Date: Sat, 20 Jun 2015 07:28:13 +1030
From: Robert A. Armstrong <rob.aa@hotmail.com>
Subject: Schoolie - Chapter 43

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 42


I wake to the sound of the toilet being flushed. It's morning. What is
missing is the usual smell of bacon cooking. Marty's having a slow start
after a long night, apparently. However, I can discern the aroma of
percolated coffee instead of our usual instant stuff.

I extricate myself from Will's entwining grasp to take an early morning
pee.

As I step into the corridor I catch sight of his naked body take the final
few steps before disappearing back into the bedroom without closing the
door. Nothing unusual, except... that... it wasn't Marty!

What I have just seen is the unmistakeable and ultra-cute arse of
architect, Ashley Cook. Ash!!


Chapter 43

I'm tempted to rush back into the bedroom and alert Will that we have an
unexpected guest in the house. However, my bodily needs overrule!

As I stand, trying to empty my bladder as rapidly as possible (it has other
ideas, of course), a myriad of thoughts runs through my mind.

Did Ash spend the night here? Of course he did!

Why was he naked? Because Marty always sleeps naked.

Did Ash and Marty have sex? Why else would they have slept naked in the
same bed?

Who made the first move on whom? Does it matter?

Is Will going to be pissed off that Marty `got to him' first? Probably even
moreso than I am!

Think quick, Tom!

I decide not to flush the toilet (which makes a noise) and walk quietly to
Marty's open door. OK, so I sneak to Marty's door! I lean on his door frame
for a while and observe the two naked bodies snuggling together. Ash has
his back to the door. Marty's hand is massaging Ash's cute arse. "You guys
want breakfast in bed?" I ask, at which they both jump.

Marty raises his head, looks a little `flushed' and replies, "Good morning,
Sunshine. It's OK thanks. We'll be up in a minute or so."

"You mean you're not `up' already?" I smirk at him. I receive `the finger'
for being a smart arse.

"Take your time," I tell them. "Coffee will be waiting for you." Then,
sing-song fashion, I deliver the double entendre, "How do you like it in
the morning, Ash?"

Ash rolls onto his back, displaying a magnificent flag pole. He looks at me
and grins, "With cream. You?"

"The same!" I smirk at him. He takes in my nakedness and my growing arousal
and his flagpole twitches.

"Oh," I add, smirking. "One of Marty's house rules is `no clothes before
breakfast'." Marty's rule be damned! I really just want to ogle his naked
body!

"Suits me fine!" Ash replies.

"I'll go and get Will up." I say, innocently.

"You mean he's not up already?" Marty quips. They both laugh at his
repetition of my words to him.

I hurry back to the bedroom. Will is face-down. Another cute arse! I shake
him lightly. His only response is a grunt. I slap his backside. "What?" he
growls.

"You'll never guess what I've just seen!" I put to him as his flickering
eyes roll shut again.

No reply. I pause.

He opens one eye. "What? A snake, I suppose? I've heard that one before."

"Not quite that big," I tell him. He opens the other eye. "Ash is here, in
bed with Marty, naked!"

Now he's fully awake!

"I don't believe you," he shoots back. "You're only saying that to get me
out of bed!"

"You're right," I tell him, hanging my head in shame and apologising as
well. "Sorry."

There is a moment of immobility, then the reverse psychology kicks in, with
a vengeance. He can't resist finding out for himself. He brushes me aside,
his chunky slightly-diminished morning glory flopping heavily from side to
side, and almost stomps out of the room towards Marty's end of the house.

I step into the corridor and, smiling, watch as Will doesn't even pause at
Marty's door. He just turns and disappears inside.

The ensuing silence is suddenly broken by squeals and screams for
mercy. Will's voice!

How can I not investigate? But I take my time. The squealing intensifies.

I resume my previous door-frame-leaning position and chuckle at the sight
of Will, flattened on Marty's bed, face up. Marty is kneeling on his
shoulders with Ash on Will's legs, pinning him so that he can't escape by
wriggling.

Marty and Ash take turns of either pinching Will's nipples or grasping his
balls and cock.

I see three very hard erections. Then there are four.

"Help! Help!" Will yells, noticing me. "Don't just stand there!"

"OK," I shout, and hasten, very slowly, to the bed.

Then, while Marty and Ash hold him, I grasp and begin tickling Will's
feet. The volume of his screams doubles.

"Oh, did you mean for me to help YOU?" I casually chuckle to Will. "You
weren't very specific!"

"Bastard!" Will shouts.

"What do you suggest that I do?" I further taunt him.

"Aaargh!" he wails.

"Did you just say `coffee'?" I ask calmly. Marty and Ash are in stitches,
laughing.

I think that his squawking is about to turn to crying. "OK, I hear you,
bro!" I tell him and I grasp Ash around his body from behind, pull him off
Will's legs and off the bed and I hold him securely against my body,
savouring my stiffness snuggling against his cuteness.

His momentary resistance subsides and he leans back onto me.

"I think that I'm going to like it here!" he mutters.

"Oi!" Marty calls, looking at us, just as my right hand reaches around Ash
for a first feel of his rod.

"Hey!" Will also protests. "What are you doing?"

"Well, you wanted me to get him off you," I reply jocularly.

"Yeh, well, now you can get him off YOU!" Will says with some seriousness,
perhaps more from envy than anger.

Marty leans down and whispers into Will's ear. He nods. Then without
another word, Marty and Will both bounce off the bed and grab me. They
muscle me to where and how Will had been held.

I'm happy to play along until Marty pinches my nipples and Will squeezes my
balls ... none too gently either!

"Enough! Let me go!" I tell them. Then "Aaargh!"

"How do you like it, eh?" Will growls.

I see Ash move to my feet, smirking.

"That's not where he's ticklish!" Will tells him, indicating that he should
attack my ribs and under-arms.

"No! Don't!" I squeal. Useless protest! I squirm and giggle and buck and
thrash, all to no avail, with Marty holding me at one end and Will at the
other. I feel a hand on my stiff, pre-cum exuding rod and a slow,
stimulating rhythm ensues. I can tell that it's not Will!

