sleep in' tomorrow and eat at 6:30. So, any time would
be good.

Mikey comes back with my tablet and catches the `6:30' bit, then hands it
over. He adds, "Thank you, Mister Grant for playing with me. It was fun."

I know exactly what he means. Cheeky little brat, attempting to out-do my
double meaning!

I turn to Barbara, "Early is good for us, if I can wake Will up. Why don't
you send Mikey down when you're ready for us?" Then I turn to Mikey. "How
would you like to come and wake up Will in the morning for me by sitting on
him and tickling him? At least he won't be a grumpy grouch if you do it."

He stares at me and I give him a knowing smirk. I think he'd enjoy playing
`tickle, tickle' with Will, either to rouse or arouse him. LOL.

I thought that I might go back and catch Will and Sam doing something but,
as I prepare to leave, they both stroll in.

Mikey rushes over to his brother and, jumping up and down like an excited
little kangaroo, announces, "Hey Sam, Mister Grant said that they'll come
back next holidays and we can go and visit his school and I'm better than
him in the car game and..."

"Mikey!" Barbara cuts him off. "We'll talk about it later. OK?" She smiles
at him and then at Sam. "Sam, honey, would you and Mikey like to spend a
few days with Mister Grant and Will? It would have to be while your father
is here to do your jobs, though."

"Hell, yeh!" Sam replies. I know where he picked up that expression!

"I beg your pardon!" Barbara chastises.

"Sorry, Mother. Yes, thank you. I think that I would very much like
that. And what do you think, brother dear?" Sam overcompensates in the
correction of his language.

Everybody chuckles.

I realise that Barbara had set no limits on the length of time that Sam
could spend with Will and I'm surprised that he has returned so soon -
without her having to send Mikey to collect him. "Are you and Will finished
already?" she asks him.

"Yes mum," he replies.

Will interjects, "Yes, he flogged me good! There's only so much punishment
that I can take!"

Sam looks at me sheepishly. Mikey looks too, curiously, obviously wondering
if he has interpreted some other intention in my brother's words. I raise
my eyes skywards in an overt display of innocent ignorance! I don't think
that Mikey's buying it, and his eyes narrow as he looks from me to them and
back.

"Thank you, Barbara, for a delicious dinner," I say. "We'll see you in the
morning for breakfast. Good night, Sam. Good night, Mikey."

There is a general exchange of pleasantries then Will and I head back. When
I open the door, there is a strong smell of my deodorant. I make a show of
sniffing the air, knowingly.

"OK," Will announces. "But it's better than the other smell, eh?"

I grab him in a friendly headlock, ruffle his hair and say, "I expect that
we'll need more of that in the morning. Tonight could be our last night for
what I've got in mind - at least until we get Marty on side!"

His `Hell, yeh!' precedes a general divesting of clothing and a night of
passionate love-making.


I wake early, need a pee and, while flushing, hear a knock at the
door. Mikey! I grab a towel, wrap it around me, hastily squirt some
deodorant on me and into the air then open the door quietly. "Good morning,
Mikey," I say in a hushed voice as he peers into the room. "You're earlier
than I expected. And, yes, Will is still sound asleep."

He looks me up and down in my state of undress, and smiles. "Mum said that
that breakfast will be ready in 15 minutes and hopes that is OK with
you. The others will be gone soon."

I usher him in, close the door and reply, "That's fine - if we can get Will
out of bed. Do you want to tickle him awake?" He looks at me as if to
question the permission which he is hoping that I intended. I smile and
nod. "Do whatever you like to `Sleeping Beauty' there while I have a quick
shower. He'll need one too." Mikey looks at our bags and clothes on the
single bed and I can see the wheels turning in his head regarding Will's
and my sleeping arrangement.

I head for the bathroom, deliberately leaving the door only partially
closed. From the shower I can see Mikey, and he could see me if he were
looking but he isn't - he's focussed on Will and, apparently, plucking up
some courage.

I shower and shampoo quickly, keeping one eye on the bedroom.

Mikey begins on Will by prodding and feeling one of his arms then the
uncovered leg. Will snorts and turns from his side to his back. He's still
asleep, but the tent pole below his waist isn't! Mikey carefully lifts the
sheet to take a peek then slowly puts it down again before resting his hand
on top of the raised section.

I close the taps and begin to dry off.

I see Will's arms move slowly, then, like the claws of a crab, they capture
Mikey, who squeals in terror. Will sits bolt upright when he realises that
it is not whom he was expecting and he surveys his ensnared prey.

Mikey breaks free and runs to me. I wrap my arms around him `for
protection'. "It's OK," I tell him. "He's like that in the morning."

"I'll get you both for that!" Will growls, trying hard to suppress his
mirth. Ignoring his nakedness and engorgement, he flings back the sheet,
jumps off the bed and heads for us. He whips the towel from around my
waist. In grasping for it, I release Mikey and Will pounces. He picks Mikey
up from behind, with one arm over his shoulder and across his chest, and
the other through his legs, resting directly on his crotch. "Have you had a
shower yet, Mikey?" he taunts, pushing past me into the bathroom.

"No. Don't! Mum will go mad at me if I get wet!" he calls out,

"He's only joking, Mikey," I try to reassure him. "He's like that in the
morning, too."

"Only playing, Mikey. Are you OK?" Will asks, hugging Mikey too him.

