Date: Tue, 9 Jul 2013 23:21:38 +1030
From: Robert A. Armstrong <rob.aa@hotmail.com>
Subject: Schoolie - chapter 4

Thank you for your encouraging feedback. I am enjoying the interactions
with you, and thanks for the photos.

I remind everyone that this is a work of pure fiction - just an expression
of a fantasy. Any embarrassing resemblance of my characters by action,
name, location or description to any real person is purely coincidental -
if it seems to be you, or somebody you know, I apologise.

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!

If I haven't heard from you, I hope you are enjoying the plot, the setting
and the characters as they develop.

Rob



Chapter 4

Following our little morning escapade and `serious' talk, Marty leads the
way. We do the quick tour outside the house. The dogs. The lean-to at the
back that garages both the cared-for SUV that he uses for driving on the
public road and the old truck that he uses for sexing up young school
teachers. LOL. The remnants of a garden that looks as though somebody is,
or was, trying to grow some vegetables, but regularly forgets to water
them. The LPG gas tanks that fuel the stove and water heater. The solar
panels to provide the electricity. Then we head towards the river which is
about 100 metres to the west. Close to the river bank there is another
small building. No, not a `building' - more of a `happening'; a rough bush
shed with no door, but enough of some sort of partial internal wall to
prevent a view of the inside from the outside.

"This used to be the dunny. The loo. The toilet." Marty explains, as if the
schoolie needs another lesson in country life.

"Yeh, Marty, I know what a dunny is! The city slicker isn't completely
ignorant," I smile at him.

"I had to use this all the time, until I filled it all in and put the the
flushing toilet in the house. You're lucky I did. Coming down here for a
dump in the middle of winter is definitely an experience that I've saved
you from! Not to mention the spiders..." Now, I'm not arachnophobic, but I
really don't want to hear about spiders, especially after Marty's snake
warnings. "...oh, and also the snakes," he adds. I think he delights in
seeing me shudder. "I still call this the `men's room'. I'll show you why
if you like."

"Sure." I try to sound upbeat and positive. "But can we talk a bit first?
We're far enough away from the house. Marty, I'm not sure where to start. I
want to say first that I really appreciate being here, and that there's
something about you that I like. No, there are many things about you I
like. I like your sense of humour, your annoying smirks, your confidence,
and even - I hope this comes out right - the way you wear your clothes, or
almost wear them as the case may be. And you have a great one - um... body
that is. I wasn't referring to what you try, unsuccessfully, to hide in
your cut-offs. Although..." I deliver with an upward inflexion, and leave
the speculation to Marty's interpretation.

"And I also admire the way you `handle yourself' in all situations - not
just in the bathroom." Smirks from both of us. The next bit is going to be
difficult, but I have to clear the air.

"However..." The corners of his mouth drop. Maybe he knows where I'm
leading. "What concerns me is your relationship with the boys." Silence. Is
it fear I see on his face? "Do you know where this conversation is heading,
Marty? I saw the look that Jake gave you over lunch. I know that he
understands the House Rule. As his teacher, I'd really like to know why."

"But, let me finish first. I've only been here a couple of days but I've
taken a liking to young William, and I don't want to see him hurt. Nor
Jake. Nor any of the others. I am their teacher. Do I make myself clear?"
He nods. "Now, please tell me about Jake."

I experience what might be called the `pregnant pause'. But, I'm expecting
Marty to answer inside of nine months. He looks to be gathering the right
words, but more likely the confidence to speak.

"Tom, I know how it seems, but to use your words from yesterday afternoon,
it's not what it looks like." He's got me there. I wanted his trust
then. I'm prepared to give him mine now, unless I detect a lie.

"And I want to apologise for what I did this morning - getting you all
`sexcited' in the truck, after you parted your legs around the gear
stick. I've seen you too, you know. I know that probably makes things look
even worse in your eyes. Yeh, Jake stays here sometimes, but mostly when
Little Willie's here. We are all cousins. They love the freedom of being
around together without their parents. About six months ago I walked in on
Little Willie and Jake jacking off. I was about to go into the room when I
heard their less-than-subdued voices and some rather familiar noises, so I
stood just near the door for a while and listened. It sounded like Jake was
getting a lesson from Little Willie. I enjoyed hearing the two of them
pleasuring themselves and each other before I `busted' them at the critical
moment. They were like a pair of rabbits caught in a spotlight. They froze
with their hands still on each other's cocks and didn't move, at least
until Little Willie spurted. He was too far gone to stop himself. I just
smiled and said to him, `Go ahead and finish Jake off, then come and talk
with me.' I left them, and after about five seconds of silence, the next
few minutes were anything but quiet. Their pleasure was obvious."

