Date: Tue, 19 Jul 2016 01:38:43 +0000
From: Robert A. Armstrong <rob.aa@hotmail.com>
Subject: Schoolie - Chapter 52 - An Epilogue

Chapter 52 – An Epilogue

[Author's note:] It's hard to walk away from the fantasy characters that
I've created and have grown to love as part of my life for the past three
years, knowing that you have them made part of yours too. Will there be a
resurrection? Friends, it's not on the horizon, at this stage.

However, I feel that I have created far too many `loose ends' to simply
leave you `in limbo' as I often enjoyed doing with my `cliff hangers' to
tease you into coming back for the next chapter.

Let me say, I hate unhappy endings and it was never in my thoughts to
curtail the story abruptly by having the inhabitants of The Village,
collectively or individually, wiped out by a series of accidents or
somebody's brain snap, or any terrorist activity or a deadly
virus. However, life is not lived `on cloud nine' and into every life a
little rain must fall.

Many readers have expressed a desire for `closure' and, to that end, I
present to you my thoughts of where things might have gone had I continued
writing this story for a time into the future. If you don't want to know,
then may I suggest that you stop reading and leave now, in blissful
unawareness.

And, these are not just my thoughts, but in keeping with my experimental,
first-person writing style, I present you with the characters' own
thoughts. (Up until now you have seen the entire story through the eyes of
Tom Grant, the `Schoolie'.) To make it easier, imagine with me, if you
will, a point in time 10 years on from Chapter 51.


But before I have the characters share their individual thoughts with you,
here is a bit of information about a few of the places in the story...


***The Village

It's ten years since Tom, the Schoolie was first introduced to the folk
here. Through his personal contacts, The Village has experienced a
reinvigoration to a model of its glory days in the late 1800s. The pub has
been restored and rows of cottages have been built, all in keeping with the
architecture of that period. However, modern technologies have been
incorporated into all of the constructions. The Village is a thriving
tourist destination, not only because it is a living picture of the history
of the region, but as an example of sustainable self-sufficiency in a harsh
environment.

The streets have been re-planted with peppercorn trees that, now that they
have grown, bow in the wind, seemingly in deference to their old gnarled
`grandfather' tree outside the pub, a landmark in its own right. The
Village, as a whole, figures prominently in architectural, historic,
tourist and environmental literature. The population has increased in the
past ten years – not rapidly but steadily. The council has allowed
properties to be subdivided and local folk have taken advantage of the
potential financial gains in selling small allotments – not to make them
rich, but to provide them with a more secure future. Many local inhabitants
of the past have moved on; others have stayed and raised more
children. It's a great place to visit, but an even better place to live.


***The Pub

Who would have thought that the time-wearied old pub of ten years ago could
now look so grand! The materials chosen by the architect for its
restoration are as close to its original construction as were able to be
sourced. The brickwork, verandahs, windows and roofing are a living
remembrance of the pub's original magnificence. The wooden sidewalk, the
original of which disappeared decades ago, has been re-constructed and it
presents a magnificent foil to the building itself – so different to the
concrete strips that we see in our modern cities. Internally, the rooms
have been fully refurbished to resort standard (even if not quite 5-star)
and the pub now enjoys contact with the outside world through the marvels
of satellite technology. Energy is essentially solar-generated and the
multitude of solar panels is not discernible from the streetscape, a
testimony to the ingenuity of the architect. Many of the period cottages
are rented or leased through the pub, which is still owned and operated by
the Smiths. Cottage rents are shared between the Smiths and their owners,
Tom & Will.


***Jintabudjaree Station

The homestead on Jintabudjaree Station was classified by the National Trust
of Australia some years ago as a place of great historic significance.

Research has revealed that shortly after the American cattleman built it in
1895, he was joined by a former business associate `Gentleman', James
Bowen, who was a young nephew of Queensland's first governor, George
Bowen. It is told that James had influential connections in both the USA
and Britain which the American wanted to exploit, and so James was invited
to move out here.