I take a deep breath and try to relax. The tickling stops. The
ball-squeezing stops. The nipple pinching stops. The deep-down feeling
starts.

I reach out and take hold of Ash and match his strokes on me one-for-one.

"Ooh! That feels so good," I gasp. Then I add, "I hope you're watching and
taking notes, Will!"

There is suddenly a general more relaxed mood, except for in my groin. I
see Marty jerking his tool directly above my face. Will is going for it
too. Ash continues to caress me and throws his head back, enjoying my
reciprocal stimulation of him.

"Look out!" I warn them, and streams of cum burst from my cock. The first
must have hit Marty because I feel the second on my chin. Then more. Ash's
hand slows to a milking stroke.

Will groans and I feel his heat join my own wetness. Marty follows soon
after. I feel Ash's long, slim pole stiffen then jerk... three, four,
five...

"I didn't think you had that much left!" Marty tells him. "What a waste of
good protein!" Much laughter.

"Hey, you're a mess," Will says to me. "You should be more careful where
you play, sonny! You'd better have a shower before breakfast."

"I'm definitely going to like it here!" Ash tells us, smiling broadly.

I feel cum dribbling down my sides. I glance at the pools of it on my chest
and stomach. Marty produces a towel (which already feels wet) to prevent
too much of it soiling his bedclothes.

"You did say that you liked it with cream, didn't you?" Ash asks.

"The coffee!" I protest. "Cream in my coffee!"

"Really?" Ash asks.

"As if!" Marty adds, getting off my aching shoulders.

"Yeh. I thought so," Ash comments, then adds, "Just don't tell your father
about this. OK?"

I hold my breath and stare at him. So does Will. Even as Will and I turn
our gaze to each other, in the same breath Ash continues, "Bill knows that
I'm gay, but I don't want him to hear that I've mucked around with his two
so..." Then, reading the shock on our faces he stops mid-word.

We swivel our heads from him towards Marty to gauge his reaction.

"What was that?" Marty inquires from the doorway, turning around and taking
two steps back towards Ash. "What did you just say?"

Ash makes a hopelessly bumbling mess of correcting his indiscretion. "I
meant, don't tell your father, Tom, and please none of you say anything
Bill, either."

"That's not what came out of your mouth," Marty corrects him. "You said to
Tom, `don't tell your father because Bill doesn't need to know that you've
mucked around with his two sons'."

"No I didn't!" Ash protests.

"Well, that's what I heard," Marty puts to him, "even though you didn't
quite finish the last bit."

Ash turns bright crimson. "OMG, guys," he splutters to us. I'm so sorry! I
thought that Marty knew. You hadn't warned me! Bill first introduced you
guys to me as his sons, so I thought that it was general knowledge." His
eyes plead with Will and me to help him.

"Marty, what was the first house rule that you ever told me? Do you
remember?" I put to him.

"Of course," he replies. "What happens in the house..."

"...stays in the house!" Will joins in as Marty finishes the sentence.

"So, by your own rule, you are sworn to secrecy about what you have just
heard. Right?"

"You've got me. Mum's the word," he replies.

"Actually, your mum's NOT to get the word," I say, smiling.

"Hey! Mum's the reason that I invented the rule!" he laughs back.

There is a pause while Marty processes `stuff' in his mind.

"So, are you two actually brothers?" he asks us. We both nod.

"Well that explains why you look alike. And, which means that Bill Grant,
helicopter pilot and financial advisor is the `Big Willie' that Lilly was
always on about?" Again, we nod.

"He's a famous photographer too, you know!" Will adds.

Marty nods slowly, obviously shocked at the information that he now
possesses. His countenance becomes like that of a person who has just been
read the final chapter of a gripping Dan Brown thriller.

"And that accounts for a couple of other... things," he adds, looking at
our almost-twin, non-so-small willies.

Then he smiles the broadest grin that I have ever seen on his face.

"What?" I ask.

"Could you possibly understand how it feels to know something that my
mother doesn't? Something that everyone around here has wanted to know for
seventeen years? And that my sexy little cousin is actually the brother of
the sexy young Schoolie and..."

Will cuts him off. "Hey, watch who you're calling `little'! The way that I
see it, cuz, is that even though your willie is big, you've still got the
shortest one in the room!" Everyone looks at everyone else's tool and we
all laugh. Then Will repeats, "Tom, you need a shower, bro!"

I head for the bathroom. Will and Marty follow me right in. Ash stops at
the door. "You don't mind everyone being in here while you're showering?"
he asks me.

"Not at all," I tell him. "Another one of Marty's house rules ... open
doors, that is with one smelly exception!"

"You don't have to explain that one!" Ash says.

"We've seen each other naked so often that it doesn't matter any more,
especially in the shower," Will adds.

I begin to wash, all over. Ash moves a step closer and takes a keen
interest, looking me over from top to toe, but mainly middle. "Want to join
me?" I ask.

"No, he doesn't!" Will snaps. "But I will!" I smile. Do I sense jealousy?
He steps in and we wash each other, all over.

We clamber out and Marty says, "My turn!" Ash joins him and they wash each
other, all over!

"I think that we are all going to enjoy having you around," I say to
Ash. Then, to Marty, I ask, "What's for breakfast, chef?"

"Shit!" he replies, then, lest we think that he had just given us the menu,
adds quickly, "Breakfast is at Mum's. What's the time? Hurry up, all of
you." He gets out, grabs a towel and heads back up the corridor. "Fifteen
minutes!" he calls.

Will and I dress, ready for school, then head to the kitchen for a quick
stimulant of aromatic percolated caffeine.

Ash emerges. "What happened to no clothes before breakfast?" he asks.

"It only applies if we're having breakfast here," Marty enlightens
him. "Not in front of my mother and sister."

Much laughter.

"OK. SUV. Hop in!" Marty trumpets. Ash follows him.

"Will and I will take my car," I tell him, "so that we can go straight from
your Mum's to school." Marty nods.

Will puts his hand out for the keys. I refuse to hand them over. "Maybe
after breakfast," I tell him. Then I add, "But only if you're good!"

"Hey, you said that I'm always good," Will protests.

