Date: Wed, 25 May 2016 04:35:04 +0000
From: Robert A. Armstrong <rob.aa@hotmail.com>
Subject: Schoolie - Chapter 51

I know that 50 chapters seems long. But, if you are new to this story, may
I suggest that you read patiently from the beginning, to understand the
plot and the characters. You'll enjoy it much more and understand what's
going on!

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 50

I feel myself drifting off. No ghosts.

Maybe an hour has passed.

It's still quite dark. No moon yet and no Jintabudjaree elder. I sense the
door open slowly and then close again. No creaks. Almost silently he
approaches. Stealthy steps. Closer. I exaggerate the sound of my breathing,
pretending to be asleep. He stops next to my bed. Pausing. Thinking.
Breathing. Waiting. Pondering. He feels for, and then carefully lifts, the
covers and slides in. Did he think that I would not hear him, or sense him?
He sidles towards me. I feel the warmth of his bare skin against mine, and
the pulse of his heart beat.

Who is it?



Chapter 51 I wait. Nothing happens. Nothing is said. There is no movement,
just shared body warmth at the hip and shoulder.

It is obvious that my bedfellow is not my brother because the body next to
me is discernibly smaller. Besides, Will would either have crawled on top
of me or between my legs and, either way, would have `set upon' me with his
mouth.

Could it be Kurt? However, if it is, I'm sure that he would have whispered
my name to check that it was OK before climbing into bed with me. His
manners would have ensured that.

Maybe it's Andy. Even though he's thrilled to be with Kurt, maybe he's a
bit too thrilled, and needs a haven from continuous pleasure! It would be
just like him to say nothing and simply be content to rest, safe in my
presence.

But what if it's not Andy?

Surely, it wouldn't be Karl. Why would he leave Will, and why would he
choose now, to initiate some intimate contact with me?

Are there any other possibilities? What does a ghost feel like? Do they
have body heat?

Should I reach out and touch him?

Kurt wouldn't mind. Neither would Andy (I reckon).

But what if it's Karl? Would me touching him freak him out? What does he
want, if it's him?

What if it's the ghost? Is Will's ghost story about to come true? Will he
emasculate me if I touch him? Or, will I die, or, perhaps, just disappear?

While I struggle with the stress of `to touch or not to touch' and the
potential consequences (mostly negative), I drop off into a deep sleep.

When I awake, there is no touching body heat. I tentatively lay my hand
palm-down next to me and slowly crab-walk it away from me, anticipating
touching a body, some body. There is no body.

I can tell from the folds in the curtains that cover the windows that the
moon has risen, but it is still too dark to see clearly. I reach for the
lantern beside the bed and flick the switch. The room is illuminated by a
beam of cold LED whiteness that is pointing towards the ceiling. Apart from
me, there is nobody else in my bed, or my room.

Now, I'm even more concerned.

I force my feet to touch the floor, half-fearing that I will be grabbed by
a monster from under the bed, reviving memories and visions of childhood
nightmares.

I feel something touch my ankle. Adrenaline rush! I'm sure that I exceed my
college long jump PB (perhaps even high jump at the same time) and land
beside the window. My heart is pumping and thumping. I pull back the
curtains to allow the moonlight to expose the culprit. Nobody! Could it
have been just one of those undulations in the quilt which is hanging low,
almost touching the floor?

I step gingerly to where I left the lantern, but keep my eyes firmly fixed
on the small gap between the quilt and the flooring, in anticipation of a
grasping hand. I snatch the lantern and then back away before directing its
beam at the floor.

I move towards the end of the bed, hold my breath and then raise one corner
of the quilt. There is no body under the bed! No monster. No ghost. No
boy. I exhale heavily, my chest deflates and my body relaxes. My heart is
still pounding and I wipe the perspiration from my forehead with the palm
of one hand, then rub my hand down my thigh.

I catch a few deep breaths and take a little time to regain my composure
then suddenly wonder whether all of the boys are OK. I have to check on
them.

I step outside my room. The great hall below is partially illuminated by
permeating moonlight, while the front verandah on this level appears
flood-lit by the fullness of it.

Rather than enter Kurt and Andy's room with the bright lantern, I leave it
outside (but a little back from) their door. The handle turns easily and
silently. Neither of the hinges betrays my pushing the door ajar.

My first concern is that they are both here. I peer in and, again, I feel
relief as I see two mostly-uncovered, naked adolescent bodies; one on his
side with his arm across the chest of the other who is flat on his
back. With the curtains closed and me in the doorway, there is not quite
sufficient light from the lantern to distinguish who is who. No matter!
They are both here, looking very contented together. I feel a deep warmth
within me at the vision of the perfection of the two of them, so alike; one
is a handsome 12 year old and the other soon-to-be 14. I wish that I had
Will's talent to remember a scene like this and to paint it. I smile and
back away, close the door, and hope that I have not disturbed their sweet
dreams or sweeter memories.

I continue around the landing to Will and Karl's room. Their door is pushed
closed but is not fully shut. Again I set the lantern down and ease the
door away from its frame so that I can see inside. On the southern side of
the house, with the curtains open, there is indirect light from the moon
that is on the north-side, yet quite sufficient to see Will snuggled up to
and spooning the more diminutive Karl. So they are both here as well!