"That's when I made up the `House Rule'. What happens in the house, stays
in the house! Not only did it make them feel at ease that I wasn't going to
rat on them to their parents, but it also gave me some protection as
well. If they knew I wasn't going to say anything, then they certainly
wouldn't. Besides, Tom, I think you and I both have a sympathy for the
needs of adolescent boys and of men, eh?"

I decide to expedite the discussion. "So you haven't done anything with
Jake, molested himI know it's a harsh word but, in such a short time, I
can't think of any way to sugar coat it.

"Shit, Tom. No! Why would you even think that? I'm no pervert! We see each
other nude though. Swimming in the river. Showering. And we both like to
sleep naked - separately. And, yes, we often walk around without clothes
before bed at night and also in the morning. It's a natural thing to do!
This is a woman-free zone!" I think that Marty is either telling the simple
truth or he is potentially an excellent used-car salesman.

"Marty, I believe you. I want to trust you, and I want you to trust
me. Firstly, I'm sorry for what I was thinking. But you must admit it
looked very different."

"How?"

"Let me share with you what I saw and you tell me what conclusion you would
have drawn. OK?"

"Sure. This could be interesting," he smirked. Damn!

"Firstly, when I arrived, you came out in the skimpiest of shorts, with
your package very obvious. I didn't know if you were boned up, or if that
was the `natural', gifted you. Mr Sexy. Next, there were the wise cracks
about needing to take cold showers and your `night noises'. That told me
that you were often horny and needed to cool off, or get off. And those
damn sexy, knowing smirks of yours and all the innuendos. They have been
driving me nuts, not knowing exactly what you're thinking, but all the time
hinting at something sexual. Then on Friday night you got me drunk,
stripped me naked and put me to bed. You could have done anything to me and
I would not have known. I still don't." He winks. Damn him! "And next there
was the willingness to talk about Lilly and her bedding just about everyone
who has a willie attached. And I wanted to ask you whether you and
she... you know! Saturday morning you were watching me in the shower and
boning up, and you took a pee so I could see you instead of doing it
outside. And at breakfast you had your cut-offs undone to display your
pubes to me. And then you said that you and Little Willie share some
`secret stuff' together. And your crack about Little Willie and I looking
alike after you saw me in the shower. And what about the porn magazine on
the table in the living area? Naked men natural and boned up. Men screwing
women. Lesbians doing their thing. Guys sucking and fucking each other. To
top it all off I saw yours and Jake's exchange of body language about the
House Rule. Now what do you think I was going to make of all that?"

Marty's concerned face turns to one of obvious amusement. "You know, for a
schoolie, you sure know how to make two and two add up to five!" It's his
turn to get back at me! "Tom, most of what you see is who I am and how I
am. I like sexy talk and jokes. I say it like it is. Let me tell you, most
of us O'Briens have low hangers - like a prize bull, but Little Wille is
different. He has balls like a boar - big and round and tight. That's what
I noticed when I saw you in the shower. You're like a boar too. That's all
I meant, apart from your similar faces. I walk around naked most of the
time because there's nobody else here... usually. And yes, I'm pretty
relaxed around other guys, especially my younger cousins - probably a lot
more than I should be, I guess. And I enjoy the porn mag to jack off
to. However, there is something that I did not figure on."

"What's that?" I ask.

"You! You're not the usual schoolie. You are so different! You keep
throwing sexy lines back at me. You're cool. You've got a body to die for,
and a great package yourself. You're smart. And you are a lot of fun. And
whose mind is it that keeps interpreting my innocent comments as something
sexual, eh? Well, maybe they aren't all that innocent! You are as bad as I
am - or as good as I am! And I may embarrass myself and risk a potentially
great friendship by telling you that I'm very happy to be sharing my
private haven with you. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I feel myself blush, which I don't often do. I'm not ready to reveal my
true feelings right now. Maybe I'm still denying them to myself. "OK,
Marty. Truce! You got me! Friends, then?"

"Definitely! You got it, with benefits, if you like!" Oh, no. Not the
smirk! "Now let me show you the `men's room'. Do you trust me?"

"Why, what are you planning on doing to me in there?" Smirking back at you!

"See, there you go again!" He is right. I'm as bad as he is - maybe worse.

"OK. Show me." We round the old toilet internal wall and are standing in a
small earthen-floored area, with some light showing from the doorway, some
from just under the tin roof, and some through a number of knot holes in
the wood at the rear. There is an old bathroom-type cabinet mounted on the
back wall above the holes. I wonder if he really is going to make a move on
me. In my current mood, I probably wouldn't stop him.