"In bed, yes, you sexy seventeen year old!" I smile. "But, pinning me down
and scrunching my balls just tarnished your `perfect' reputation.

"You can always get even, tonight," Will chuckles, wiggling his eyebrows
above his alluring teenage eyes.

"Oh, don't you worry about that, you naughty schoolboy! I fully intend to!"
I tell him. My smirk conveys to him that I'm not angry or upset with him,
and I know that he will enjoy my `getting even' with him as much as I will.

I can smell breakfast even before I walk through Acacia's door. Marty and
Ash are already seated.

And, Acacia, in welcoming Will and me, has a bright and cheery glow about
her this morning which I have not seen previously.

What I didn't expect to see was Uncle Bill here too!

"How did you get down here this morning?" I ask him.

"I didn't have to," he responds. "I was invited to stay the night... in the
guest cottage. It was cosy but a bit cool."

Marty quickly jumps in. "Yes, he and Mum were still chattering like parrots
when I left them last night to TAKE ASH BACK TO THE PUB." He stares at me
and Will intently as if to infuse his lie into our heads. I look at Will
and smile then nod to Marty. Hmm, he and Ash are both wanting their little
tryst to remain secured by the House Rule!

"So that's why you were UP early was it?" I put to Marty. "To go and
collect Ash from the pub?"

"I'm a bit of an early riser myself," Ash contributes. He doesn't have to
emphasise the words. I get it!

"I gathered that must be the case," I reply.

"That could be quite a bonus while you're here," Will adds.

Many people are smiling. The only one in the room who appears not to be in
good humour this morning is Anna. I have hopes for her that a handsome,
young stonemason-type might alleviate her obvious loneliness in the
not-too-distant future. And, Acacia may yet get to attend a wedding that
she has planned!

My uncertainty in all of this is what Uncle Bill might have told everyone
after Will and I left them last night. I decide to totally downplay any
discussions about relations, etc. and stick to `business'.

"So, what's on the agenda today?" I ask, the question obviously directed to
Uncle Bill.

"Well, there is the matter of the helicopter rides," he reminds me. "Apart
from that I think that Ash got everything that he was looking for
yesterday."

Ash, Marty, Will and I all try to disguise our smiles to each other.

"But I'll be back when I need more," Ash says matter-of-factly. "And I'd
like to talk Marty, Jan and the Smiths through the revised plans before I
submit them to the council for final approval. With Helen O'Sullivan `on
side', there should not be much of a delay. I'd like to come back in a week
or so. I'll probably bring the Land Rover this time and stay a couple of
days. We can start `marking out' for the construction teams and I'll also
bring a check list of all the renovations to be done at the pub. I'll walk
around with the Smiths to ensure that I haven't overlooked anything."

"He's meticulous," Uncle Bill says. "It's very unlikely that he will have
forgotten anything."

Ash adds, "My greatest concern is workers. We could fly some out from the
coast by a small jet to Cunnamulla and then come the rest of the way by
helicopter, just as we did yesterday. This chopper is the only one based at
Cunnamulla airport that can carry more than two people. But, we'd much
prefer to give the opportunity for work to as many locals as possible
first. Do you know of anyone?" he puts to Marty, but also looks to Acacia
for any input.

The response comes, "I'm sure that there'd be at least a dozen or so around
here or in Big Town who would be interested. Some have trade skills as
well, but are living off welfare at the moment. Work is scarce because
there is such a bad drought. Nobody wants to incur debts that they can't
repay. It's not fair on the shopkeepers if they have to extend credit to
everyone and yet pay for their own supplies."

"Why don't you ask around, and make Ash a list of people to follow up,"
Uncle Bill says to Marty. "Then you two can get together when he comes
back."

I look at Will and wink. He is smirking. So is Ash.

Uncle Bill continues, "When we're done here, I'll fly out to Whispering
Gums and pick up Helen. She was planning to go up there with Jan this
morning to look around and talk with the current owners before the place is
put onto the market for sale. It shouldn't be too hard to find. Jan told me
to follow the road north for about 150km. The main homestead should be easy
enough to spot from the air. There are no other buildings within coo-ee of
the place, he said."

Marty hastily adds, "That's probably why I didn't see Helen around this
morning at the pub when I picked up Ash. She was either still sleeping or
already gone!" He smirks at us. I smile acknowledgement then look at Will
and Ash. We all show our complicity in his fabrication of a truth by a nod
and a wink.

"Thank you Anna," I say to her. "You've done a magnificent job with
breakfast, as usual." She blushes. Then I add, "It's just as well that I
live with Marty and not over here." Everyone looks at me. "With food this
good every day, I would definitely be packing on a lot of weight!"

"It's a pleasure to cook for people who appreciate it, Tom," she
replies. Her glare at Marty elicits delayed compliments from everyone else,
even Will!

"I'll drop Bill and Ash up to The Village shortly," Marty says.

It almost sounds like being dismissed! "OK, Will. Come on. We can take a
hint, besides it's getting late."

Acacia escorts Will and me to my car. "Thank you, Tom, dear," she says,
clasping both of my hands in hers. I'm a little puzzled. It must show on my
face. She adds, "You have an amazing uncle."

Now I'm even more puzzled. What does she know? What has he said? Then a
dreadful thought emerges... What has he done? Why is she glowing? I entomb
that idea deep... where it belongs!

I hand Will the keys. He loves having an audience when he drives. Acacia
waves us goodbye.

We arrive at the school to a reception party of cherubs and parents. I wish
everyone a `good morning', ask Will to unlock the building and suggest to
the children that they put their bags inside.

I collect the permission notes. Every single one has taken up the adventure
on offer, the majority having at least one of their parents with them, some
whom I had not previously met. Our discussions are very cordial and some
even offer their hospitality on a weekend, even if only for a day, or
perhaps just lunch or dinner. Country folk, apart from being welcoming,
always enjoy the company of a visitor with news `from the outside
world'. It's a big thing for them ... not to curry favour at all. Their
congeniality is endearing after the guile and scams that I grew up with in
the city.

