Date: Fri, 3 Apr 2015 16:22:11 +1100
From: Robert A. Armstrong <rob.aa@hotmail.com>
Subject: Schoolie - Chapter 40

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! Wow! 40! Who
would have thought??

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 39


Raising his hips momentarily, he relaxes into more of a reclining position
in my arms and his body goes limp against me. He moans
contentedly. Victoriously?

I know that he can feel my own firm cock below his naked round butt cheeks,
but when he slips one of his hands onto it and lightly grasps it, I say,
"Kurt, we can't do this."

Unfortunately, instead of stopping there, I add, "Somebody might come and
see us."

"No they won't!" he whispers, looking up at me. "Karl and Will said that
they wouldn't."


Chapter 40


"What?" I reply to this totally unexpected revelation of collusion between
him, Karl and my own brother. "Did the three of you set this all up then?"
I hear a sharpness in my voice that I had not intended.

He tentatively looks up at me and I can see fear in his eyes.

He quickly takes his hand from my pants and, as an automatic reaction, I
release him as well.

He slides himself from my lap and stands, almost facing me directly. He
covers his privates with both of his hands as though they were suddenly
objects of shame.

"I'm sorry, Mr Grant," he says. The muscles around his mouth contract and
contort, drawing the corners of his mouth downwards. And his chin starts to
quiver. "I'm sorry," he repeats, and his eyes fill with tears. "I just... I
just... I... We... I..."

I cannot remember viewing a more pathetic sight - a young boy with his
pants around his ankles, with fear on his face and tears in his eyes. It is
as though I had taken him by force and heartlessly molested him.

The guilt in my heart is almost overwhelming. How could I have offended
this beautiful young creature who, it seems, was only, apprehensively,
following his primal desires and was supportively aided to achieve them by
his two most trusted friends?

Am I so cruel as to hurt him? So depraved as to abuse him? So blind as to
not see his needs? So insensitive as to not appreciate his courage in being
here alone?

I'm ashamed of myself - not only for allowing things to go this far, but
for crushing his tender spirit.

His pain becomes my pain. I've caused it. I need to fix it.

I lean forward, extending both of my arms to enfold him. He cringes, as if
anticipating being hit.

I persist, wrapping my arms around him and drawing him to me and holding
him securely. "Oh, Kurt," I tell him, "I'm so sorry. That came out all
wrong! I didn't mean to scare you like that. You just surprised me, that's
all."

After an apprehensive few moments, I feel his tense body relax.

He is standing between my legs. I hug him tightly and his feet shuffle a
little so that he is leaning on me. I rest the weight of my own body
against his. I rub his back with one hand which soon finds his bare
buttocks. My palm traverses both of his cheeks which contract at my
touch. I hold him. The simple feel of him, and his body's reaction, causes
a resurgence of blood to my nether regions.

My shame is quickly overtaken by more sensuous emotions.

"You are a very handsome young man," I tell him. "And I like the feel of
your body." I pat his backside.

I know that this is what he wants to hear. His resultant giggle is almost a
snort through his choked-up emotions.

I take a tissue from the box which I keep on my table for the cherubs to
wipe their hands and blow their noses. I dab his eyes.

I'm acutely aware that he has said nothing, so I ask, reaching down, and
giving his hands covering his assets a friendly little nudge, "Would you
like to start the last ten minutes all over again?"

His eyes display a glimmer of hope. "Uh-huh," he nods, and he slowly
removes his hands from between his legs.

With one of my hands still holding his buttocks, I use the other to cup and
lift his silky-smooth adolescent balls. He is already well-endowed in that
department. His boyhood again starts to thicken and lengthen. It then only
takes a single grasp from me for it to harden and rise rapidly.

I ease him to a sitting position on my thigh with his legs between mine. He
is fully and willingly compliant.

I guide his head to my chest and cradle it.

"Are you OK now?" I ask, giving him a hug with the hand previously on his
backside.

"Uh-huh," he answers.

I know that all is well when he lowers his nearest hand onto my pants,
grasps my stiff rod and says, "I like the feel of your body too, Mr
Grant. It's just like Will's."

We allow any remnant of tension to dissipate as, with unvoiced permissions,
we idly play with each other.