"What do you see?" Marty asks, as though it's an exam question. I list
everything that is obvious to my sense of sight, including the somewhat
more compressed earth along the back, with multiple boot imprints.

"That's good. Anything else?"

"The knot holes are all slightly different sizes, and more or less at the
same level."

"Getting warmer," he says. "What else?"

"The holes appear to be really smooth, as if they have been sandpapered,
instead of just knocked out," I say as I feel them.

"Very warm!"

"The cabinet. Is there anything in there?"

"Hot." he says. "Take a look."

I open the small door and at first see nothing unusual. Then, when I focus
on the box of tissues and the tub of Vaseline in the top back corner, the
pieces start to fall into place. "You don't mean to tell me that the
Vaseline and the holes are for..."

"Bingo! There is only so much stimulation that a hand can provide, you
know. And a hole is a hole."

"Marty, that's disgusting."

"Yeh, well, Tom, sometimes I find it necessary, and it can be fun. Wanna
try it? Pick one."

"No thanks!" It's not meant to sound harsh or condemning. My mind quickly
processes the risk he has just taken in showing me this, after all that has
previously been said, so I practice my best newly-acquired country
smirk. "At least, not right now! And not without a demonstration first!"
Smirk.

"That sounds like a plan," he chirps, with a big goofy grin.

We walk slowly back towards the house. I'm glad we've cleared the air. And,
I want to confess to Marty that I'm totally OK with what he did this
morning - I was getting so horny and I didn't know how I was going to deal
with it - but I decide not to say anything right at this moment.

We all have an early lunch. I'm in a great mood. I'm not sure whether that
will change when I talk with Will. And, never could I realise what I am
about to find out!

Here, in the car, heading from Marty's place to the school, there is no
fear of anyone else hearing the discussion between Will and me. My abuse of
a teacher's responsibility is gnawing at my conscience. I am confident that
Will and I can be open and honest with each other. We have developed a
great rapport in a very short time. I need to know how he feels about what
happened at breakfast this morning with Mum and Anna, and then in the
truck, and afterwards.

I think I'll hedge around to it, so I begin with "So, Will, what did you
think of Anna's breakfast?"

"Food was great. I love pancakes. I don't know if Marty can cook them. He
never has when I've been here."

"Apart from her cooking ability, Anna's an attractive young lady, don't you
think?" There no comment from Will. I push further, "And she seems to like
you."

There is a long silence. I say nothing and wait for Will to respond. "She's
a pain in the arse She's always touching me, or trying to," he says with a
hint of venom.

I sense that something is wrong! I remember when I was his age. Most 16
year old boys would be happy to be touched-up by a well-stacked and amorous
18 year old female, hoping that it might lead to the fulfilment of their
adolescent fantasies. Even if Will was gay, his attitude should be more of
fear and uncertainty than of bitterness. My increasingly uneasy feeling
about his manner regarding Anna needs to be acted upon very carefully.

I am happy to drive slowly in order to talk more. I put my hand across the
back of Will's seat, just lightly touching his shoulders. I wonder whether
he will cringe, the way he did when Anna touched him but, instead, he lays
his head back onto me, seeming to enjoy the contact and using my arm as a
head rest.

"Will, there's something bugging you, isn't there? Do you want to tell me
about it? Just little brother to big brother?"

Another period of silence, then he suddenly sits forward. I can't tell from
the expression on Will's face whether he is about to explode in anger or in
tears. I get a combination of both - tears in his eyes and gritted teeth
through which he growls, "I just don't like her touching me. She's always
trying to. She never takes `no' for an answer. Just like my mum whenever
she wants to..." He stops abruptly, mid-sentence, and his eyes widen. He
suddenly pivots and stares at me with an expression of absolute horror as
he realises what he has just revealed to me, then clutches his hands to his
face, begins to rock backwards and forwards and bursts into mournful
wailing. My heart is pounding as the realisation of his words sink in. No
wonder he has been so emotional! That bitch has been screwing her own son,
the wonderful young guy to whom I am starting to feel a very strong and
protective attachment!

We haven't yet reached the main road so I stop the car amongst the trees
and turn off the ignition. WilI needs my full and immediate attention. I
jump out of the driver's door and hurry around to the passenger's side,
pulling the door open. I put my arms around Will and he swivels towards me
with his legs out of the car. He is a little lower than me in his seat. He
flings his arms tightly around my waist and buries his head just below my
chest. Oh, I just want to hold him and make his hurt go away! I rub his
back and cradle his head in my other hand. I know my words will be of
little comfort, but I need to say them, "Will... Little bro'... I'm
sorry. I'm so very sorry. I can't stand to see you upset like this. What
can I do to help?" The tears welling up in my own eyes begin to overflow
and fall into his hair.