Faced with the prospect of living here with Will and to quote Ash's words,
`I think I'm going to like it here'! In the back of my mind I hear the same
words in a song from `Annie', the musical and movie.

Many parents share with me their excitement (and that of their children) at
flying for the very first time and for the opportunity to see The Village,
and perhaps even their own houses, from the air. Reg is among them. Di has
declined.

Uncle Bill arrives with Marty, having dropped off Ash at the pub to 'get
his things together'. He has a room of his own even though he didn't sleep
in it. I introduce Uncle Bill to all of the parents as the pilot, Mr Grant,
and make a joke of him having the same name as me ... a fact that I'm sure
would all have been related by their children last night over dinner.

Marty offers to ferry groups of three at a time to the helicopter and back
(a couple of hundred metres) to ensure that nobody is affected by
stirred-up or settling dust. Fortunately, I can feel a light easterly
zephyr this morning that will assist the fine redness drift away from us to
the west, helping it to clear from around the helicopter quickly.

Marty takes Bill to prepare the chopper.

I spread the word that the children should bring their chairs outside and I
ask the `seniors' to retrieve chairs from the craft room for the
parents. Observing the goings and returnings of the helicopter will form a
great basis for story telling ... orally for the juniors and in writing for
the seniors. Those who can manage it will be encouraged to include their
feelings while engaged in both watching and riding.

There is a buzz of excitement in anticipation.

David, his mum and little brother go first. I figure that their positive
attitudes will be infectious and help to calm any nerves. Not just the
children's!

It works. You couldn't put a stopper in David's mouth if you tried, on his
return. His mother's favourite phrase becomes, `OMG. That was fantastic!'
Multiple repetitions!

We all watch as the helicopter rises, tilts forward and follows the line of
river gums to the south for a few minutes; low going out and high coming
back, before circling the school and settling back again over its starting
point. Everybody on the ground jumps and waves to those in the air on each
of the helicopter's return journeys.

After their respective rides, no parents leave. They are soaking up the
euphoria of the shared experience with others.

Reg, Jane and Jake's turn comes. I ask Marty to have Uncle Bill fly them
out over Thunungara and back.

When everyone (almost) has had a turn, David pipes up, "What about you, Mr
Grant? Aren't you going to have a ride too? And Will?"

I reply, "That would be nice, David, but I can't exactly leave you all here
alone, can I?"

He responds, "We're not alone, Mr Grant. My mum's here!"

"Go on!" all of the parents encourage. "It's not as though we don't know
how to look after children!" Everybody agrees, and there is much giggling.

"OK, then," I reply. "Thank you. Come on, Will!"

Marty takes us to where Uncle Bill is standing. "I hope you don't mind," I
tell him. "It'll be my first time, too."

"Oh dear," Will says. "I don't have a signed permission note."

"Get in, you cheeky mischief-maker," Uncle Bill admonishes his #2 son.

We strap in, according to Uncle Bill's instructions and he indicates a set
of headphones with microphone for each of us, so that we can all
communicate. I look at him. "This thing's not soundproof, you know!" he
tells both Will and me.

Instead of doing what he did with all of the others, he takes the
helicopter straight up. High. Very high. It affords us an amazing view of
the landscape, dominated totally by the snaking river, clearly identified
by its twin banks of river gums that conceal the actual water, except where
that are rare gaps.

The view almost becomes two-dimensional, like a photograph.

The road is clearly visible in all directions where it runs - south to
Marty's place and beyond which would be Big Town, east to Thunungara and
north to Whispering Gums. Will points out the various people's places that
he recognises

Beyond the river, to the west, is a vast seemingly-endless plain. "What is
that out there?" Will asks, pointing westward. "I didn't know that there
were any buildings out there. There is no road out that way, and I've never
heard anybody mention that there was a place out there. I know that all of
the other school kids live either up the road towards Whispering Gums or
down past Marty's place."

"Yeh, I noticed it earlier," Uncle Bill comments. "Want to have a closer
look?"

"Hell, yeh!" Will responds. Uncle Bill turns the chopper west and its nose
dips as it heads out there. He descends to a level where a derelict
homestead is identifiable. Then he heads back. "It looks really old and
abandoned," Will comments. "Maybe that's why I've never heard about it,
unless..." and he stops, saying no more.

Parents and cherubs alike are so grateful for the helicopter opportunity
that they applaud Uncle Bill as he steps from Marty's SUV with Will and me.

Parents say their goodbyes to the children and depart, some having first
assisted in replacing the chairs in the craft room.

I ask Jane to take charge of the cherubs and their chairs while Will and I
say farewell to Uncle Bill and Ash. Marty drives us all to the pub where we
find Ash waiting.

There are hugs all round, and positive expressions of soon-to-be-renewed
acquaintances.

Marty announces, "Is there room in the helicopter for another passenger? I
would like to take a look from up there too, if possible." He pauses. "In
fact, if you take me out to Whispering Gums when you go to pick up Helen, I
may be able to give Jan a hand with something and then travel back with him
later in the day."

"No problem!" Uncle Bill says, chirpily. Ash seems happy to have another
travelling companion as well.

"See you soon," I say to Uncle Bill and Ash.

"See you for dinner," I tell Marty. "Will and I will have it ready when you
get back later, probably just after 5 o'clock, if Jan sticks to his normal
schedule." I add, "And don't worry, we won't poison you. You're too
valuable!" He looks at me and smiles. Ash concurs.

Uncle Bill says, "I'll just duck inside and fix up the hotel bill then walk
across to the helicopter in a couple of minutes. Marty and Ash slide into
the SUV and Will and I start walking casually back to the school,
discussing the thrill of flying. As we enter the gate, I hear the rotors
start to whir. We stand on the verandah and watch as it lifts off and heads
down towards Marty's place. Then it rises higher and banks in the direction
of Thunungara. A few minutes later we catch sight of the speck in the sky,
heading north.

I talk with all of the cherubs together, young and older. We discuss mainly
what they saw and how they felt in the helicopter. One comments on the
smell of the engine. Most also mention the noise and how `cool' it was to
have headphones to talk to the pilot and their parents.

Uncle Bill had asked each of them where they lived then flew them over
their own home.