I need to hear him talking, and there is something that has been puzzling
me. "Kurt, may I ask you something?"

He pauses, then replies, "Uh-huh."

"You've been hoping to do something like this with me for a long time,
haven't you?"

"Yes," he replies tentatively. It's good to hear even that one single word
come from his mouth.

"Can you tell me why, Kurt? I'm a lot older that you are and I don't really
understand."

He doesn't answer directly but asks instead, "Are you upset with me, Mr
Grant?"

"Goodness, no, Kurt. Why would you even think that?" I put to him tenderly,
giving his hair a bit of a tousle.

"Well," he starts, "you're always trying to avoid me or get away from
me. Don't you like me?"

"Me avoiding you has nothing to do with the fact that I like you, Kurt," I
reply which, I realise, sounds more like a riddle to him than an answer.

"I don't get it!" he says. "You like me but you avoid me?" Then he adds,
"Do you really like me, Mr Grant?"

"Of course I like you, Kurt," I tell him, giving his upper body a
confirming one-armed squeeze. "But, I think that I like you much more than
I should, beause I'm your teacher. That's why I don't want any of the other
kids to notice, in case they make some comment to their parents about it."

"Yeh, well, Karl and I won't!" he says insistently.

"Thank you. But there are others like Jake and Jane and even cheeky young
David who don't seem to miss much!" I tell him.

"I suppose!" he replies, without any logical solution to the problem of
which he, too, is now aware.

"So, why do you like me so much?" I ask again, reversing the subject and
object, and giving his young pecker a squeeze as it jerks.

"I just do!" He is emphatic.

"I'm sure that there's a little bit more to it than that... isn't there?" I
squeeze him again. He jerks again. He giggles, again. Aha! I thought that
there had to be. "So, why don't you just tell me?" I ask him.

"You'll laugh at me," he replies, giving my own cock a squeeze, playfully
mimicking my actions.

"No I won't," I tell him, squeezing him again.

"You will so," he says, squeezing me back.

I squeeze. "Will not."

He squeezes. "Will so!"

We are being comfortably and delightfully playful with each other and he is
starting to giggle heartily. A good sign!

"OK," he starts, "but you've got to promise that you won't laugh!" He
squeezes me hard for emphasis.

I return the favour. "I promise."

"Well," he begins. "You know that Karl is Will's favourite, don't you?"

"Sorry?" I ask in complete confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Out of my brother and me, Karl is Will's favourite."

I'm left speechless. There is a pause and he continues, "He's always been
Will's favourite. When we do anything, like wrestling, Will takes his side
and they both gang up on me. And, even when we are playing cards they both
seem to be against me. When we pick teams at school, Will and Karl always
pick each other first, before me. If my brother and I are doing different
things, Will always goes to see him first, or help him first. Sometimes
when Will comes to our place and we `muck around', the two of them just
disappear and hide from me. Will never does that with me. Never."

"Are you sure, Kurt?" I ask, now genuinely concerned for him. "Will has
never mentioned Karl by himself. He always says `Karl and Kurt' together."

"See!" he replies. "He even says my brother's name first!"

"I think that's just an alphabetical thing." I tell him. "Besides, you and
Karl always seem so happy together, from what I've observed!"

"We are, Mr Grant. But when Will comes along, my brother changes."

I'll definitely file that bit of information away for a later chat with
Will, and maybe Karl! I ask again, "But why do you like me, Kurt?" I smile
at him.

"Hey! You promised that you wouldn't laugh!" He reminds me, as if he needed
an excuse to squeeze me again.

"Hey, yourself! I'm not laughing at you," I tell him. Our mindless game of
feeling and squeezing each other continues.

"OK," he says, taking a deep breath and exhaling loudly. "Last year, when
my dad asked us both what we wanted for Christmas, I couldn't think of
anything really to tell him, but I did make a secret Christmas wish..."

"Yes?" I prompt.

"I wished that there could be another `Little Willie', just for me:
somebody who would pick me first, somebody who would take my side, somebody
just like Will, only better."

I'm not sure, exactly, where this is going, but I encourage him to
continue.