I'm aware that Will's naked front is pressed up against Karl's backside and
I can't help but wonder whether Will has introduced him into `something
new'. Maybe not. Maybe they just both enjoy the feeling of their bodies
being against each other. Anyway, sooner or later Will will tell me
everything!

I back track and close their door. I'm wide awake, both in joy at seeing my
four special boys happy in togetherness but, at the same time, concerned as
to who was in my bed earlier, and why. Or was it just wishful thinking? A
very realistic `big boy dream' without the wet, sticky finale? I can't
bring myself to believe that, but it seems the only plausible and ghostless
explanation.

I take the `short cut' back to my room via the set of down-then-up stairs
below the zebra pelt.

I make the obligatory check under my bed, yet again. Before I clamber back
in, I notice the disturbed quilt on the other side of the bed to where I
was sleeping. Did I cause that in my troubled sleep, or was there actually
somebody here earlier?

I lie and think, contemplate, ponder, wonder, speculate; hoping and wishing
for sleep to overtake me.

It's of no use. I'm not the least bit drowsy! Back home if I ever felt like
this I would resort to having a prolonged and explosive session of `self
abuse', or gawk mindlessly at some inane late-night TV programs. Either
would do the trick. But, `Not tonight, Josephine!' as Napoleon is supposed
to have said. I don't feel like doing the former, and without a TV and
electricity, can't do the latter.

I wander down to the lounge room and place another log on the
still-brightly-glowing embers. I pull one of the upholstered arm chairs
closer to the fireplace, sit, and mentally absorb the entire process of the
new log smouldering and then catching alight. I can't imagine why the line
from some old song springs into my mind: "...chestnuts roasting by an open
fire..." LOL

Still wide awake, I conclude that it would be a perfect time for me to look
more closely at the `treasures' of the library, without having to worry
about anyone else or helping to meet their needs.

Even though the upward-pointing lantern emits sufficient light to
illuminate the room, I use its directed beam to scan the volumes on the
shelves. Very few have printing on the spine, so I have to remove each in
turn to ascertain its contents. At the end of the first row, I realise what
a mammoth task it will be to even discover what is here, let alone begin to
actually read anything.

I back up a few steps and take in the scope of the majority percentage of
books not yet inspected. I notice, above a normal arm's reach and pushed to
the rear on the top-most and left-most shelf a number, perhaps five or six,
of like-bound volumes. Intriguing!

I pull over a chair so that I might reach them and I remove the first
one. Instead of being a book, it is in fact a folio of miscellaneous
envelopes, letters and notes, secured both vertically and horizontally by a
single red ribbon, tied in a (now-flattened) bow.

I step down and shine the lantern upon the contents. I untie the ribbon and
shuffle a few of the objects. The name `Mr George Ferguson Bowen' appears
prominently both on envelopes and also as the addressee on some individual
papers. I recognise the name; it's the same as the first governor of the
state of Queensland (in 1859, as Davo reminded me). Could this be the very
same person? This will require more time and care, so I take the portfolio
back to the lounge room, utilising one of the nearby side tables on which I
lay both the folio and the lantern.

The first thing that I note is the handwriting: beautifully scripted
calligraphy, obviously from a few distinctly-different hands, but each of
crafted uniformity. Then I see that some of the letters were written prior
to 1859. One, dated January 23, 1857, is signed `William
E. Gladstone'. Wasn't there a British prime minister by the name of
`Gladstone'? The letter thanks Mr Bowen for his support in his
`campaigning' on his behalf and assures Mr Bowen that he will, in turn,
advocate his name `to the Prime Minister and to Her Majesty' for the
governorship of the proposed new colony.

Holy cow! Davo and Uncle Bill were correct. This stuff might be of great
historical significance!

Without delving any further, I sit back and reflect on the implausible but
possible connection between this place and Mr George Ferguson Bowen, first
governor of the state of Queensland and his relationship to Mr William
E. Gladstone, Prime Minister of England and Her Majesty Queen Victoria.

George Bowen could not possibly have lived out here! As my memory serves
me, after his term as Governor, based in Brisbane, he went across the
Tasman Sea to New Zealand. So what are these documents doing here? And why
is there a Landau downstairs with the Queen's initials inlaid in the door?
It will take better eyes than mine, together with an intimate knowledge of
the state's history, to fully appreciate what is stored here. I'm sure that
Uncle Bill will know somebody appropriate (and I wouldn't mind betting that
it's a female!)

I'm tempted to browse further but my curiosity is giving way to
fatigue... finally! I re-tie the contents and replace the folio in the
library. I leave the fire, with the wood now crackling and spitting, take
the lantern and make my way back up past the zebra to my bedroom. I don't
bother checking under the bed in case I actually find what I had earlier
feared might be there!

I remember tossing and turning, but, ultimately I must have slept well.

I'm awoken by stifled giggling. I force one eyelid open. The other
reluctantly follows. I see half a dozen naked bodies standing at the end of
my bed. As my focus improves, that number reduces to four.

Their mirth becomes less restrained and I follow their gazes to my crotch,
obviously uncovered through the night, and now sprouting a very healthy
morning chunk of wood.

I should be embarrassed, but I'm not. "I'll bet you all woke up the same
way!" I tell them, pointing to the collection of various hardnesses
sprouting from their bodies.

"We've been up for ages," Will says, smiling.

"I'll bet you have!" I say with the fully intended double meaning. Then I
mumble, as if recalling its significance, "What is the time?"