David pipes up, "My mum said that she was so excited that she nearly peed
herself." Everyone laughs and we move on.

They work well for the remainder of the day but the only discernible topic
of discussion was `the helicopter ride'. I reckon it will be told for many
years to come to all who can bear to listen to it `yet again'.

Karl and Kurt ask whether Will is allowed to go to their place for a while
after school. "Yes, he may," I tell them, and I call Will over. "If you go
with Karl and Kurt, I'll go down to the pub to thank Julie Smith for
everything." To all of them I ask, "Did you guys enjoy dinner last night?"

The trio look at each other.

"Hell, yeh!" they answer in deliberate unison, then laugh.

Karl adds, "Dad really liked it too. He stayed with us for a while and then
said that he was going back to talk some more about the work. They must
have talked for a really long time, because he didn't come home until
nearly morning."

`That's weird,' I think to myself, because Marty dropped Acacia, Anna and
Uncle Bill off and came home with Ash well before midnight. Karl must be
mistaken!

At the end of the day there is renewed excitement as cherubs and parents
re-connect.

"You and I are cooking dinner tonight for Marty," I remind Will. He puts
his things into my car and dashes off along the short-cut in pursuit of
Karl and Kurt.

There are many cars, utes and small trucks outside the pub. I couldn't say
they were `parked' because that would imply some semblance of
order. `Scattered' comes close to describing the numerous vehicles. I pull
up around the corner and walk back towards the noise emanating from the
corner-facing doors.

I pause at the door, catch sight of Julie Smith behind the bar and walk
straight towards her. I am aware of attracting looks by patrons and I nod
greetings to them, even though I don't know them.

The place is nearly full. Mostly just chatter, but I can also hear, from
somewhere, a drunken duet, which I can tell from the slurred words
pronounced not as the composer would have intended. Men, giving drink
orders to Julie Smith have to raise their voices to be heard clearly. I
wait until she is free and then ask for "one of my usuals." She knows what
I mean. The last time that I mentioned `lime juice', I thought that some of
the beer-swilling country hulks might suffer apoplexy.

Julie introduces me to a group of local lads, about Marty's age I
suppose. Most are clad in work jeans, plaid shirts with sleeves rolled up
as far as their bulging arm muscles permit. Oh, and boots. They all have
well-worn boots! I stand with them and `socialise'. They ask about life in
the big city and I share with them many things including my love of the
beach and surfing. I also confess some things that I've learned about
`country life' since I've been here, much to their amusement.

"You're an OK guy, Schoolie," one of them chuckles. He raises his
glass. "To the Schoolie," he proposes a toast and they all clink glasses. I
think that just I've broken into the local `social set'. There is a
bonding, and they begin to `open up' about themselves.

We are just `getting into it' when I ask, "What's west of here, across the
river?" It's a simple enough question, but they all just look at each
other.

An old-timer, close to us and hearing my question, interjects. "Stay clear
of that land over there, young fella! There ain't nothing good out there!
We don't talk about it and nobody goes out there. It's a bad place!"

Another joins in, "You ain't heard of the curse, have ya?"

"Curse? What curse?" I ask.

"He'd better know about it, if he's gonna be staying hereabouts!" one
says. "We were only talking about it earlier. You tell him, Davo. You're
good with words," he declares to a tall, apparently sober, older guy, who
nods and takes up the challenge of educating the Schoolie.

He begins...

"Back in 1895 an American cattleman, against all advice from the locals,
built a large homestead about 20km west of the river on a site that was
considered sacred to a small group of indigenous individuals known as the
Jintabudjaree People. The site was said to be the place where the Great
Rainbow Serpent emerged to visit the Jintabudjaree in poor seasons and
provided them with food to sustain them.

"After the homestead was built, visits by the Rainbow Serpent were said to
have stopped. During a long drought, the cattleman noticed that his calves
began to regularly disappear, so he accused the aborigines of stealing
them. They said that the Rainbow Serpent was providing them with
food. There was a lot of bitterness which came to a head one day when he
`snapped' and went on a shooting spree, killing all of the Jintabudjaree
people that he could find.

"However, it is told that one elder of the indigenous `mob' was protected
by the Rainbow Serpent and survived the massacre. It is said that he placed
a curse on the cattleman's homestead before clubbing the man to death with
a nulla-nulla and `feeding his body' down a hole to the Rainbow Serpent.

"The curse that he is said to have pronounced was that the homestead would
be taken away by the Rainbow Serpent, leaving no trace of it upon the
sacred land. And it disappeared. However, from time to time the Rainbow
Serpent would cause it to reappear, to extract retribution for the murder
of the Jintabudjaree people, claiming a `life for a life'.

"The curse would only cease when the lives of the exact number of people,
as were killed by the cattleman, had been taken.

"When the homestead reappears, and then when anybody mentions the word
`Jintabudjaree' in public, the first person to have seen the homestead will
die, or one of his relatives or close friends. Usually, it's the
`discoverer' himself, and always within 24 hours of the word being spoken.

"The sign that the curse has finally been lifted will be that the homestead
will not be taken away by the Rainbow Serpent, following the `last
death'. But nobody knows exactly how many people will need to die before
that happens.

"Over the years, a total of 12 people have already died or just disappeared
after the re-appearance of the homestead and the pronouncement of the `J'
word.

"People here know of the curse and nobody dares say that word if anyone
claims to have seen the homestead. But somebody eventually slips up, and
there is a death!

"It appears that old man O'Sullivan and Jack O'Brien were both victims of
the curse, 10 years apart.

"However, about 2 years ago, the homestead was spotted by the publican's
nephew who was motor cycling with some of his friends, even though he'd
been warned not to go out there. He was a disbeliever and used to call it
the `Go-To-Buggery Curse'.

"However, when he returned that one time, he told people he'd seen the
homestead. It was back. Everyone walked around placing a finger to their
lips as they met people, as a warning to be careful what they
said. However, a few days later, everyone was in the public bar when an old
aboriginal man walked in and, brandishing a boomerang, shouted
`Jintabudjaree' and then turned around and walked out again. Nobody could
find him, even though they searched.