"Then a month later, we kids were all playing in the weir when Jane called
out to us that the new Schoolie was here and we all rushed over to have a
look. I couldn't believe it when I saw you! You were a copy of Will - only
better! And when Jane told you all of our names, you kept watching me more
than my brother, even before we got to know each other. I knew that God or
Saint Nicholas had granted my wish. He sent you here for me!"

I smile broadly at his `reading of the tea leaves'.

"Hey!" he says. "You promised!" He squeezes me.

"I'm not laughing!" I squeeze him back. He's the one to laugh. "Anything
else?" I ask.

"Yes! I also made a birthday wish, when I blew out the candles on my
cake. I don't know who grants those! But, I'm sure that me mistaking your
legs for Will's behind the weir waterfall was no accident. And you weren't
angry with me, or anything! And when the four of us played together, you
were happy to be my horse versus Will and Karl, and you even let me feel
your willie and you played with mine. My second wish was answered. Karl has
Will, and I have you; so my brother and I each have our very own `special
friend' now."

I have to ask, "Does Karl know of your Christmas wish and your birthday
wish?"

"Oh, no!" Kurt replies quickly. "Wishes can't come true if you tell them to
people!"

"Do Karl and Will know why you came over here or what you hoped to do with
me?" I say with a giggle and a jiggle of his hard crayon and balls.

"Don't be silly, Mr Grant. I wouldn't tell them that! I just said that it
would be good to talk to you and to see if you needed any help, without
Karl butting in or finishing my sentences, as he always does.
 When I said it, my dad thought that it was a good idea, too. So Will and
Karl said that they wouldn't come over here and hog the conversation. Oh,
and my dad said that I should invite you back for a cup of tea, when I hear
him give three toots on the truck horn."

In my own mind, I'm not sure that Will won't twig to `something going on'
between Kurt and me because of his previous comments about Kurt `having the
hots' for me. And, who better than Will, to know Kurt's sexual appetite!
However, it sounds as though he enjoys his little private sessions with
Karl, anyway.

My mind is tormented. Are Will and I really going to be monogamous? Or will
that only apply to fucking? Could we `muck around' with other guys, like
those in the Gold Coast? And what about Jarrod at the games shop in the
mall? We've already included him, and talked about doing more with him when
we go back. I'm confused - most often I'm very happy, but sometimes I feel
extremely guilty and self-deprecating.

However, as Mr Andersen said, `two can be company but three...'. I'll bet
that Will and Karl might be enjoying a little `uncrowded' time together
too.

"Are you going to say anything to Karl, about any of this?" I ask him.

"No way!" Kurt replies, insistently. "He's got Will and I'm not sharing you
with him! I'm telling him nothing!"

Although that is reassuring and comforting, I find this conversation a
little unsettling. I think that there may be somewhat more to this sibling
rivalry than might normally be expected. Is there an age when identical
twins realise that there may be more to life than each other?

"I won't tell Karl, so promise me that you won't say anything to Will
either!" he quietly demands of me.

"Deal!" I reply. We seal our pact with a tight, lingering squeeze of each
other's steeliness. It becomes like a staring competition. He doesn't relax
his grip until I do.

He becomes a tad more serious. "I've never seen yours close up, Mr Grant,"
he confides, running his fingers the length of my erection. "Is it like
Will's?"

"Yeh, just like Will's!" I reply, then I add, "But I think that his is a
bit bigger than mine."

Kurt giggles, "That doesn't matter. He is heaps bigger than Karl and me."

He looks down and focuses on me playing with his naked cock, then at the
bulge in my pants, then, almost pleadingly, lifts his gaze to my face. His
eyes almost beg the question.

"You can have a look at it if you like," I tell him, although I make no
move to `whip it out' for him.

He tentatively reaches for my zipper and his eyes dart back and forth
between my own (for approval) and `the prize'.

I wrap my fist around his boyhood and start to caress it up and
down. "Ooh!" he moans. "That feels good. Will is really good at doing that
but sometimes he goes really fast." I take that as a hint, provide some of
my own saliva as lubrication and then ensure that his whole length slowly
slides in and out of my fist. "Ooh, yeh!" he moans again.