He shakes his head, sobs heavily, and manages a brave, "Just... hold me
Tom... please." He moves one foot so that I am standing between his legs,
and he pulls me closer to him. Our bodies are almost fully touching. His
crying gradually subsides, but the heaving of his chest remains laboured. I
kiss the top of his head a few times and continue to rub his back. He looks
up at me, puts his hands on my shoulders, lifts his body and kisses me on
the cheek. "Oh, Tom. Tom. What will happen now? If they put her in jail
they'll throw me in a home, won't they? That's what she said would happen
if anyone ever found out." His crying, and deep sobbing erupt again, as he
struggles to breathe.

Despite my rapidly rising anger, I try to be as calm and in control of
myself as possible. "Will, have you told anyone else? Does anybody else
know? Marty?" Again he shakes his head. "Then they won't put her in jail
unless you and I go to the police. And nobody is going to put you in any
home. I'll find a way to make sure that never happens." He looks at me,
wanting to believe me, but has the expression of somebody who has just been
told that the moon is actually a big ball of Swiss cheese! It's obvious
that Will has never told Marty anywhere near the extent of his mother's
abuse. I'm uncertain myself at the moment, and I begin to wonder what
really happened the night she destroyed his paintings and he came crying to
Marty's. Was that the first time she forced herself upon him? Will's words,
actions and emotions scream `insecurity'. Yet, as bizarre as it seems, he
appears to regard his mother as his anchor in a cruel and uncertain
world. He is desperate for some stability and somebody to trust. Maybe
Marty. Maybe Jake. Maybe me.

"Will," I say, very calmly, while rubbing his muscular back.

"Yes, Tom?"

"You know... that now I feel really guilty too? I molested you as well,
this morning in the car, and I forced you to touch me too. I'm sincerely
sorry! We need to think about this seriously, and to decide to do what's
best for you."

Some long moments of nervous thinking time for both of us.

"Tom?" He is first to break the silence. "You didn't force me to touch
you. You simply helped me to touch you." A long pause follows while he
seems to draw confidence into his breath, and I try to comprehend his
meaning. "I was aching to do it. I was actually trying to work up the
nerve. I got so horny when I saw what Marty was doing, and you seemed to be
enjoying it. I desperately wanted a feel of your cock too. And I wanted you
to feel mine. That's different to mum and Anna. I don't want them to touch
me, but I want you to do it... again. Tom, I'm sixteen. Doesn't that mean
anything? Don't I have any choice in who I touch, and who touches me and
who I want to have do stuff with me?"

"Will, if I was your brother, it might be a bit different. But I'm your
teacher."

"Not yet, you're not! School doesn't start till Tuesday!" The thinking
behind his words surprises me. He has obviously mulled over this earlier!
It's too good and too quick an answer to be spontaneous, and I wonder
within myself whether there is actually any truth or hope in what he has
just said. My appointment as `Teacher In Charge' doesn't come into effect
until Tuesday, despite my early arrival. Would that actually mean anything
to the authorities?

I don't want to leave him at his mum's place now. And we can't go back to
Marty's - there would be too many questions that Will is not ready to
answer. And just sitting here isn't an option either, in case Marty decides
to drive out. Thinking.

"Tom, just drop me off near the pub, and I'll walk home. Nothing will
happen. If it does, I'll come over to you at the school, I promise. I want
to think about everything. Mum's usually OK on Sunday afternoon... she's
all I've got, Tom." Aha! As I thought! Then after a pause, reflecting on
what he has just said, the semblance of a smile crosses his face. "Except,
now, for my new big brother!" He tightens his hug, then adds seriously,
"Tom, I'm glad you found out, because I know I can talk to you about
it. Anyone else would just tell everybody in town! The women would call me
a liar and the men would laugh at me and ask me what my problem was." He
reaches up, puts his arms around my neck and pulls my face down to
him. This time he plants a lingering sweet kiss right on my lips. I
reciprocate. The sensation redirects a quantity of blood from my brain to
my groin, and I know that it's time to resume driving. I ruffle his hair,
big brother style, and take my time walking back around to the driver's
side, by the rear of the car, adjusting my half-boner before I get in so
that Will can't see it. I'm almost ashamed to be sexually aroused at such a
defining moment in Will's life.