"The next day the publican, here, was taken seriously ill and died. The
doctors said that it was advanced liver cancer, but all of the locals have
a very different opinion. The nephew `took off' for the city and has never
returned.

"That is why nobody ever goes out there any more, in case the homestead has
re-appeared and is sitting, just waiting to be seen and to claim its next
victim!"

"Why are you even telling me this," I ask, "if merely saying the word in
public, as you've been doing, can cause somebody's death?"

"It's OK, son," the old guy tells me, "so long as the homestead has not
returned, or if nobody has seen it, if it has."

"How often does it appear?" I inquire, my skin on my neck and covering my
head starting to contract and tingle in fear.

"Anytime," comes the reply, "but always when we're having a severe
drought. The longest gap was 12 years; the shortest 5 months."

"Every time it has re-appeared in the last 120 years and somebody has been
heard to say the `J' word, then one person has died. Every single time!"

I feel myself go faint and I have to reach for the nearest wall for
support.

"Are you all right, mate?" one of the young guys asks. "What's wrong? You
look as though you've seen a ghost!"

"Worse!" I splutter. "This morning when I was up in the helicopter, I saw
it ... the homestead, very clearly. It's out there, now!" I don't comment
that everyone's been saying the `J' word since then. I don't have to.

A deathly hush sweeps across and through the pub, smothering all
conversation. Even the singing and clinking of glasses stop.

In the moments of ensuing silence, I immediately think of my mother,
battling both cancer and the chemotherapy. My eyes fill with tears.

The words ring in my ears, `...one of his relatives or close friends...'
and my mind jumps to include young Andy, still clinging to life in a Gold
Coast hospital.

I think of Will. Please, God. Not him! Who? Me? One of my cherubs? Kurt?
Uncle Bill?

Then, my ever-slow brain catches up with reality. Will saw it before I did
and pointed it out to all of us! That doesn't change the Rainbow Serpent's
target too much, except that now it includes all members of the O'Brien
clan and reduces the odds of it being my mother.

Yet again, I recall Uncle Bill's words to Will and me, `Yes, I noticed it
earlier.' That directly places at risk him, me, Will, dad (his brother) and
Mum, even Sis, or any one of his myriad of friends. It diminishes the risk
of those other `friends' whom I know and love. That is very little
consolation!

I alternately feel hot flushes and cold chills. I must look a trembling
mess. Somebody pushes a chair under me.

Julie Smith hands me a bunch of serviettes, intended for me to wipe my
now-wet face. She is the first to speak, "Tom, dear, can I get you
something to drink?"

I manage, "Coffee, please. Strong."

While I attempt to regain my composure by wiping my face, blowing my nose
and taking deep, deliberate breaths, I run lists of potential victims of
the curse through my mind. Whichever way I work it, it seems that Uncle
Bill, Will and I are prime targets. Unless it's all just a silly
superstition fuelled by bizarre coincidences! But Helen's grandfather,
Marty's dad and Julie Smith's father all seem to be very real casualties of
the `curse'. I feel sick.

The pub's silence is gradually, whisper by whisper, replaced by subdued
discussions.

Julie Smith declines my offer to pay for the coffee. I feel very alone and
vulnerable. I need Will!

As I rise to leave, some patrons eye me with obvious sympathy. Are they
looking at a dead man walking? Others avert their gaze out of obvious
embarrassment at not knowing what to say.

"We're here if you need us,Tom," Julie Smith encourages, rubbing my
shoulders.

I thank her and walk out into the late afternoon air. It seems to have a
particular chill to it today.

I slowly, and with a somewhat blank mind, drive the short 75m to Karl and
Kurt's. I no sooner pull up and step from my car when Kurt appears on the
verandah, with a smile as broad as a slice of watermelon and a hand down
the front of his shorts (which appear to sit lopsidedly on his youthful
frame as if pulled up hastily). He calls, "Hi, Mr Grant," and bounces down
the steps, reminding me of a puppy rushing to its master for a rub behind
the ears.

He stops suddenly only a couple of metres in front of me and looks at my
face. His expression changes and he asks, "Are you OK, Mr Grant?" He
withdraws his hand which uncovers an obvious erection.

I look from his handsome young boy-bulge to his concerned face. "Thank you,
Kurt," I reply. "Yes, I'm fine." I know that he can tell that I'm
lying. "Would you please tell Will that I'm here?" I ask.

"Sure, Mr Grant," he says in a subdued voice and he walks slowly back up
the steps and onto the verandah. He turns his head, glances at me and then
goes inside. Only a moment later he reappears, looks back over his
shoulder, inside, smiles and then calls to me, "Will said that he won't be
long."

He walks down to where I've stopped and stands right in front of me. "Are
you sure you're OK, Mr Grant?" he asks again. "You look sad." Then, without
hesitation, he slides his arms around me, waist-high, and rests his head on
my chest. "It'll be all right, Mr Grant." Such compassion from one so young
causes another wave of emotion in me and I feel my eyes mist over.

I put one arm around his shoulders and cradle his head with my other hand,
and hug him to me. "Thank you, Kurt," I say and I feel his arms tighten
around me.

"Will's just helping Karl with something... you know!" he says to me. I
smile. I can guess what he's helping Karl to achieve!

"Did he help you too, Kurt?" I ask through a half smile that succeeds in
chasing away my immediate bleakness.

"No, not yet, Mr Grant. I was just watching them. It was going to be my
turn next. It was fun watching. I let Karl go first today."

I pause, swallow hard and apprehensively ask,"Would you like me to help you
today, Kurt, instead of Will?"

Quick as a glint of reflected sunlight from the weir he answers, "Oh, yes,
Mr Grant! Would you? Please? Thank you." I feel his pulsing and stiffness
against my thigh.

"Then go and tell Will and Karl that they don't need to hurry," I encourage
him, "then meet me around that side of your house," indicating the one
facing the river.

He doesn't need a second invitation.

`Why the hell not?' I argue against my conscience. I may not be here
tomorrow!

I don't have to wait long.

Kurt chirps, "Karl says `thank you' and Will says, `it's about bloody
time!' so maybe they both think that you're gonna do something with me," he
laughs. I laugh with him.