"You like it that way?" I ask him.

"Oh, yes. Will is good and he can make me shoot faster than Karl does, but
that feels terrific, Mr Grant."

He concentrates on my zipper and lowers it slowly. I remind myself that he
has probably done this with Will and knows exactly what he is doing. He
inserts his fingers which are met by my cock, twitching. He rubs it through
the fabric of my underpants then he looks at me and I nod. He undoes the
button and clip of my pants, folds the flaps down exposing my tented undies
and hooks his thumb under the waistband which is already somewhat raised by
my concealed bulk. He again looks at my face. Again I nod.

He pulls the waistband out sufficiently to slip his hand inside. The feel
of his soft young hand around my cock causes me to shudder. He begins to
rub me as I am doing to him, and immediately discovers that he will have no
need of saliva. He giggles, "I know what that stuff is. Will makes lots of
it when we're playing together." He spreads my precum all over my cock and
continues to carefully jack me off.

"Didn't you want to see it?" I ask him. I raise myself sufficiently and he
uses both hands to pull my clothes down a little way. We are now both fully
exposed and I can't help observing the contrast between my hairiness and
his general smoothness. We resume rubbing each other's stiffness. He stares
at mine as he resumes `working his magic'.

It only takes a matter of seconds. He freezes. Leaning backwards, he has a
sudden intake of breath. I know the signs and quickly reach for some
tissues.

Too late!

One massive squirt escapes and lands on the floor. I manage to catch the
other two with the tissues. "Uhhh, uhhh, uhhh," he moans, in sync with his
hip-jerking ejaculations. He relaxes against my body. There is one final
shudder as I milk him, and he is done.

Leaving the tissues between his legs, I wrap both of my arms around him,
and cradle his now-limp body securely against mine.

I rock him gently, as a baby, waiting for him to `recover'.

After a short while he murmurs, "Oh, Mr Grant, thank you. That was the best
ever. After I saw yours, I couldn't help it, it just... sort of, happened
really quickly. I'll bet that Karl has never shot it that fast!"

I ask, "Kurt, do you think it's good when it `happens' really fast?"

"Oh, yes, Mr Grant." Then he pauses, ponders, and adds, "Isn't it?"

I reply, "If you enjoy it, Kurt, then `yes'." I add, "When you and Karl
play with Will and he makes you both `shoot your stuff' like that, who goes
first?"

He thinks, then says, "Will always does me first because I shoot really
quickly, and he has to spend a lot more time on Karl to get him to do it."

I think to myself that Kurt is being `short changed' by Will, who devotes
far more time to pleasuring Karl by telling Kurt that he wins the race and
that Karl is really slow. I can't say anything to Will or he will
immediately know what I've done with Kurt. However, I would really like to
show Kurt what pleasure he's been missing out on! Maybe next time.

"Would you like me to do you, Mr Grant? Will says that I'm really good at
doing it to him."

"Do you want to do it, Kurt?" I ask. "You don't have to if you don't want
to."

"Oh, but I do. It's only fair. You made me happy so I should make you happy
too."

I allow him to exercise his gratitude, and give him some tips along the
way.

I compliment him on his skill and his eyes sparkle through his long eye
lashes. He is indeed a stunning beauty!

I tell him when I am really close to `shooting my stuff' and suggest that
he slows down. I grab a fistful of tissues and hand him half of them. Then
I give him the `OK' to `go for it'!

He squeals with delight when he feels me cum and, between the two of us, we
get it all - what he doesn't catch as my fountain soaks his tissues, I mop
up from my pubes and balls.

"Wow, Mr Grant," he says. "That was a lot of stuff! Does it feel good
shooting so much?"

"Yes, it does, Kurt, and you did a great job. Thank you." He is absolutely
beaming and bursting with pride.

There is a slightly awkward moment as we separate, ensure that we have
cleaned ourselves up, ponder what to do with the wet, smelly tissues, and
pull up our pants.

"I'll get the bit on the floor," he tells me, noticing where it fell, and
he wipes the boards clean.

"I'll take the tissues up to the toilet," I say. "Besides, I need to pee."

"Me too!" he announces, smiling at me, obviously pleased at the thought of
sharing another activity with me.