Andy pipes up, "My stomach reckons that it must be nearly time for
breakfast."

"OK, then," I say. "Let's get cleaned up and head back to Marty's."

"Do we stay naked, Tom, or take off our clothes over there?" Andy asks,
with a measure of obvious concern for Marty's dress code.

Will suggests staying naked. Karl and Kurt look at each other sheepishly. I
settle the matter. "I, for one," I tell them, "don't want to be seen like
this by anyone in The Village who may happen to be around as we drive
through. You know what it's like. You can't just drive past people in the
street without stopping to say hello. How would I explain my own condition,
let alone a car full of naked boys?" They look at me, and then each other,
and nod agreement - I think with some relief, actually, as the realisation
of potential consequences overtakes any collective bravado.

"You guys start cleaning up over in the other bathroom while I use this
toilet over here," I say to all of them generally but nobody in
particular. My wobbling, now-only-half-chunkiness, precedes me, past them
and out of the door.

When I am finished, I step out of the bathroom to find Will waiting. The
other three are not there. "I told them that they could all use the big
bath over there and that I would share with you," he says, smirking, and
pushing me back through the door.

He latches the door and grabs me in a close embrace, grinding his body
against me and pushing his face into mine. "I've missed you, bro!" he
growls and then begins kissing all of my hot spots. "Shower!" he orders and
reaches for the taps. I don't know how the water is heated, but it's warm,
not hot. He soaps me all over and pushes his stiffness into every
convenient crease and crevice of my body and, with his rod pumping in and
out of my legs under my balls, he hugs me hard and I feel his body
convulse. "Sorry! Couldn't hold on!" he gasps.

"That's OK," I tell him. "I wondered whether you might have done that with
Karl last night."

"Nah," he replies. "He likes to jerk off a lot, but that's about all, apart
from hugging each other to keep warm while we got to sleep." I don't tell
Will that I saw him spooning Karl during the night, and just take his
comment on face value.

"My turn?" I ask seductively, running my hand down his crack and then
between his legs.

"Hell, yeh!" he rasps, and turns his back fully to me. I waste no time in
relieving my own pent-up juices. "How are we going to get back to our
`normal fun' while Andy is staying with us?" he asks as, pressing our
abdomens together, we massage each other's back and glutes. I particularly
love the feel of those firm, youthful, posterior muscles of his!

"Come on," I say, "before the three musketeers come looking for us." Then I
ask, "How did you get the three of them to go together? Didn't any of them
object? I don't know how Karl feels towards Andy and I'm not sure if Kurt
wants to keep Andy all for himself."

"I think they were a little uncertain at first," Will comments, "but I said
to them, `you guys almost look like triplets,' even though I know that Andy
is nearly two years older." The twins are already twelve and Andy's almost
14 but, apart from a couple of obvious differences `up front', they look
very similar. He adds, chuckling, "And despite Karl's comment about
Goldilocks not sleeping in their beds, I suspect that he really wanted to
check out Andy up close and that he wouldn't mind at all playing with
Andy's longer tool and hanging balls. He commented about them a couple of
times last night." He laughs. So do I, in agreement with his sentiments.

Will and I dry ourselves and head for our respective rooms to `get decent'
for the trip through town. Even though it's Sunday, you can never tell who
might be around. "Meet you down in the lounge room," I call to him across
the void of the great hall. Will gives me a `thumbs up' in acknowledgment.

"Any sign of the other three?" I ask as Will joins me downstairs.

"No, but there was a lot of giggling from the bathroom as I walked past,"
he replies.

We wait.

After a few minutes I say, "OK. Which one of us is going to break up their
fun?"

"Toss you for it," he smirks.

"I don't have a coin with me," I tell him.

"Easy," Will comments. "Just imagine a coin, heads I go; tails you don't."
And he heads back upstairs.

More minutes later, I decide to investigate this further delay for myself.

It's only when I begin to climb the second flight of stairs below the zebra
skin that I spot Will. He is standing at the bathroom door from behind
which I can hear three distinctly separate voices; engaged voices. Happy
voices!

"What are...?" I begin. Will stands up and whips around with a single
finger to his lips to silence me. Then he beckons, indicating that I do so
quietly.

Without talking, he points through the barely-a-hand-width of open doorway
and again crouches, sufficiently for me to see over his shoulders,
supporting his forward-leaning body weight by placing his hands on his
thighs.

Despite being interested in the source of the jollity, Will's body position
re-ignites a passion within me and I ease myself, unapologetically, against
his prominent and firm butt cheeks, and I nestle the part of me that fits
best into the slight depression between his mounds of firmness.

He emits a low hum of approval and wiggles his backside as if caressing and
urging my chunkiness to fuller rigidity.

I grasp him gently around the chest and stomach, lean my chin on his
shoulder and rub my cheek against his own. I feel the slight pressure of
his head responding in kind, then he whispers, "Look!"

All three of them are standing in the bath, soaped and lathered, rubbing
their bodies together. I hadn't taken note of it previously but with the
three boys naked and so close together, Andy's legs are slightly longer,
his hips narrower, his glutes a bit higher and his torso is broader than
the other two: another indication of his emerging maturity. They change
positions constantly and slide up, down and across each other. Andy is now
sandwiched between the twins, all facing the same direction. One turns,
causing a chain reaction. Frontside to frontside . Frontside to
backside. Each gets a turn in the middle. I catch glimpses of their patches
of pubic hairs as they turn; Andy having the most and darkest. The frotting
frenzy culminates in a desperate jack-off, each seeing to his own release.