Seeking to curry favour (and, one suspects, potential monetary support)
from Congress at home, the American had named his mansion `Cleveland' after
Grover Cleveland, the US president at the time.

There is no record of the American making any agreement with the local
aborigines to settle on their land. It appears that he simply took it, like
a `wild west land grab'.

Previously, the Queensland government had commissioned the building of a
landau for Queen Victoria's Golden Jubilee in 1887 with the intention of
shipping it back to England as a gift from the people of
Queensland. However, there was political unrest at the time regarding its
cost and it never made the journey, instead, being kept initially in
stables in Brisbane for Her Majesty's use at some future time if and when
she might visit the colony. That never happened.

When James came to Australia, he brought with him a large selection from
his uncle's library, to which George Bowen had given him full access and
use. James also came across the landau, languishing in a Brisbane
warehouse, and the government of the day was happy to divest itself of the
never-used device, recouping the cost of its construction and avoiding any
further expensive upkeep, by selling it to him. Library and landau
travelled with James out to `Cleveland' (now Jintabudjaree Station).

James discovered that the property contained two areas of geothermal
activity, one farther west of the homestead, which the original aboriginal
inhabitants treated with great respect as a gift from the Great Rainbow
Serpent, providing them with both hot and cold fresh water. The other is
still utilised today and has been engineered to provide a free and enduring
source of water and energy.

It has been heard tell that the aborigines referred to the two men simply
as `bad man' and `good man', the former being the manipulative American and
the latter, James Bowen (who, it seems, regularly met with them in an
attempt to learn their language, and to give them gifts of young calves for
food). It was while he, James, was on a trip overseas that the American
accused the aborigines of theft and he slaughtered them, and the legend of
the curse began. It is rumoured that, on his return to the property, James
was confronted by a lone aboriginal elder, who, waving his boomerang and
spear, shrieked the word `Jintabudjaree' and then disappeared. Young James,
good man that he was, became the curse's first substitutionary victim,
succumbing to the bite from a poisonous snake in his bedroom that same
night. The landau and the library never left the property.

Jintabudjaree Station is still owned by Mr Thomas Grant, the local
`Schoolie' and unofficial Mayor of the Village, who has lived in it now for
almost ten years with his half-brother, local-lad-made-good, William
O'Brien. Will comes and goes as his lifestyle as a famous artist permits.

In addition to the main homestead, a set of stables has been built (in the
Victorian style) for Will's horses, which is balanced architecturally by
another building, his art studio. It contains both a work area and a
gallery. More frequently now, people come from all over the world to watch
him at work and they can stay in the homestead if they commission him to do
portraits of them.

The homestead itself has acquired a reputation for its healing properties,
and Mr Grant permits a small number of people to stay for a few days. He
refuses to accept payment from these visitors, telling them that witnessing
their regained health is recompense enough.


***Whispering Gums

Ten years ago, as a result of one of the fiercest droughts on record,
Whispering Gums was sold. Who would have known that it would be purchased,
secretly, by a descendent of its original O'Sullivan-family owners, Helen
O'Sullivan, now Helen Andersen, who still works the property with husband
Jan, and Jan's sons Karl and Kurt. Jan and Helen have three small children
of their own, twin girls and a little boy. The girls attend the local
Village school.

=========================

And now, from their own mouths...


***Helen O'Sullivan, Council Inspector

Ten years ago when I learned that my grandfather's property, Whispering
Gums, was to be sold, I felt compelled to buy it, having been `relocated'
away from it by my parents when I was eleven! My grandfather would have
wanted me to be here to look after it, if only in memory of the work that
he put into it. You know, it was only because of my involvement, as a
Council inspector, with the proposed refurbishment of the pub and the
construction of some cottages, that I became aware of its availability.