After depositing the tissues down the hole, we stand side by side, hips
touching, and let fly two streams of yellow at the urinal. He smiles at me
and I smile at him.

When he is finished, he smells his hands and screws up his nose. We rinse
with the scented hand wash. He inhales again and says, "That's better!"

We walk back together, and he strides slightly to match me step-for-step.

We are hardly inside the door when he enfolds me in his arms and says,
"Thank you, Mr Grant, and I promise that I won't tell anyone. It's just our
secret, isn't it?"

"Yes, Kurt. Thank you. And I promise, too!" We wouldn't want your Christmas
wish to disappear if somebody found out, would we?"

He looks at me seriously, possibly contemplating the possibility of me
vanishing in a cloud of smoke, or a willy-willy of red dust.

I don't know why I added that last comment. Perhaps it was just planting
the seed of a thought for him to be extra careful or, maybe it was my
vision of me being whisked away in a police paddy wagon. I ponder - did he
entrap me or did I seduce him into thinking that he was the perpetrator?

I add, "So, there is no need to be upset if I appear to be avoiding
you. You know why, now, don't you?"

"Nope!" he smirks. "I mean, yes, I do now."

We ensure that everything is tidy for tomorrow morning's resumption of
classes and lock the windows.

The truck horn sounds. Perfect timing!

"Race you back to my place!" he chirps and dashes out of the door,
apparently revitalised.

I think that I'll have time to lock the door and still overtake him. I step
off the verandah and see him going cross-country - taking a short cut
through the paddock of weeds.

"Hey!" I call. "That's cheating!" He doesn't even look back.

There is no point in me acting like a hoon in my car and churning up red
dust; I wouldn't beat him anyway. I casually drive out of the school `road'
and around into his `street', perform a U-turn and quietly pull up behind
his father's truck.

Kurt, Karl, Will and Mr Andersen are on the verandah. "What kept you?" Kurt
calls out cheekily. The others are all smiling, and his father gives him a
playful cuff to the head for his impertinence.

I remember Mr Andersen's tall, strong, handsome, youthful figure from the
night of the fire and although I pass within 75m of his house twice every
day, we have never actually spoken.

He steps off the verandah and strides to meet me, hand outstretched. "Mr
Grant, how wonderful to finally meet you." Then he says what I imagine most
parents would say at first meeting or at a parent / teacher evening, "I
hope the boys haven't been too much trouble." I smile at that.

"Please call me `Tom'," I reply, taking his enormous hand in mine, "and,
no, the boys have been no trouble whatsoever; just the opposite in
fact. They've been very polite and helpful." I look past Mr Andersen at
Kurt who rolls his eyes, as if I'm peddling a huge lie.

"I'm Jan," he says. "Please come in." He pronounces it `yarn', but I
remember the spelling from a story that one of the boys wrote about their
family.

The small house is clean but `lived-in', with bits and pieces tidily
cluttering most available space.

"Tea of coffee?" Jan asks. "I don't keep any beer here. It seems stupid
with the pub such a short distance away."

"What do you drink, yourself?" I reply, not wanting to put him to any
trouble with double preparation.

"I'm a tea drinker," he says, "but coffee is no problem."

"I haven't had a good cup of tea for ages," I tell him, remembering the day
with Anna's pumpkin pie with cream. "Black with one sugar, please."

Jan addresses the three boys, "You guys may help yourselves to whatever is
cold in the fridge." Will is obviously treated more as one of the family
than as a visitor. They choose a can and then disappear into what I presume
is Karl and Kurt's room.

Jan hands me a mug and asks me how I have settled in and tells me how much
the twins are enjoying school this year. I respond by telling him what a
delight they both are and how proud he should be of them; all the stuff
that a parent wants to hear. In this case, it's all true!

I politely broach the subject of the rumour.

"Good new travels fast here!" he says, meaning `bad' news as well. "I
didn't know about it until just two days ago. I haven't even contacted the
boys' mother yet to see when she can take them - the sooner the better. I'm
afraid that means you'll be a couple of students short in about two
weeks. I've just been attending to some things around the outside of the
house so that I can lock it up and hope that I can return to it at some
time. There has been tell of a cattle drive from up in the territory
[Northern Territory] back into the gulf country [Gulf of Carpentaria] where
there is plenty of feed. Two of the casual hands out at the property who
will be going there have said that they could always use an extra
horseman."