I'm feeling quite uneasy as I drop Will near the pub. I don't want that
drunken whore Lilly attempting to use her son because there is nobody else
to satisfy her lust. I have a genuine concern for his well-being, both as a
teacher, and as a brother / protector. I'm hoping that it isn't because I
want him for myself!

I open the school building and release what I hope will be the last
remnants of stale air.

I turn my attention immediately to lesson preparation. The senior students
have materials prepared by the Education Department's special Remote
Students Division. It will be my role to guide them through this material
and to offer assistance as they need it. Generally, I believe that these
students help each other before 'bothering' the teacher, leaving him free
to work with the little ones. I'm also aware that senior students assist
the smaller ones if the teacher is busy. If that isn't the case, it soon
will be. And I have the freedom to change anything! Total flexibility, so
long as compulsory curriculum areas are covered.

I set about selecting material from the store room for the younger ones,
and plan their timetables for the week. I am going to balance the `Three
R's' with a lot of oral discussions, so that I can get to know them all
better. There will also be art, craft, games, and singing. I want to
understand from them what they like, and what they have done in the past,
so I only plan the first week - four days, in fact. I don't know if the
youngest ones still take an afternoon nap, but we can accommodate them if
they get tired. The craft room will be ideal, especially since I saw some
tumbling mats amongst the sports equipment that they can pull out after
lunch and rest on.

I am alerted by chattering and, looking out of the western windows, see
Will, Karl and Kurt enter through the gate. I follow their progress until
they appear at the door. "Come in, guys." I call.

Now, what should I call Will in front of his class mates? We didn't talk
about that one! Think quick Tom!

I had previously dismissed `William' as too formal a name for me to call
Will, but with the informal version being settled for our personal
interaction, `William' now suddenly sounds appropriate for the classroom.

I'm not sure what, if anything, Will has told the twins about me, or
staying at Marty's, so I attempt to play it cool with him. "Let me
guess... You're Karl, and you're Kurt, both eleven, turning twelve next
Friday, right? And of course, your big friend is William, the artist.

Will looks confused, and shoots me strange inquiring expression, but says
nothing.

"Wow, you're good," Karl says, amazed that I remember their names and that
I can tell them apart. Apparently he has forgotten that his eyebrow makes
it dead easy! Then turning to his brother he says, "It looks like we won't
be able to trick Mr Grant, Kurt."

Kurt replies, "Bugger! Oops... sorry sir! Umm... why did you just call
Little Willie `William'?"

"Simple. I couldn't bring myself to call any boy a `little willie'. So from
now on, at school he's going to be `William'. OK?"

The twins cast quick glances at each other and at Will at my choice of the
words `a little willie', and they utter a stifled giggle. So, they caught
the innuendo, and they must also realise how absolutely inappropriate it is
to apply that expression to Will!

I continue, "William's going to be a famous artist one day, and everyone
here will be able to say that they knew him." And I think to myself, `and
William is a damn sight more respectable that what everybody else calls
him, yourselves included'. I give Will a wink. Well, can this lad ever
smile! He now has two names from me - one that I use with him privately,
and one that I'm going to ensure catches on and eliminates the `Little
Willie' persona. So let it be written: so let it be done - move over
Pharaoh! OK, so I enjoy a bit of dramatic effect!

All the while we are talking I'm trying to be very careful about checking
out the boys' obvious packages. I've already had one bad experience, which
I don't want to repeat. Besides, I might add, my excellent peripheral
vision is serving me well, as I pretend to look past them occasionally. It
is not possible to miss, however, that they are dressed as they were when I
saw them on Friday, Will in his flesh-coloured shorts, and the twins in
their close-fitting white underpants. It doesn't take an Einstein to work
out that they are going swimming. The blond-haired twins have handsome
faces and I contemplate the fact that the four of us all have blue eyes. We
will probably be the only ones in the whole school, maybe the whole
village. However, because their clothing is dry, what is being hidden is
not as obvious as when they were wet and almost transparent. Pity! But
their bulges, close up, do reveal the clear outlines of normal-sized young
tools, but each flanked by a pair of sizeable, firm round balls that push
their boyhood outwards.

Will speaks, "Nice chatting with you, Mr Grant, Sir." We are just going to
go and muck around in the weir." Then he adds with a mischievous smile,
"Would you like to come and have a swim too?" Now I can't tell what his
motives are but, containing my humour at his over-formality, and exercising
a large measure of professional restraint, I decline politely. However, I
indicate that I would enjoy `mucking around' with the three of them at some
other time, which they all seem genuinely pleased to hear. I can't help but
think that Will's idea of `mucking around' might be different to what I had
in mind - diving and swimming races. I don't know what the twins are
thinking. I will soon find out.