"Come on," one twin says. It sounds like Karl's voice and speech. "Mr Grant
must be getting pissed off by now, I'll bet."

Will and I watch them begin to rinse off, with some last minute groping of
each other. When they reach for towels, Will and I back away and hurry
quietly down the stairs.

I hear Andy tell Karl, "Tom never gets mad. I've never seen him angry. I
like him."

"Me too!" I hear from Kurt's voice.

I look at Will for his reaction. "They all like you, you know. Even Karl,"
he tells me, and walks on.

"What, only the three of them?" I ask provocatively.

"Hell, no!" Will answers. "I love you too - for different reasons." He
reaches for my still-hard cock as we enter the lounge. "Hey! Wanna get
lucky with me tonight? Those three will probably be happy to all spend the
night in the same bed together."

The bulge in the front of his jeans betrays his seemingly insatiable
lust. It matches my own, or surpasses it. We fondle each other with some
heavy breathing until we hear the clatter on the stairs.

Will and I reluctantly separate and relocate to the other end of the room,
adjusting our clothing on the way - shirts out to conceal any lingering
tell-tale signs of excitement. We adopt relaxed positions on opposite
Chesterfields, just as the boys enter. Each is dressed in shorts and
carrying a shirt. "We weren't sure whether to put them on or not, Mr
Grant," Kurt informs me. It's more a question than a statement.

Will and I stand, displaying our `fully-dressed' selves. The boys copy our
example by pulling on their shirts.

"Yet, it seems such a pity to cover handsome, young muscles," I comment to
them. They look at me curiously at my first real comment about their
bodies. Then they look at each other and smile knowingly, considering their
very recent appreciation of each other upstairs. I add, "Except for Will,
here." Everyone looks at me, then him. "He has to wear his shirt so
that... nobody gets too excited." He actually blushes at my compliment
(knowing what the vision of his body does to me). The boys giggle.

Not to be outdone, Will replies, "And Tom has to wear his shirt
because... well, who wants to see an old guy's body anyway?" He and the
other three burst into laughter. I take a deliberately-misdirected swipe at
him which passes over his head. Will adds, "His eyesight and aim aren't
much good any more either!"

My response is swift - a headlock. This provokes an all-in rumble. Boys!
(That includes 17 and 21 year olds.) That thought stops me dead in my
tracks. I'm not 21. I turned 22 yesterday! And nobody mentioned it, among
all the fuss of the funeral and the signing of the ownership papers. I'm a
year older! I determine to say nothing. Maybe Will and Andy have forgotten
what they heard Mum say when she and Uncle Bill introduced me to the Beast,
and spare me the `birthday bumps'.

"Stop!" I shout. "Who's hungry?" There is a unanimous response! "Then,
everyone out of the front door. Go!" I tell them.

"Hey! The rain's stopped!" Will yells from the verandah. Even at a distance
of 100m I can see the different colours of the wet/dry
earth. Extraordinary!

This time it's Will up front with me and the three cock-stirring young'uns
across the back seat.

On the way to Marty's I tell them the plan. "I'll park around the back of
Marty's and we can all go into my bedroom and strip off. OK?"

"I'm still a bit nervous," Andy confesses. "I don't even know Marty very
well."

"It's all good, Andy," I put to him. "Have you forgotten the House Rule?"

Everyone, including Andy, chorus, "What happens in the house, stays in the
house." There is excited chatter and the twins hug and reassure Andy that
Marty's a `cool dude'.

Will throws in, "And, what happens in the bathroom..." He doesn't need to
finish the sentence. The three in the back freeze. Now, my rear vision
mirror isn't Hi Definition but it's good enough for me to detect flushed
faces and surprised, wide eyes.

"It's all good, guys," Will tells them again, swinging around in his seat
to engage them directly. "No problem at all," he adds, without revealing
anything specific in my presence, or even hinting at their antics.

While appearing to keep my eyes focussed on the tracks in the dust by not
moving my head, I glance into the mirror to see Karl lean forward and,
pointing discretely towards my back, I'm sure that he mouths something
like, "Does HE know?"

Will doesn't answer Karl's question but, turning back towards the front,
repeats simply, "It's all good, guys!" thereby undoubtedly sowing a seed of
doubt as to my knowledge of their bathroom capers and happy endings.

A quick glance in the mirror reveals some very close head-to-head,
behind-hands whispering. I smile at Will and he grins back at me.

Appearing to change the subject, I ask, "So, how were the beds last night,
guys? Comfortable?"

There are collective expressions of approval.

Andy comments further, "I've never slept in a bed that big before. It's
enormous!" The other two agree.

"And did you sleep well... in the big bed?" I add, specifically for Andy's
and Kurt's attention (and maybe for Karl and Will as well). I raise my head
and shoulders so that they know I'm looking at them in the mirror, and
anticipating a response.

Given that he has already shared with me his short fuse of excitement when
it comes to physical contact with Kurt, Andy appears more at ease with my
question that do the twins.

I lighten up on them by adding, "Was it just like going on a camp where the
first night is always the hardest to get to sleep? You know... in a strange
place?"