It was also around that time that I met Jan Andersen, a local, who was
hired to work on the Village re-development project. We hit it off
immediately and I made many `official' Council visits to the area that
enabled me to spend `discrete' time with him. I don't think that anyone
knew that he and I were seeing each other, until Tom Grant accidentally
outed us one day. I think that he was more embarrassed than Jan and I
were. My great fear was that I would be rejected by Jan's sons, Karl and
Kurt. However, the opposite was the case and I `clicked' with them
too. They are now both handsome young specimens of manhood, hard-working
and respectful to their father and me. And they love their little brother
and two sisters that Jan and I have produced together. I am sure that on
many days I hear my grandfather's voice whispering to me through the gum
trees as I sit by the river and read stories to the children.

Tom Grant and Will O'Brien own the cottages in The Village and those
wonderful men gave one to Jan and me as a wedding present to replace Jan's
original home. I spend my time there four nights each week while the
children are attending school, then come home on weekends. Sometimes Jan
surprises me and comes into the Village for an overnight stay, while Karl
and Kurt look after the animals. I resigned from the Council when Jan and I
discovered that we were expecting our first child, actually, the twins.


***Jan Andersen, father of twins Karl and Kurt, manager of `Whispering
Gums' station

It was a difficult time for me, living separated from Karl and Kurt's
mother, who hated this area of the state and moved back to Brisbane leaving
me to raise the twin boys alone. However, the first day that I met Helen
O'Sullivan I fell for her and knew that I could spend my life with this
remarkable woman who exuded as much passion for the land as I did. Having
Whispering Gums in common (with her family as previous owners and me as the
current manager) just made conversation and getting to know each other so
much easier.

It would be fair to say that we clicked with each other immediately and,
following some discrete discussion, I even left the boys asleep and went
back across to her room at the pub that very night. She told me that she
had been divorced for a number of years. Our love-making, as I vividly
recall, was the most passionate of my life. That was just the
beginning. Helen would often visit Whispering Gums while I was working
there, and we were able to `slip away' together for a couple of hours at a
time to one of the outlying shearers' quarters. Having lived there as a
girl, she easily made friends with the owners and would sometime stay a few
days at a time. Lucky me!

Although I knew that I wanted to spend time with her, perhaps even to be
with her long-term, I was greatly concerned about what Karl and Kurt would
think of me divorcing their mother and introducing a step-mother into their
lives. I shouldn't have worried. Helen has such a way with children that
she charmed the two of them almost immediately. As they have grown, she has
been more of a mother to them than their own could ever have been. Helen
was, and is, a country girl! She has been a blessing to all of us, and we
now boast a family of five, having produced three of our own young ones,
currently aged four and seven.

I remember the day that our little secret affair `got out'. I can 'thank'
Tom Grant for that! As I recall, I had asked Tom if he could `baby sit' the
boys for me while I `showed Helen around Whispering Gums' and that we would
be staying overnight. When we got back the next day, Tom looked me in the
eye and asked what Helen and I had got up to during the night. The timing
was a perfect opportunity to `come clean'. I `confessed' everything to him
first, then I shared that I had told him with Helen and, much later, the
boys. From there it has been all `clear sailing'.

I could scarcely believe my ears when Helen told me, months later, that I
wouldn't need to leave Whispering Gums and find another job because she was
now the new owner and that she `wanted to keep me on'. It was after that
comment that I told the boys and discussed what `divorce' was and how it
would impact them, then I proposed to her. I think that Karl and Kurt were
more excited than I was. They love it out here too.

Kurt sometimes goes away for up to a month at a time, and visits his
long-time friend, Andy, who regularly comes to stay with us. Lovely young
man! They are both very lucky to have in each other such devoted
friends. You should see them together! They are both so happy. I could wish
for nothing better for Kurt, or Andy who became, and is, a proud
Olympian. Between you and me, I think that there is a lot more to their
relationship than just `friends'.


***Karl Andersen, twin of Kurt, son of Jan

I'm now 22 and I have a little brother and two sisters. I think they're
wonderful!

It's great being on the farm with my dad and my step-mum, Helen, and I love
working with all of the animals. Whispering Gums is such a beautiful place,
with the river winding through it. Even though it's been ten years since
the great drought broke, we've had periods of dry and periods of wet.