"Go on then. Have some fun while you can. Tomorrow you'll become my slaves,
and I'll be the evil old schoolie," I cackle in a poor imitation of a
sinister villain. This elicits much mirth as they play along with my bit of
melodrama and pretending to flee for their lives. As I watch them run, I
contemplate that the twins certainly fill out those tight, white undies
nicely at the back as well!

After completing all of my lesson preparations I feel the need to stretch
my legs, so I wander the short distance across to the weir to see what the
boys are up to. I can't see them. They're probably under the cascade. I sit
on a fallen log, after checking for spiders, snakes or anything else
carnivorous that might like a piece of a city slicker. The log's position
is set back somewhat among the river gum trunks but still gives me a
perfect view of the water above and below the weir. I just sit still,
trying to feel at one with nature, reflecting on the rough beauty of the
environment that is now going to be my home for a year or two. It is only
then that I notice a pair of shorts and two pairs of underpants on a nearby
log. All dry.

Then there is movement. One of the twins emerges, followed by the other,
who grabs his brother's semi-erection then dives away, back under the
water. It appears that they are playing some sort of `tag' or `gotcha'
game. Karl remains stationary, almost facing me. Then Will emerges,
alligator style, but with his back to Karl. He is immediately pounced upon
and some wrestling ensues. Will rises, only to have his manhood groped from
behind. OK, that confirms what I was thinking about their game! As Karl
(identified by his just-visible distinctive eyebrow) dives under the water,
past Will and in my direction, Will remains standing, surveying the best
spot to attack. And yes, he too appears to be boned up, even in the cool
water. He dives back towards the middle of the stream, possibly to
intercept Karl, or to take Kurt by surprise. So engrossed were they in
their little grabbing game that none of the boys noticed me.

I reflect on the simple beauty of watching three boys enjoying innocent
adolescent fun. I wonder whether it was instigated by my hormone-rampant
`little brother', or whether the twins, being sufficiently developed and
perhaps experienced, suggested it themselves. The fact that they were naked
before they went into the water indicates that all three did so without
many, if any, inhibitions and, perhaps, with prior intent. Yes, I would
have loved "mucking around" with them but, sadly, it would have been
impossibly inappropriate, professionally. However, I allow myself a moment
of fantasy - a foursome. Enough!

I decide to quietly slip back to the school before I am spotted.

I sort out where I want each of the children to sit. I group the desks
together and angle them so that no child will have his or her back to me;
rather, side-on so that they can turn to me easily. I will have Will, Jake,
Karl and Kurt together in one group. Observing the interaction between
these four should be very interesting! They will be at the front of the
room on the verandah side. The young ones will be in two groups directly in
front of me. Jane and the most senior girls will be in a group closest to
the door. This leaves some free space in the middle of the room. I don't
like to feel cramped or closed in. If this arrangement doesn't work out,
I'll change it. Hey, I'm the boss!

I prepare some white board work for tomorrow morning, ensure that I have
the roll and Record Cards ready and then I sit back and relax, knowing that
all bases are covered. And I must remember to get a cushion for this chair!

Having everything as ready as possible, my mind returns to the scene at the
weir. I only saw the back of Kurt and the front of Karl. Put them together
and I have a reasonably complete picture of one. Two actually! I smile at
that - `two for the price of one'! The just-discernible patch of light
brown pubic hair, obviously darkened by being wet, confirms their recent
entry to puberty and, although Karl was not as stiff as Will, his young
cock was not slack either - not long, but reasonably thick when plumped up,
as cocks go. Kurt's backside seemed tight and rounded without being of the
`bubble butt' variety. Small melons maybe - cantaloupes, or as we call them
at home, `rock melons'. How appropriate!

I lose myself in visions of how tomorrow and the ensuing days will
unfold. Before I know it, Will is back. The twins are not with him. He
tells me that he wants to stay the night at Marty's. Should I ask him why?
There are two possibilities - to get away from his mum, or to get into my
bed, again. I dare to hope so. He says, "I just need to go home and ask my
mum first and collect some clothes and things, but it'll be OK with her. I
know!"

"All right. I'm done here anyway. We can do that on the way." I point out
to him where I think everyone should sit, and he seems pleased with my
plan, especially since he will be sitting with the boys instead of Jane, as
he was last year. I think his grin might have a lustful leer to
it. Hmmm. "OK, Will. If you help me close everything up, we can
go. Thanks."