Karl, seemingly more at ease with my questioning, volunteers, "There was
plenty of room for Will and me, wasn't there, Will?" He adds, "We even had
to reach out our arms to find one another.".

Hmm. Karl is attempting to persuade me and the others that he and Will kept
their distance from each other's body. As if! And, I KNOW differently.

"I'm glad that you each had somebody to keep you company, especially after
Will's Jintabudjaree ghost story," I say, then add, "I was all alone in my
huge bed... that is, until something very strange happened."

I look at the faces of the three in the back. They regard each other,
perhaps questioningly, and then all stare back at me, hoping for (maybe,
for one of them, fearing) more information.

"Yes. Very strange!" I begin. "Perhaps I was just dreaming, but I felt a
smaller body creep into bed beside me when I was mostly asleep." There are
some wide eyes in the back. I look at Will, who mouths to me, `Who?'

I continue, "Whoever it was came right up close so that I could feel the
warmth of his body against mine. It felt very comforting and I was hoping
that he might give me a hug - you know, like we talked about."

"Then what happened, Tom?" Andy asks.

"Nothing, Andy," I reply. "Unfortunately, absolutely nothing! So either it
was the ghost, or I was just having a nice dream. I woke up a bit later and
there was nobody there."

"What would you have done, Mr Grant, if it was a real person who got into
bed with you, and hugged you?" I sense a little nervousness in Kurt's
voice. Is he about to confess, or is he sounding me out for some future
occurrence?

"I would have hugged him back, of course," I reply, wondering if it was he
who lost his nerve, after going so far. "Maybe there was somebody who was
scared of a ghost too, eh?"

Karl chimes in, "Well, I slept like a log. I didn't move a muscle, did I
Will? All night! I didn't even need to get up to pee. I had a really good
sleep."

Hmmm!

We cross the bridge, turn right and follow the muddied road into The
Village. As we approach the pub, I notice Julie Smith outside,
sweeping. "Glad you're dressed, guys?" I ask them, indicating Julie just
ahead of us. There is collective affirmation!

I slow and pull up near to her. "Good morning, Julie," I call through
Will's open window.

"Good morning, Tom," she replies, stopping sweeping, and walks across to
the car. Without prompting she explains, "It hasn't rained for so long that
I'd almost forgotten what a mess mud makes." She says hello to Will and the
others, which is met with a school-type chorused `Good morning, Mrs
Smith'. She asks, "How did you all sleep? Were the beds comfortable and
warm? No ghosts, I hope?"

They scan each other's faces , then I hear positive responses, but Karl
takes the prize with, "The beds are so big and soft! And I slept like a
log... all night... didn't move until this morning."

Hmmm, again!

"Thank you again for yesterday, Julie," I tell her. "You and your husband
did so much for me. How can I make it up to you both?"

"You already are!" she replies. "You and Bill. I still find it hard to
believe that he's offered to restore the old pub to its former glory. All
the locals are really excited, too. Many have even offered old photographs
and paintings from among their family heirlooms of how it looked in its
heyday. Some appear to be even older than those that I have displayed in
the dining room."

"When our architect, Ashley Cook, is back in town, I'm sure that he'd love
to see them all," I tell her. "I think Uncle Bill said that he's coming
next week." Will looks pleasantly shocked that this information. I was
going to keep it a secret, but I still want to surprise Marty.

"We're going to Marty's for breakfast," Will interjects, albeit
politely. It's not so much of an innocent contribution to the morning
chatter as it is a hint for me to keep driving!

"I won't hold you up, then," Julie says. "Say hello from me to Marty, and
to the family if you see any of them."

"Sure," I reply. "See you later then."

"Later," she echoes. "Bye, boys!"

The guys wave as I drive on and Julie resumes dealing with the muddied
verandah.

We turn off the muddy road onto the even-muddier track to Marty's place.

Without commenting, Will reaches across and nudges me with his forearm as
we pass our `lucky spot'. He grins as he cups and jiggles his `gear', out
of sight of the others. I look at him and wink.

The dogs are still acknowledging our arrival as I pull up the Beast around
to the back door. That is, until I hear Marty scream, "Shut up!"

The boys jump. I think that they are just as shocked as are the dogs. "You
OK, guys?" I ask as they pile out. They nod and grunt a collective but
tentative `uh-huh'.

Will ushers them to the back door then he turns and yells, "Last one in
gets his bare bum slapped!" He grins, and says slowly, "That would be you,
brother!" There is giggling from inside the doorway and he quickly
disappears inside behind them. "We'll be with you in a minute, Marty!" I
hear him call.

I walk straight past the bedroom and bathroom to the kitchen. Marty has the
bacon, sausages and eggs cooking. I guess that the barking of the dogs was
the signal to turn on the stove. Marty has already pulled the table away
from the wall and has set 6 places around it and I recognise the few extra
chairs as coming from Acacia's place.

"Hi, Marty," I greet him. "The boys are all getting `ready' and will be out
soon." I add, "Go easy on them, OK? They're still a little apprehensive
about the dress code."

He smiles at me. "No worries," then, again turns his aproned front to the
stove, showing off his muscular backside to me. "Just breakfast as normal!
Nothing more!"

I enter the bedroom to be greeted by four guys, already 'au naturel', with
their clothes strewn all over the bed. They step behind me to the doorway
but, instead of going to the kitchen, they stand two on either side. "A
guard of honour?" I ask.