"Uh-huh." Mikey says tentatively, but then visibly relaxing into Will's
arms, and making no move to wriggle free of either of Will's hands. "You
scared me, Will!" he protests, pouting.

"Hey, you shocked me too, buddy," Will replies, letting him down slowly and
releasing the hand between Mikey's legs last of all. "Come on. Give me a
hug, and we'll call it even."

Ignoring Will's nakedness, or not, Mikey wraps his arms tightly around
Will's chest and back. Will reciprocates and pats him on the backside. "You
sure you're OK?"

"Yes, just don't tell Mum or Sam anything. OK?"

"If you don't say anything, Mikey, neither will we. Deal?"

"Deal!" He gives Will a high-five, then me, glancing first at my body, then
into my eyes. He has a huge grin on his face! "Thanks, Mister Grant. See
you at breakfast."

Then he's gone.

"And what was that all about, eh?" Will asks, with both hands on his hips.

"Tell you later," I say. "Now that you're up, boy do you need a shower!"

"It's all your fault," he jokes. "Want to save some water?"

"I've already used my quota. I'll get dressed and see you up there. Be
quick!"

When I enter the dining room, both boys are hard at work. Mikey is adding
the finishing touches to a table set for five, and Sam is clearing away the
last from where the telco workers were.

"Good morning, Mister Grant," Sam greets me. "Is Will up?"

I think of an appropriate yet smart-alec response but simply state instead,
"He was in the shower when I left him."

"Good morning, Tom," Barbara intones melodiously. "I hope you slept well."

"Like a log," I reply.

She continues, "If you'd like to sit down, the boys should both join you in
a minute. Do you think Will is going to be long?"

I didn't take any double meaning from her question until, in a freeze-frame
moment, both boys stop in their tracks and look at me. Now they both know
how long he is.

"I think that he's be here very shortly," I reply.

"All right then. I'll start serving. Will you help me please, Mikey?"

Will arrives, clean and sweet-smelling, just as Barbara brings in the last
of the plates.

"Good morning, Will," Barbara greets him.

Sam's turn. "Hi Will."

"Hello again, Will," Mikey adds.

"Good morning everyone," Will replies to everybody at once.

Same seating arrangements as last night. Conversation is jovial in
anticipation of our next stay, with the possibility of a visit from the
boys either before or after that.

When the coffee and milkshakes are finished, Barbara hands me a large
bag. "Something for your trip," she says.

Will and I thank her. Sam and Mikey give us both hugs and express their
thanks for us coming. Does Sam mean `cumming'? LOL.

With Will taking the wheel, he and I wave to the three of them as we pass
Reception on the way out.


As he drives, Will comments, "I'm so glad that you chose that place to
stay."

"They're great people, aren't they?" I reply.

"Yeh. But, tell me, why did Mikey come down and why was he feeling me up
this morning? How did that come about? Did you let or encourage him to do
that?"

"Last night," I tell him, "Barbara asked whether we wanted an early
breakfast. I said that I might have trouble waking you up, so I suggested
that he come down and, if you were asleep, he could tickle you, the way he
tickles Sam."

"Is that the way he tickles Sam?" Will asks with some surprise.

"So, now we both know, eh?" I add.

"How old is he?" Will asks.

"He told me `eleven and eleven twelfths' when I asked him that last
night. So, he's about to turn twelve."

"That age!" Will comments.

"Yes, and obviously showing an interest in male bits," I add.

"Well, he certainly has some bits that could rival his brother's in a year
or so," Will laughs.

"Yes, I saw you having a good feel, and checking out his gear!" I don't let
on that I already know about Mikey's `bits'.

"Hey, all in good fun," Will replies. "Anyway, he started it!"

We both laugh at his juvenile-sounding excuse.

"Tell me," I ask him. "Why did you and Sam come back so early last night?"

"Well, after you left, we did it again on the bed, and I wanted to leave
something in the tank to fill you up with."

"So, that was twice with Sam then twice with me. No wonder you needed
tickling back to life this morning!" I tut-tut at him.


The countryside continues to change. If anything, it looks much browner
than when we were travelling in the opposite direction. We stop for a
roadside pee. No problem with modesty - there's probably not another car
within 100km of us! We tuck into what Barbara has packed for us - too many
sandwiches; not enough muffins; and fruit juice.

"I wonder what Sam and Mikey's father is like," I comment for no particular
reason.

"Probably hung like a donkey or an elephant, I expect," Will replies.

"And, how do you know how big an elephant's dick is?" I ask.

"You need to learn how to use Google on your tablet, Tom," Will
laughs. "Jarrod showed me."

It's mid-afternoon when the landscape becomes familiar. The tree line,
indicating the river. Jake and Jane's place. The Village. The school. Karl
& Kurt's. The church. The pub. Then, some earth-moving equipment at the end
of the road. Hmm!

We turn, and head south then take the dirt road towards Marty's. Will pulls
up the car at a very memorable spot on the track.

"You wanna get lucky?" Will asks, laughing and sliding his hand up my
thigh. It brings back beautiful and life-changing memories.

"Maybe later," I reply, with my hand softly clutching the firmness in his
crotch.

Despite a certain déjà vu, and nostalgic memories, I know that
nothing for us will ever be the same again.

We drive on, and the familiar barking of the dogs heralds our return.




To be continued...

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