Dad has introduced a number of ideas to which the owners before Helen even
refused to listen. These have made the place so much more sustainable. We
even run a `farm stay' now for tourists who actually pay to come for up to
a week at a time and help us do our work. Go figure!

Dad has taught me to be a farrier because there are many properties with
horses in the district. It gives me a private income. I love it most when I
get to stay with Will and Tom (it's still hard not to call him `Mr Grant')
and to work on their horses. I don't charge them, of course, but Tom is
always generous and Will finds other ways to thank me. LOL.

Will and I have grown up as the best of mates and we tell each other
`stuff' that nobody else knows about. I think that Mr Grant, Tom, would be
horrified if he ever found out what I know about him and Will! But I made a
pledge with Will that we would keep each other's secrets, and I will honour
that forever. Besides, I always tell Will about any fun that I might have
with some of the casual farm hands or young tourists (male and female)
whenever Will is away. He's OK with that; actually I think he looks forward
to hearing my stories. One of the first things he always asks me when he
comes home is whether I `got lucky'.

I even told Will of the night that I crept into Mr Grant's bed out at
Jintabudjaree Station. Do you remember it – the very first night that my
brother and I stayed out there with Will and Tom and with Kurt's friend,
Andy? I had a nightmare that the Jintabudjaree ghost was after me. I
couldn't wake up Will and I thought that the ghost had killed him so I ran
across to Mr Grant's room to be safe. I got into his bed and slid across
until I could feel the security of his body next to mine. Eventually, with
my heart still pounding and my brain racing, I realised that I must have
been dreaming and I wasn't so scared (except of what Mr Grant might say if
he woke up and found me in bed with him) so I crept back to Will's room. He
was breathing (thankfully) and had turned on his side so I climbed in and
snuggled up to him. He says that he doesn't remember it at all!

Will and I still `enjoy each other's company' just as we used to do when we
were back in school, but he's not always here. He's famous, you know, and
travels to lots of places. Boy is he handsome! I still get hard just
thinking about him in his tight jeans (`fancy pants' I call them) and those
body-hugging designer shirts that he buys when he's away.

Will went through a really bad patch a couple of years ago with one of
those flirty, `arty-farty types' in the city who really took advantage of
his gentle nature. He told me that his Dad, Mr Grant senior, sorted that
out for him after a friend alerted him to what was happening. He'll
probably tell you about it himself.

He doesn't spend as much time in the city, or travelling, any more, only
occasionally, like when he's having an exhibition or has to attend a media
event. It's wonderful to see him and Tom together. They are always patting
and hugging each other. Once I saw them smooching when they thought that
nobody was around. When I mentioned it sometime later to Will, that's when
we made our pact and he told me what else they do together. OMG! I asked
him to teach me everything, but he said that he couldn't, out of a renewed
respect for Tom.

But I learned from someone else. Swedish tourists are always welcome here!

Life is good.


***Kurt Andersen, twin of Karl, son of Jan

It has been ten years since I met Mr Grant. It was just before my brother
Karl's and my twelfth birthday. I remember that first day at the weir when
all of us kids had been swimming. At first I thought that Mr Grant was
scared of us, but he soon relaxed. I really liked him much better than any
of our previous teachers. He's been here in The Village ever
since. Everybody here loves him.

One of my fond memories of that year is that Karl, Will and I used to play
games in the weir, chasing and tagging each other, then swimming away under
water. Most often, when there were no girls around, we played without any
clothes on, and we had fun grabbing each other between the legs. I
especially liked getting hold of Will's, because it was so big and always
hard. One day, I had a great shock. I swam up to that `secret spot' below
the weir overflow that I had seen Will dive into, and I felt for his legs,
then I ran my hands up to scrunch his cock and balls, but I found that it
wasn't Will. It was actually Mr Grant, who was sitting next to him. I was
so freaked out! I thought that he would beat me up or, even worse, tell my
dad. But he didn't. He was really cool about it. Even so, I didn't sleep
well that night. I remember that day and moment vividly... often. One day
Will showed me a pencil drawing that he did of my face as he remembered
it. Holy cow! I looked terrified. And, from memory, I actually was.