"More like a gauntlet I reckon," Will replies. "You WERE the last one
inside." He lightly slaps his own backside to indicate a softer form of
what is in store for me. The other boys do the same. They keep going, in
unison, and create a steady rhythm.

Now, while all four of them have seen me naked previously, the younger
three have never watched me strip down, so I put on a bit of a show, using
their slapping tempo for my strip-tease. I don't know how I manage to stay
soft, given the sight of their various degrees of increasing chunkiness.

I saunter towards their waiting palms. Then I dash! All but one glancing
hand misses its mark completely. I turn to them from the corridor and, on
the point of either poking out my tongue in juvenile defiance, or giving my
four students the finger, I think better of it. Instead, I say calmly,
"Well, come on. What are you waiting for? I thought you were hungry."

I smile at the embarrassed confusion on their faces, which says something
like, `should I follow Tom and let Marty see my cock like this or should I
wait until it goes down?'

Will whispers something to them, then announces, "OK. We're coming." The
boys are about to display the glory of their adolescent bodies and their
emerging manhoods to Marty. All follow me in the direction of the kitchen
but make a sudden detour, led by Will, into the bathroom. "Just washing our
hands before breakfast!" he tells me.

Smart little brother! He knows what effect cold water will have on their
bodies. Modesty restored! The more natural the better I suppose.

As they emerge, Marty announces, "Hi guys. Welcome to my place. Sit
wherever you want on each side. Tom and I get the two ends. I'm putting all
of the food over here on the kitchen bench. You can bring your plates and
help yourselves.

Normally, Marty would have put the plates of cooked food in the middle of
the table. However, while there may not be sufficient room this morning and
knowing him, I suspect that he wants to watch their tensing glutes and
swaying young cocks going back and forth. Pervy old man! (Well, older than
me, that is!)

The boys don't move until Will goes first. As he walks past Marty he
comments, with more than a grin of sarcasm, "Hey, cousin, aren't you
over-dressed with that apron on? What happened to the dress code? I'm
guessing that there has to be some penalty for ignoring it!"

The only response that Marty gives him is a hard swat to the backside, just
as Will had planned for me. Marty's palm print starts to redden immediately
on Will's pale cheek, and reminds me of stencilled artwork.

"Crikey!" Will splutters. "What was that for?"

"For showing too much cheek," Marty answers with his infamous grin.

I look at the boys. Their expressions convey a combination of apprehension
and, yet, mirth (at Will's expense). I really hope that they see and
appreciate Marty as a true joker and not as some terrible person whom they
should fear.

"Plenty of food this morning, guys. Dig in. Nice sausages, too!" Marty
announces.

I'm not sure whether he extolling his own skills as a cook for his guests
or is commenting on that which he can see attached to his guests! He
removes his apron, under the close scrutiny of five pairs of eyes.

Kransky!

Despite the splendid smorgasbord of `eye candy', breakfast proceeds without
incident, accident or discernible innuendo. To all intents and purposes,
nudity aside, it is a normal family breakfast. No obvious erections. No
obvious embarrassment.

Talk centres around last night at the homestead. The fire. The shadows. The
stories. The ghost (which I insist was only a figment of a hyperactive
imagination, inspired by Will's spine-tingling narrative).

By the time we've finished, I'd say that everyone is sufficiently confident
parading in their birthday suits, even Andy, who delights in the re-telling
everyone of Will's first encounter at the beach with a dolphin. For some
reason, everyone finds Will's terror hilarious. It wasn't at the time - for
him or for me.

"Remember the House Rule!" Will cautions. "One word of this at school
tomorrow and somebody will be walking funny for a week!"

Marty adds, "Guys, the House Rule is taken very seriously for us who live
here. For the benefit of everyone now and in the future, do we all agree
that nobody says anything about what they hear or see this morning?" He
stretches his hand, palm-down, across the centre of the table. I lay my
hand on his and all of the others follow in kind. Marty breaks the hand
shake by pushing upwards, calling, "House Rule!" As all hands disperse,
`House Rule' is echoed as a vow of everyone's pledge of solidarity in
discretion and silence.

As the whole breakfast-in-the-nude experience winds down, Marty insists on
cleaning up. Will encourages the three boys to go with him on a tour of
Marty's property, around the river's edge. I go to my room and, while
dressing, allow myself some time to reflect on breakfast, the twins, Andy,
Marty and, of course, Will.

I sit on my bed and ponder... it really should have been with absolute
reluctance that I allowed (now) four of my teenage students to be placed in
a situation where they were required to parade naked in front of two adult
males, especially since one of them is their school teacher.

And yet, the fact that I was aware of their sexual activity seemed to
justify it. Was I providing them some additional `growth' experience or,
perhaps, just a bit of fun, or, was it just that I was satisfying my own
lust, maybe `grooming' them for some future personal gratification?

Am I on a dangerous slippery slope to an ugly legal end? That fear comes
and goes from my consciousness.

Will and me. There is not too much more that I could experience physically
with my 17 year old brother, with both of us having shared our bodies (and
our emotions) completely with each other. He was `Little Willie' with the
big willie. He was secretly gay and painfully closeted until I showed
up. How did our first meeting ever develop into us `getting lucky' with
each other? I know... he wanted it and so did I. We both yielded to the
temptation after carefully sounding out each other.