We stroll out to the car, get in and shut the doors, I kick over the engine
and feel the air con coming to life. Following Will's directions, I drive
to his house which is, as I suspected, `the shack' at the western end of
the road past the pub. While I'm still pulling to a halt he says, "I'll be
back in a minute. It'll be OK. Mum will be glad to get rid of me for
another night." He jumps out and doesn't even close the door. I sense that
Will does not want me to see the inside of his house, nor meet his mother,
whether it's to protect her from me, or me from her.

The shack is smallish. There must be no more than a living area and
(hopefully two separate) sleeping areas. Maybe a bathroom / kitchen /
laundry attached at the back. It is of all-timber construction, even though
'construction' does not adequately describe its state. It looks like
something out of a picture book, something left over from the gold rush
days. One of those classic slab-construction huts. The wood is knotted and
greyed with age. The door seems ill-fitting. The wooden-framed windows
appear bowed and not all contain glass panes - there are a few pieces of
board, similar to those on the pub. The roof is sheets of old rusting
wrought iron, held down by some roughly-nailed timbers. I sense an icy wind
would not be deterred from blowing right through the place. I see no
chimney that would indicate a means to keep anyone inside warm. For that
matter, I don't see any electricity wires either. Interesting.

Will is so quick to return that he could almost have been through a
revolving door - taking him in and pushing him back out. He had that bag
ready! He's a little schemer - however there's a lot of brainpower in that
muddled young head! He climbs in, pulls the door shut and surprises me
with, "Home James, and don't spare the horses!" I stare at him, burst into
laughter, and ruffle his hair, which I can tell that he loves by the way
that he leans in towards me when I do it.

This is a perfect opportunity to ask Will a few questions, while he's in
such a good mood, so I determine to drive slowly and spin out the time.

"So, little bro, how are you feeling, now?" It's a bit of an ice breaker,
but I really do need to know. Did I really just say that? WTF! First I look
like Will and now I'm talking like Marty. What next?

"Fine, Tom. Thanks. It's been a good day. Great day, actually." The smirk
is back, and I think I know why - the weir and the twins. I wonder how far
their little game went and how it finished.

I continue, "Will, I know that you are great friends with Karl, Kurt and
Jake, but I trust you to respect our rule that `what happens in the house
stays in the house', and to not tell them anything that you've seen, or
done with me, OK? It could destroy my career and then you and I would
likely never see each other again." Memories of the truck ride and the
touching and the group jack off at the bath flash into my mind. Not to
mention the brotherly `display' of our junk first thing in the morning.

"Tom, you can trust me, 100%. I promise. I'll be very careful not to let
anything slip like I did to you about mum. Honest. I love my big brother
too much, to ever do something that might cause me to lose you!"

Interesting - he's used the `L' word. I continue, "And, Will, I'm a little
concerned that if you ever wanted to, umm... touch me... again... would you
do it in private, and not when Marty is around, and can you keep it a
secret so that Marty never finds out either?"

"Hell, yeh! Are you gonna let me feel your cock again? When?" His overt
show of enthusiasm and confidence catches me a little off guard.

"Hang on buddy, that wasn't an open invitation. I'm just saying there has
to be a line between what's private and what's public, that's all." He
pushes his bottom lip forward, and his juvenile pout seems to feign
disappointment that another touch-up session is not imminent.Little does he
know, that I'd give in to him any time if there was no chance of us ever
being `sprung' by someone else.

"Hey. Cheer up. I was just checking; that's all. Besides, you never know
when you might get lucky!" I give him a squeeze on the thigh plus my
much-exercised wink. That brings a smile back to his face. "So, tell me
about some of the others around here. You know Karl, Kurt, Jake and Marty
much better than I do -. But remember any confidences that you might have
agreed to, OK? If you've given your word, people rely on you to keep it."

He giggles and, after I turn the corner, I give him a serious glance to
emphasise the importance of secrecy - especially when it involves him and
me. "If people are to trust each other, we all have to follow the agreed
rules and keep private things private. We owe it to Marty, and to each
other."

"OK, you're right, Tom. Yeh, there are some things I can tell you, but
without all the detail. Is that all right then?"

"Will, you've already told me a lot about yourself today. I thank you for
that, and I really respect you for not going into all of the details - many
of those are your own private information. But, if you ever feel the need
to talk to someone about the specifics I'd be honoured if it was me."

"And thanks Tom for not asking. Maybe someday I'll tell you, but not right
now. OK? Let me start with cousin Marty because I get the impression that
you don't trust him when I'm around. You get tense: your muscles tighten
up, you draw your lips closer together and your eyes squint a little. Not
much, but I'm aware of it, even if you're not. Marty's a great guy. He
looks after me when I need to get away from my mum. And just so you know,
we've never `done stuff' together, even though I've thought about it. But
we do walk around naked pretty often, and he jokes about me springing
boners too. I can't help it. I just do. And once, he caught Jake and
me... umm... having fun together."