There is a slightly awkward moment of working out how best to position
ourselves for this. So, I lean my back against the house and urge him
closer into a hug. He stands between my legs and presses his body to mine
with his stiffness against my inner thigh. He starts thrusting movements
and I cradle his firm young butt with one hand and encourage his hip
movements.

He pauses, as if contemplating the rigidity that he can feel pushing
against the side of his body. He reaches for the front of my pants, has a
quick, confirming feel of my `gear' and asks, "Are you happy now, Mr
Grant?"

"Yes, I am, Kurt. Thank you!" I reply.

I gently rotate his body so that his firm young backside is against my
front. I rub his chest and stomach and, leaning forward so that my chin is
resting on his shoulder, I allow my hands to roam lower and lower, finally
encountering the hard peg in his shorts, which I fondle, grasping and
rubbing. His body reacts by gyrating and thrusting against my hand.

He leans heavily back against me as if checking again the source of what he
can feel poking into his back. He inserts his thumbs in the elastic
waistband of his shorts and pushes them down. I cup his exposed cock and
balls and just hold him firmly and gently. I rub my thumb up and down his
crop of adolescent hairs and he moans in pleasure.

He leans forward momentarily to enable his hands to slide behind him, with
his palms against my now-very-hard manhood. He wiggles until both hands
have a partial grasp, then he leans his whole weight backwards, pressing
his hands firmly onto me. I know that he can feel me twitch because his
cock responds similarly. I concentrate and intentionally make mine jump and
I relish the response of the flinching in my hand. Not just twice!

I make a tunnel with my fist and let it slide down his shaft, up and down
again. His body responds and his hips thrust to meet every downstroke of my
hand. I allow saliva to build up in my mouth, lubricate my hand with it and
then let him slide into it. "Oohh!" he moans. I continue to stroke him. He
continues to thrust into me and he purrs with each push.

His body tenses and then his thrusting becomes frenzied.

"Go slower!" I whisper.

"Can't!" he growls and pumps away, now grunting. All of a sudden he freezes
and his cock starts jerking by itself, making my hand even wetter and
slipperier. His moans of pleasure, his twitching cock and his firm grip on
my stimulated rod cause me to tingle with excitement. Without any
sufficient warning, I empty my load in my pants.

"He asks, "Mr Grant, did you just...?" and he stops.

I laugh, "Yes, I did! Thanks to you."

"Wow," he says, "you were nearly as quick as me."

"I think you'd enjoy it more if you slowed down," I tell him.

"It's all good, Mr Grant," he replies.

Another awkward moment. He's wet and sticky and so is my hand. I don't have
a handkerchief or tissues, and there is no grass on which I can wipe my
hand. I risk grossing him out by raising my hand to my mouth and licking
it. Not bitter at all!

"What are you doing?" he asks, surprised, if not shocked.

"It's not that bad, really," I tell him.

I move my hand to his mouth. He looks at me and then, almost obediently,
takes a tentative swipe with his tongue. He wrinkles his nose but says,
"It's OK, I suppose," and he licks me again. "It tastes sort of... weird."

Hey, if I'm not going to be alive tomorrow then what I'm about to suggest
to him won't matter! "I tell you what, Kurt. If you clean up my hand, I'll
clean you up down below the same way.""

"You're gonna lick my stuff off my cock?" he asks in a tone that suggests
Will has never done that to him.

"Trust me," I say.

He grasps my hand and licks it clean. "Is that OK, Mr Grant?" he asks. I
can't tell whether he's seeking my approval for doing it or whether it's
clean enough.

"Perfect," I compliment him. He smiles. "Now stand still." I kneel and take
his softening cock into my mouth and begin to give it a good vacuum
cleaning. He squirms.

"Oh, shit!" he squeaks, then apologises for his language.

"Did I hurt you, Kurt?" I ask.

"Oh, no, Mr Grant. It just felt really good."

"Then keep still!" I tell him again. My tongue and lips seek out any trace
of stickiness and remove it from his hairs and balls. By the time I'm
finished, he is fully erect again.

He says, "Mr Grant, if you keep doing that, I think that I will shoot
again. It feels so good."

"You like that?" I ask, standing up.

"Hell yeh!" he replies. "Can you do it again?"

"Maybe another time," I say gently, tousling his hair then caressing his
shorts back up his body and over his spike and firm glutes, which I give a
good squeeze and a friendly little smack.

"Oh, thank you, Mr Grant," he gushes and hugs me. Then he pulls away and
looks at the dark patch on my pants. "You're all wet," he says, and I can't
tell whether he's amused at my condition or if he's embarrassed for me.

"It's OK," I tell him. "I'll wait in the car so that Will can't see it. Can
you please see if he's ready yet?"

He gives me another quick hug then dashes off, leaving me to make my way to
the dimness of the car in the fading light.

I sit in the driver's seat and pull my shirt out to let it cover the wet
patch.

I expect to see Will emerge, but it is Kurt who skips down the
path. "What's wrong?" I ask, "Isn't Karl done yet?" Then I realise that he
is stifling a laugh.

He replies, "Yes, but Will isn't. I told them to get a move on because you
and I have run out of things to talk about."

I think, `This kid's smart. He's given them just enough information to make
them question whether we did anything sexual together.' I extend my fist to
him and he bumps it with his own. "Nice work, sport," I tell him, and he
beams with pride at his own shrewdness.

We fill in the time by talking about the helicopter ride and especially how
he felt about being up there and looking down at everything.

Finally, Will emerges, followed by Karl. Both are grinning with no thought
of disguising the chunky evidence of what they have been doing.

Karl stays on the verandah. Will walks to the car and ruffles Kurt's
hair. "Sorry, mate!" Will says. "Maybe I can give you a turn tomorrow. OK?"

"You'd better!" Kurt tells him, punching Will's shoulder and giving no hint
that he had already been satisfied... by me.

Kurt winks at me as Will walks around to the passenger's seat.

Will is unusually quiet in the car... for a couple of minutes, then he
turns in his seat to face me. "OK, what did you do with Kurt?" he asks.

I glance at him to gauge the expression on his face. It's nothing that I
can read.