"Jan, can we talk outside?" I put to him.

I'm in two minds about this impending discussion. The safest option for me
is to say nothing and have the Kurt-ly temptation removed to far-away
Brisbane. But... that's the logical and proper one, not the emotive one.

We both step out onto the verandah with our mugs of tea, facing the idle
machinery that is sitting on the property beyond the remains of Will's old
house. It is all partially obscured by the thigh-deep brown weeds between
here and there. Glimmers of bright sunlight reflect off various glass and
metal surfaces.

"Jan, I didn't want any of the boys to hear this... just yet," I
start. "But, what if there was a work opportunity for you, right here?
Would you stay?"

"What do you mean?" he asks, surprised. "What work is there here?"

I indicate the machinery. "You see those?"

"Yes," he replies. "I've been over and looked at them. I have no idea why
someone would leave them there. There's no construction work likely to
happen... out here!" he adds.

"What if there was?" I put to him, trying to sound reserved but positive.

"What on earth would somebody build out here? And why?"

I reply, "Let's just say, I have some knowledge of a project that is going
to happen that will take around four months, which will require a number of
strong workers, even an on-site supervisor. Would you be interested in the
work if that was true?"

I had originally foreseen Marty running the project, but I'm sure that
there would be an opportunity for the both of them to participate,
especially if we go with the row of cottages as well.

He appears stunned, as I'm sure that many others are going to be, not the
least of whom will be Marty - at the thought of consuming a delicacy of
pastry à la equine excrement. I can't wait to see his face!

I continue, "Everything should be known by the end of the week. What do you
think?"

He replies, almost disbelieving, "Are you serious?"

"Totally!" I answer. "I wouldn't joke about something that could impact the
lives of so many people."

"Well, I'm totally curious now about what it will be and I know three boys
who will be over the moon if we didn't have to leave," he says, nodding
towards the house.

"What about you?" I ask him.

"It would be an absolute blessing to work here and not have to ride for
weeks behind smelly cattle and their dust." He adds, "And even though the
boys sometimes express the desire to see their mother again, they both
suddenly love being here and going to school. What magic spell have you
cast over them?"

I muse on the spell that Karl and Kurt have actually placed on Will and
me. I think that it would suit the four of us to have them stay.

I go into Schoolie mode: "Jan, both Karl and Kurt have very positive work
attitudes and I know that Will always enjoys being with them."

"I have so many questions," Jan replies. "When will we know the details of
the work - you know, what exactly will it be? When will it start? And I'm
almost embarrassed to ask, how much will it pay?"

"I'm sure that all of those questions, and any others, will be answered by
Friday," I tell him. "Can you wait until then before making any other
decisions?"

"Sure," he says. "What about the boys? Can I say something to them?"

"Maybe it would be better not to, until everything is `put to bed'." I
reply. Hmm. Interesting expression! I think of a couple of faces whom I
could easily put to bed. No! Will must be the only one to warm my bed!

Jan shakes my hand so fervently that I spill my tea held in the other.

"Thank you Mr Gra... Tom. You have given me hope that I could not possibly
have expected."

"I'll come and see you as soon as I know anything - possibly even Tuesday
or Wednesday," I tell him.

I will need to check some details with Uncle Bill when he arrives. That
reminds me, I have some emailing to do.

We drink our tea while Jan and I exchange perceptions of The Village and
its people. He inadvertently, or mindlessly, volunteers comments about a
`man's physical needs' and how Lilly, Will's mother, sometimes met those
for him. He doesn't ask about how my `needs' are met, but I comment that I
know how difficult it is being away from `loved ones' on the Coast for an
extended period of time. That seems to forestall the question - not that a
gentleman would ask!

Will, Karl and Kurt emerge, bright and chirpy. I wonder whether they have
been `mucking around' (surely not with Jan and me so close!) or just
sharing (other) boyish interests.

"Are you ready to get into those emails?" I ask Will.