I can't let on that I already know something about him and Jake. "Really?
Was it embarrassing?" I ask, without pressing for any further information,
or hinting at being judgmental in any way.

"I'll say! Marty's timing couldn't have been worse, if you get what I
mean."

If I didn't already know what had happened with Jake, I might have imagined
a whole lot more! But, I want to put him at ease by telling him a similar
story, and give him the freedom to say more if he wants to. "Wow! Well, I'm
not sure exactly what the pair of you were up to, but let me I tell you the
most embarrassing moment in my own life. One day when I was 14 my dad
walked into my room right when I started to cum all over myself after
jacking off, naked on my bed. Your situation couldn't be worse than that,
could it?"

"Worse!" he exclaims, and I think, `My God, did Marty not tell me
something?' Then Will blurts out, "At least you had your own hand on your
cock while you were shooting!" We look at each other and burst out
laughing. Enough said. I nod and make a face as though I understand all of
the implications for him and Jake. He's being open and honest with me, and
I am deeply touched by the complete trust that he's putting in me. I hope
that I am worthy of it.

His laughing subsides to a chuckle, and he continues, "and I do play games
with Karl and Kurt too. But not like with Jake ... not exactly."

"Not yet?" I ask with the perfected O'Brien smirk.

Will's teeth gleam as he smiles broadly at me, and winks back. "No... not
yet. But, you never know when you might get lucky." He parrots my earlier
words back to me, and feels bold enough to squeeze my thigh like I did to
him, which just breaks me up. My laugher is immediately joined by
his. Hell, this outrageous kid would have made an amazing little brother
for me to enjoy! I adore him more every day!

He leaves his hand on my thigh. I say nothing and just lay my own hand back
on his leg. He glances at me and smiles. I turn off the road onto the
property and we continue to talk and exchange the odd squeeze as if
emphasising a point that we are making. The squeezing becomes more
frequent, and for less obvious reasons; more of a game now. There is a
perceptible tension growing, so I ask him, "You planning on getting lucky?"
He looks at me to see whether there are any red lights, then smiles and
slides his hand a bit higher. I say nothing, and keep my eyes on the
track. He slowly continues the upward movement. No red lights from me. When
he reaches the object of his desire, he just leaves his hand there, feeling
me as I swell up.

"You wanna get lucky too?" he asks. His intent is not lost on me and, with
my hormones and better judgment now in direct conflict, I find that it's an
invitation which I am unable to resist. I pull the car up among some trees
and switch off the engine. I recline a little in my seat and part my legs,
exposing my full package to his hand. He does the same, and I slide my hand
up his thigh, pausing when I encounter the bulk at the top of his inner
leg, then proceed slowly, savouring the moment, until my hand fully
envelops his own firmness. I allow us to go one step beyond the simple
touching that we did in Marty's truck, now fondling one another's package
and relishing the attention that we are giving to each other - squeezing,
rubbing and adjusting each other's rigidity and tracing over and around
each other's balls; copying each other's initiatives. We continue for a
few, maybe five, minutes, exchanging the occasional "That feels really
good" and "Oh yeh". I can feel the tube standing out on the underside of
his swollen cock and I run my fingers back and forth across it, and massage
it towards the head, sexing him up good, fully expecting his emission of
pre-cum. When Will makes a tentative move to undo my zipper I place my free
hand over his and gently say, "Not yet, little brother!" After a moment I
reluctantly release my other hand from the wet patch in his crotch, give
his thigh a last friendly squeeze and smile appreciatively at him. I lean
across towards him and putting one hand behind his neck, pull him closer to
my face. I kiss him tenderly on the lips, then sit up and repeat, "not just
yet." I restart the car and resume our trip back to the house. Will stays
reclined with his eyes shut and a broad smile on his dial. I see his cock
pulse once or twice.

As I drive I contemplate the fact that I am not dealing with a sexually
inexperienced and naive little boy. I see Will as a smart, gifted, mature
young man despite his emotional frailty, who seems to know exactly what he
wants, and isn't afraid to take the lead and go after it. With Jake, with
Karl and Kurt. Even with me.

With the now real prospect of going a bit further, some time, Will appears
satisfied with what has just happened. Me too.

And then thoughts of the 11-year old twins, Karl and Kurt, intrude on my
mind.

To be continued...


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