However, I remember even better the day when my brother, Karl, and Will
eventually talked Mr Grant into getting his gear off completely and having
some fun in the weir with us. He was even more handsome without his clothes
(haha) and looked just like an older version of Will. We found out later
that year that they were actually brothers. It was so weird, seeing that
I'd known Will all my life. There are times when it's hard to tell them
apart, even now. Will is 27 and Mr Grant is 32. I think that Will keeps him
young!

My brother, Karl, was always Will's favourite, so I spent a lot of time,
back then, trying to get Mr Grant to be MY `special friend'. He eventually
gave in, and we used to do `stuff' together, especially after school, while
Karl had Will all to himself at our place. Mr Grant was always scared of us
getting caught, but I'm good at keeping my mouth shut – and I've never
told my brother what really used to happen, even though he and Will used to
ask me all the time. As far as they know, we just used to jerk off together
like they did.

Now, Mr Grant lets all different people come and stay at his house. He says
that it's kind of like a health resort. But there are plenty of times when
he's there by himself. Sometimes, when Will is away, I go and do some work
for Mr Grant on weekends and keep him company. He told me that the old
house has a number of secret passages that he had found. You know about the
one off the bathroom. Mr Grant showed me one off the kitchen and he even
found one between his bedroom and the one that I usually sleep in when
Will's away, the `blue' room. I love to use it at night and sneak in to
surprise him. He lets me cuddle up to him and... (Hey – we have our own
House Rule!)

Also, I remember the day that I met Andy Thompson, just like it was last
week. Wow! I got an instant hard-on just from shaking hands with him and
looking into his eyes. Mr Grant was the only one that I told about the
weird effect that Andy had on me, and he really helped me to deal with
it. He even suggested that Andy and I might like to sleep together in our
own room. I never told anyone, but I came three times that night. Andy
thought that it was funny, especially when he did it four times (with my
help – LOL).

Andy and I still see each other at least twice each year. Sometimes I go
and stay with him. He has his own flat on the Gold Coast, but I especially
love it when he comes out here, and we get to go horse riding with Tom and
Will. We seem to have so much more freedom when he's here. He usually stays
for a month at a time, and he helps Karl and me around the property. Dad
lets him and me use the bunk house so that we can be together and talk. I
don't know whether dad suspects what Andy and I get up to; he's never said
anything but he does grin and wink at us a lot.

I think that my life would be `empty' without Andy. We just understand each
other; we like the same things and we even think the same. Sometimes he
seems more like my twin than Karl does. Did you know that Andy has
represented Australia at the Olympic Games, as a swimmer? He's in training
again at the moment. You should see his muscles! I love giving him
massages. All over. Naked. Him and me both. Haha. How do you know if you
are in love with somebody? Maybe I'll ask Mr Grant.

Whenever we have tourists come and stay, I'm the one who organises their
time, plays `host' and shows them around. We have horse riding, quad-bike
riding, mucking out the stables, feeding the calves, collecting the eggs,
mending fences and a whole lot of other chores to do. The people love
it. And they pay us!

I've also made friends with the helicopter pilot who brings most of the
tourists out here. He's the son of Mr Grant (senior)'s friend who was the
last one to die from the Jintabudjaree curse, ten years ago. His name is
Danny too, same as his dad. I call him `D2' and he calls me `K2' (because
Karl is `K1'). He's a lot of fun, a bit older than Will but younger than
our Mr Grant. If he didn't have a `significant' girlfriend, and I didn't
have Andy (and Mr Grant), I could seriously be interested in `messing
around' with him. Too bad!