"Sure," he replies. I toss him the car keys which he catches, exhibiting a
huge grin. Will bumps fists with both Karl and Kurt and I shake Jan's hand
who then gathers his two boy to him and stands with one arm each around
their shoulders.

From my position in the passenger's seat, I overhear his comment to the
boys, "I can understand why you guys like him." Will drives off, exercising
my car horn.

How can so many emails accumulate so quickly?

Dad said that Mum was admitted to hospital the night that Will and I left
but he didn't tell me because he didn't want me to fret
unnecessarily. According to a message sent about an hour ago, she is
greatly improved and that I shouldn't worry. Yeh, right! As if!

There are seven from Amelia, `Sis', telling me that she's afraid for Mum
and for all of us, and keeping me updated on how she is feeling as well as
Mum's condition. This morning's message has a very positive tone to it.

Good news! Andy was brought out of his induced coma yesterday. Simon says
that he opened his eyes, smiled and then went back to sleep when he and
Luke visited with Andy's mum last night.

Tony says he was delighted that Uncle Bill introduced us to him and Rocco
at his father's restaurant and that he looks forward to visiting us or to
catching up next holidays.

Uncle Bill will arrive Tuesday morning with Ash, the architect, together
with the local council building inspector. They don't plan on staying the
night. I wonder how on earth they can do that, seeing that we are so
isolated here. Maybe they are going to stay in Big Town. Regardless, I must
check with the pub to see whether they have accommodation available,
despite Uncle Bill's assertions! I've learned over the years that whatever
he says is liable to change without notice.

Jarrod hopes that we are enjoying the games and he looks forward to playing
with us again when we return. LOL - the double meaning is obvious. Then he
adds that he'll be `ready for us'. Hmm.

Will tells me that he has emails from his Dad, Rocco, Luke, Jarrod and Sam
(from the motel). AND, he adds, from Monika, the director of the art
gallery.

We agree to swap stories after dinner.

"So, whose turn is it tonight?" Marty asks provocatively before forking a
piece of sausage into his mouth.

"Not yours!" Will quips back, then adds, "You will have to wait until
Saturday. Isn't it your turn to have `him' all to yourself?"

Marty doesn't reply, except for the rapid raising and lowering of his
eyebrows, oh..., and smirking.

I suspect that Marty may be open to a bit of 3-way action, but, beyond
jacking off together, Will and I agree that nothing more should happen with
him - and he knows it. He just seems to be testing the boundaries.

Will and I both brush our teeth and then `brush our teeth', uncertain of
where any spontaneous passions may lead us.

We sit side by side on our `magic mattress', backs against the wall,
tablets on our laps and we share information from our emailers.

He has a long message from his dad (OUR dad), 'Uncle Bill'. It's pretty
`mushy', totally unlike the practical joker that I've always known, but
he's obviously very proud of his previously-unknown love child (actually,
`passion child' or `one night stand' would be closer to the truth) and his
artistic skill. He expresses his best wishes for the future happiness of
his `two boys', without mentioning our sexual relationship which would have
been vivid in his mind anyway.

Jarrod's email to Will expresses similar sentiments to those he emailed me,
with extra thanks for allowing him to experience full-on sex for the first
time, with Will. He says that he hopes to `return the favour' next time. We
joke about this and discuss the fact that it breaks our exclusivity
rule. We settle on the fact that a 3-way shared partner may be permissible,
but only if both of us agree. Sort of like Marty with `him' and `her'. I
think, `Does that mean that Will and I can do it with Marty if we both
agree?' Hmmm, let's cross that bridge if we come to it!

Will's most startling message is from Monika, suggesting that if he can put
together a small portfolio of his works, then she would like to consider
them for a one-room showing at the gallery for an exclusive display to some
of her counterparts from other galleries. It would be putting William
O'Brien-Grant `out there' to gauge reactions.

We comment on the opportune cleaning out of Marty's spare room and our
selection of his work for just such an opportunity. We can probably send
them back with Uncle Bill.

After lights-out, we are awake for a long time.

I've got to fix that squeaking spring!

Will finally spoons up to me and whispers in my ear, "So did you and Kurt
do anything?"



To be continued...

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