"What do you mean?" I ask, looking back to the road ahead.

"It's very strange, don't you think," Will says, "that after you pulled up,
Kurt came in and told Karl and me to take our time when only a couple of
minutes earlier he was telling me to hurry up with Karl so that he could
have `his turn'. Then, when Karl spurted, I thought that the noises he made
would have Kurt running in, but he didn't come. Then, when he did come in
again and Karl was getting me off, Kurt had that same goofy expression on
his face that he did when he came back from the school the other day."

"Really?" I put to him.

"Yeh. And... there is a smell in this car that I recognise. Like you forgot
the deodorant!" he says, placing his hand on my upper thigh, as if to
emphasise the point. If he moves it much higher he'll encounter the wet
patch and then I'll face the prospect of having to break the confidence
that Kurt and I have pledged, or to make up a bloody good lie!

"Will," I start. "There is something very important that I need to share
with you."

"Aha! I thought so" he replies and removes his hand. "What is it? And, by
the way, I'm not angry or upset at you and Kurt for playing with each
other. He's been after you since the day he grabbed you in the weir when he
thought that you were me."

"Yeh. I remember that day, and the shocked expression on his face that you
were able to catch in your drawing. But it's not that."

"What then?" Will asks, sounding a little disappointed that he was not
going to hear something spicy.

"I learned something at the pub this afternoon. Something very serious," I
tell him. His silence invites explanation. "Have you ever heard of a curse
on the land to the west of the river?" I start.

"Go To Buggery," Will replies.

"I beg your pardon!" I say to him, shocked.

"No, not you personally," he laughs at my response. "That's what Mick, the
publican's nephew used to call the curse. He used to come out here every
Christmas with some of his uni mates, but I haven't seen him since his
uncle died a few years ago."

"Do you know what the curse is?" I ask Will.

"No, not really. My mother used to say that it was a load of crap and not
to listen to the men's stories."

"I think that we should talk about it tonight, with Marty," I tell him.

"OK," he says nonchalantly. Then he adds, "What's for dinner, cook?" The
issue with Kurt is averted... for the time being.

"Let's check the fridge and pantry and see what we can rustle up. Meat and
vegetables. You can pick the meat and I'll do the veggies."

"Deal," he chirps, then adds, "And you can peel the onions this time!"

As soon as I pull up, he hops out of the car, collects his things from the
back seat and heads indoors.

When I go in, the bathroom door is closed. That gives me time to change.

Will emerges.

"I think I'll throw on a load of washing," I tell him. "Anything that you
want done?"

"Yes, actually," he replies, then continues, "I think that Marty might have
a couple of towels too."

"You raid Marty's room," I tell him, "and then put everything that needs
doing on a pile with yours and mine near the back door."

I pick and choose the vegetables and leave the meat selection to Will while
I load and start the washing machine.

We get everything going, on the stove and in the oven.

"Come here!" I tell Will. He looks at me strangely, but when I extend my
open arms he walks across and fills them. I enfold him and he does the same
to me. "I love you, William O'Brien Grant!" I say. "Have I told you that
lately?"

"Not enough!" he laughs back. We caress each other's body and just enjoy
being as one.

"Why were you asking about that stupid curse?" he asks.

"Go and sit down and I'll make us each a coffee and we can talk," I reply.

"You sound serious," Will says to me. "I don't often see you like this
... even at school."

I want to laugh, but I can't.

I hand him his coffee, sit next to him, then re-state the details of the
Jintabudjaree Curse, as I heard them.

"Have they got you believing that stuff?" he asks, light-heartedly.

I then relate the 12 deaths, linked to sighting and the pronouncement of
the `J' word, and cite as possible victims, Helen's grandfather, Marty's
dad and Julie Smith's father.

His expression has become more serious. "Why are you telling me this?" he
asks.

"Do you remember when we were up in the helicopter this morning and you
pointed out that building across to the west?" He nods and hums
concurrence. "And then we flew out there for a closer look at it?"

"Yes," he says, slowly and cautiously, perhaps following my line of thought
and his earlier reason for keeping quiet about it.

"Well, that was it! The cursed, old homestead. It's back! If you believe
the curse, then somebody is going to die, because the people in the bar
kept saying `Jintabudjaree', in public! They didn't know that we'd seen it,
but we had! If the curse is real, then it has already been... activated."

"So, who saw it first?" he asks. The frivolity in his voice and demeanour
has now gone.

"Uncle Bill, apparently," I reply. "None of the children mentioned seeing
it at school when we were talking about their flights." I explain my
thoughts to Will about who could be potential targets of the curse.

"But our dad is friends with everyone," Will argues. "The target could be
you, or me, your father, mother, sister, anyone out here, Monika, Assistant
Commissioner Grayson, or any of his lady friends, and who knows how many
that could be!"

Then he looks deeply into my eyes and I can tell that the possibility of it
being either one of us, with the unthinkable consequences, has suddenly
overtaken him. "What if you make love to me tonight and then die of a heart
attack from exhaustion?" he asks, with an uncharacteristically wrinkled
forehead.

If it wasn't so serious a possibility, I would burst out laughing and say,
`bring it on!'

Ignoring his question, I look at my watch and comment, "Marty's late."

He looks at me and neither of us wants to express in words the thought that
has just shot through both of our minds, following my remark.

I tell him, "Dinner's ready. I'll put everything into the oven on low heat
and cover it with foil. He won't be long."

"Hey," Will says, "I'll check out my emails and Facebook while we're
waiting. Do you want your tablet too?"

"Sure. Thanks," I reply and deal with the cooked food while Will heads for
the bedroom.

Time ticks by.

I close my email and the browser defaults to the MSN `local' Queensland
news page.

I stare at the headline that confronts me.

Without a spoken word, for I am unable to speak, I indicate for Will to
look at my screen as I turn it towards him.

It reads, << HELICOPTER CRASH NEAR CUNNAMULLA KILLS THREE>>.

For innumerable seconds my breathing stops, my heart pounds and my head
throbs. Then I hear the dogs bark.

Marty's home! At least, I hope that it's Marty.


To be continued...

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