Kurt. Where exactly is my `fun' with him heading? Somehow I have allowed
`things' to progress from frolicking with him and Karl and Will in the weir
to the point of mutual masturbation and oral sex, which he loves. But, he's
only 12; still a kid! I feel ashamed. It's not as though I orchestrated our
whole relationship and pursued him. What if he wants more? Can I allow this
to go any further? He appears so morose if I ignore him and his apparent
desires.

Karl, Kurt's twin brother, confided in Will that Kurt wanted to `do stuff'
with me, like he, himself, does with Will. Was that just to get Kurt out of
the way so that Will and Karl could have more alone time together? Until
the `nudity thing' yesterday, my contact with Karl had been limited to the
four-in `horse and rider' antics in the weir. At least, with him, I have
maintained a semblance of professional separation.

Young Andy is the handsome, athletic body boarder and surfer, heart-throb
of my sister, Amelia, and her school friends. Wasn't it Andy who gravitated
towards me at the beach and in the showers? Didn't I just `play along'? I
was absolutely gutted by his near-death `accident', especially when I knew
the circumstances leading up to it and could possibly have prevented it. I
have a special feeling for him, and not as a sex object. I feel a sense of
responsibility for his condition, a sense of pity at his family
circumstances, and a sense of great relief at his miraculous progress to
recovery since entering the Jintabudjaree homestead. It seems, from his
insistence on me helping him with his `gear' at the wake, and despite my
large measure of self-restraint, that he is still `coming on to me'. I can
only hope, with him and Kurt `clicking' as they have, that my temptation to
`do stuff' him and Kurt will greatly diminish, perhaps even disappear
altogether.

I hang my head. Am I hearing myself correctly? Am I actually laying blame
on each boy for initiating my involvement with him? What a wretch! I feel
that I'm unsuited to my job. Why did I ever decide to become a teacher, and
expose innocent boys to my personal character flaw? What damage have I
already done to these cherubs?

My misery and self-deprecating reverie is interrupted by the approaching
sound of laughter. I finish tying my shoe laces and stand to greet them as
they enter the bedroom door.

One look at their joyful faces, chatting happily with each other, brings an
immediate grin to my own and my gloom is instantly dispelled. The fact that
they are naked is irrelevant. My focus is their smiles and the delight that
is positively radiating from them.

They're happy. I detect no sign of regret or apprehension or hesitation in
greeting me. I don't read `monster' or `pervert' or `criminal' anywhere on
their faces as their eyes greet mine. Their energy levels are high. They
are bubbling with enthusiasm.

I'm happy.

Without so much as a glance at each other, they begin to locate their own
clothes and put them on, appearing totally ignorant of their nakedness, or
my clothed state, babbling the whole while to me about where they have been
and what they have seen.

"The river is amazing," Andy says to me, while pulling on his pants. "You
should have seen all of the birds, Tom. There were kookaburras and heaps of
different parrots and we even saw a couple of emus on the other side of the
river."

"Not like back on the Gold Coast, eh?" I ask him.

"No," he immediately replies. "All I ever see back home is squawking
seagulls that argue over bits of food that tourists throw to them and those
ugly black and white, dirty-looking ibis scavengers that continually pull
rubbish out of the bins with their long curved bills. The birds out here
are colourful and beautiful."

His comment gives me an idea for a science project during the few remaining
weeks of term by the whole school, young ones and older, on local bird
life.

"And," Karl throws in, with one arm through his shirt sleeve and a
mostly-obscured head, "we saw an eagles' nest, way up high at the top of
one of the trees."

Will throws in, "Tom, do you remember that pair of wedge-tailed eagles that
we saw dancing together months ago? You know, the ones that I painted?"
Without waiting for my response, he adds, "Well, I reckon that the nest has
to be theirs. I'd never noticed it until Karl pointed it out."

Karl's chest seems to expand as both arms and his head all appear from
their right openings in his shirt. His broad, white-teeth grin confirms his
pleasure at being acknowledged for his `discovery' by his older friend and
confidant.

"And," his brother, Kurt, adds, while securing his shoes, "we climbed up
the ladder of the windmill."

"I hope that Marty's sister didn't see you all up there," I
half-tease. Then a pang of concern hits me. I REALLY hope that neither Anna
nor Acacia spotted the naked foursome.

Will comments, "Nah, she couldn't have. The ladder is on the river side of
the windmill. We could only see her place from the very top and, besides,
her eyesight couldn't be that good." He laughs. So do the others at their
brazenness.

"And Will showed us the `Mens Room', too," Andy chirps. There is a bit of a
titter from all of them.

I give Will a serious look.

"And he showed us the holes," Kurt adds.

"Oh, did he?" I ask, and I intensify my gaze on Will's face.

"And he showed us what they were for," Karl puts in, looking at me for any
hint of disapproval.

"Really?" I ask, with as much of a non-judgmental face as I can muster for
their benefit.

"Yeh," Karl continues. "He showed us what they were for and we all had a
go."

Inwardly I am furious at Will's indiscretion. I bite my tongue and say
nothing, and yet his face betrays no remorse.

Andy adds, for my benefit, as though I did not know how to use the holes,
"Yeh, you have to stand in front of the hole and pee through it without
wetting the wall. The one who can back away the farthest from the wall and
still pee through the hole is the winner!"

Will's face erupts into a huge `gotcha' smirk that disarms me totally. I
should have known better than to mistrust him! But, then, Will is Will!

"And who won?" I put to the boys.

They all point at Andy, who raises his fist in triumph. "I was smart and
peed through the biggest hole," he confesses. After a moment he adds
quietly to me, almost as an aside, "I can think of another use for one of
the smaller holes."

I have absolutely no intention of pursuing that line of thought. "Come on,
guys," I say with some haste, not wanting to give him an opportunity to
continue, "Let's say thanks and good-bye to Marty, and we'll head up to the
school to organise things for Andy to start tomorrow."

"Then, can we go back out to the homestead?" Will asks. "I want to have a
good look around. Everything has either been rushed or it's been too dark
whenever we've been out there." He looks at me and then, as if there was
any doubt regarding my answer, seeks to influence me by the weight of
numbers, and he asks the boys, "What do you say, guys?" (I allow the `can
we' / `may we' grammatical faux pas to pass without comment.)

"Hell, yeh!" they chorus. Will has definitely influenced them! For years,
he's been like the big brother that the twins never had and they, in turn,
have instantly become like brothers to Andy.

Marty has already cleaned up. He is still naked, but the situation suddenly
feels `normal' and I detect no sneak peaks at his `parts' from any of the
boys. They each thank him and head for the car. I follow, but Will lags
behind a little with Marty.

I suddenly hear a loud slap, which is followed by Will launching himself
from the top step and dashing past me and the boys towards the Beast. He
jumps in and pulls the door closed behind him. Marty appears at the back
door, rubbing his backside. He pounds his fist into his other palm, in a
mock threatening gesture towards Will. It's only the grin on his face that
tells us there is no malice in his intentions.

Everyone climbs in. Will's only word is, "Payback!" He bursts out laughing,
pointing towards Marty tauntingly. At least everyone sees the humour in his
cousinly interaction with Marty.

It's a jovial drive up to The Village. I pull up at the school.

Will extends his hand for the keys, then he and the boys head for the door.

I take my time and admire my surroundings. The sun is warm. The autumn sky
is a brilliant blue. The air, super-oxygenated by the rain, is fresh. The
smell of dust has been replaced by the faint but distinctive eucalyptus
scent of the river gums. I hear the gurgle of the replenished river water
cascading over the weir to the lower side. There is a cacophony of bird
calls up and down the river. I love this place!

By the time I enter the classroom, the boys have it all sorted out, with
Andy to sit next to Kurt and Karl next to Jake. Will at the end. I suggest
an alternative. "Why don't we have Andy next to Karl then Will, at the end,
then Jake then Kurt, who will be opposite Andy?"

My main concern is that if Andy and Kurt are next to each other, there
might be some unwanted embarrassing moments. The boys can see no flaw in my
suggestion, and they rearrange their belongings accordingly. Jake won't
need to move at all.

Even though Andy has already seen the school, the boys insist on giving him
the fully-escorted tour, complete with their own different commentaries. As
they leap the single step off the verandah and head towards the toilets, I
busy myself in collecting some books for Andy from the store room and in
preparing some work for the young ones.

The four of them soon re-appear and inform me that they are heading over to
Karl and Kurt's place, to `dig up' some extra clothes for Andy to wear
during the coming week, before our shopping excursion.

"Thanks, guys," I tell Karl and Kurt. I add, "How'd you both like to come
into Big Town with Andy, Will and me next Saturday - if it's OK with your
dad?"

"Wow! Thank you, Mr Grant," Karl replies. "We haven't been into Big Town
for... AGES!"

Kurt smiles at Andy, and they follow the other two out of the door and
across the paddock. If it was socially acceptable, I could imagine them
holding hands and skipping! But country boys don't do that!

I settle down to complete all of the preparations necessary for tomorrow's
lessons.

I become aware of heavy footsteps on the verandah. It's Jan, the twins'
father. I look at my watch. Holy cow! Where have the past couple of hours
gone? He must have walked over. I didn't hear a car.

"Knock, knock," Jan verbalises rather than rapping on the door.

"Come in, Jan," I say, rising to walk across and greet him. He is
smiling. I extend my hand. "How was Whispering Gums? Any rain up that way?"

"Not a drop!" he replies. "But, it looks as though there's been a lot
here!"

"And it seems that everywhere south of here `copped it', all right." I tell
him. "Have you noticed that the river has risen? It rained from here half
way to Cunnamulla."

"Then I expect that the level will come up a lot further, as all of that
water makes its way downstream,"he informs me. "I wonder if we'll get
more."

"I absolutely have no idea," I reply. "What would I know? I'm only a city
slicker."

He laughs. "Don't sell yourself short, Tom," he reassures me. "You've
fitted in well here in just a few short months. You've touched everyone's
lives."

I smile at him, but inwardly cringe. Some lives I've touched more than
others, including one of his own boys!

"Anyway," he continues. "Helen is making lunch for me and the four
boys. Will you come over and join us?"

"Sure. Thank you," I tell him. "I think I'm done here, anyway."

I decide to leave the Beast to `guard' the school while I walk across the
paddock with Jan.

"So, what did you and Helen get up to last night?" I say, just to begin a
nondescript, friendly conversation.

"Is it that obvious?" Jan asks, looking at me with a Cheshire-cat grin and
slightly flushed cheeks.




(To be continued...)

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