He's teaching me all about the helicopter and has even let me fly it
sometimes when there's only him and me aboard. He does quite well out of
the tourists – bringing them here from Cunnamulla, taking them down to
Jintabudjaree to see Will's art studio and Will (if he's there) and also
into town to see the restored Village. Sometimes he carries tourists who
have driven to the Village out here to Whispering Gums, and also to
Jintabudjaree. Occasionally, as a special treat for any tourists that might
be here at the time, Danny and I let them tag along when we use the
helicopter to check out the whereabouts of stray cattle.

I'm really happy here. I have my brother, Karl, Dad, `Mum' Helen, Tom, Will
and especially Andy. Andy reckons when he can't swim competitively any more
that he might like to come out here and live. Great! I've just got a
`woody' thinking about that possibility!


***Andrew (Andy) Thompson, son of Enid, surfer and body boarder, friend of
Tom and Will, and Kurt

Ten years ago I thought that I was going to die. That bastard (whose name I
will never again speak) threw me over the balcony because I wouldn't let
him fuck me again and because I kicked him in the balls. But he got what
was coming to him. Simon and Luke told me how the police caught him and
exactly what other guys did to him in prison. I wish that I had been
conscious to hear about it and celebrate when it happened!

When I woke up in hospital, all I could remember initially was my friend,
Tom, and how he tried to help me, but I didn't let him. I asked Mum every
day where my friend Tom was. I wanted to hug him and thank him and to say
sorry to him. I couldn't speak properly or walk properly and I was really
scared that I was going to stay like that for the rest of my life.

When Mum told me that she was going to a funeral with Tom's mother and that
Tom was going to be there, I insisted that I wanted to go too. I had to go!
Something told me that I just needed to be out there with him! Mum said
`no' because it would be too dangerous while I was still recovering, so I
screamed and threw tantrums until she eventually gave in. I knew that she
would. Haha.

I nearly cried when I first saw Tom again that day at Cunnamulla. I
couldn't hobble over to him from the plane fast enough to give him a hug. I
stayed with him all that day of the funeral. To let you in on a little
secret, I even got him to take me to the toilet and help me get my cock out
and put it back in. I wanted him to hold it longer and do stuff, like in
the showers at the beach, but he didn't.

Even better than seeing Tom and feeling him hold my cock, even briefly, a
miracle happened while I was staying with him at the homestead. I got
better. Not actually fully better, but almost fully better. I could talk; I
could walk and I felt good. I don't know how that happened; neither does
he, but I thank God every day for Tom and that place. My medal from the
last Olympics has pride of place in my lounge room and, as I was receiving
it, I dedicated it under my breath to Tom and his magical Jintabudjaree
Station. Without them I may not have got past the depression, that the
doctors said that I had, let alone achieve what I have since then.

And, if I hadn't gone with mum that day, to see Tom again, and hadn't gone
to the special meeting to make Tom the owner of Jintabudjaree Station, and
got healed, I would never have met Kurt. Hey, I might have muscles, but
he's so cut and defined, and has charisma and gets me sex-cited more than
anyone else I've ever met! I told Tom that I nearly blew a load in my pants
when Kurt and I first shook hands. When I was telling Tom about it in his
car, just him and me, I got a hard-on and really wanted Tom to feel it. He
seemed reluctant, but eventually he gave in and did it. I imagined for a
moment that it was Kurt, and I had to get Tom to stop the car and let me
out, or I would have spurted in my pants or all over Tom's new car.

The doctors at home could not believe nor comprehend what had happened to
me that weekend. They couldn't explain the rapid change in my physical
ability or my speech. My physiotherapist insisted, however, that I take up
swimming because of some reason (bi-lateral... something or other) to help
ensure that both sides of my brain recovered equally. It was because of
those sessions that I, and everyone else, realised that I was not just good
at swimming, but really good – without my body board. I joined a
swimming squad and was selected to represent the club, then the state at
the National Swim Trials. Amazingly, I got to represent Australia overseas
at the Olympics and came home with a bronze medal! Kurt told me that he
watched me on TV at the pub and that he cried because he was so proud of
me. He said that he didn't care, because lots of others who knew him were
crying too. I love it when he comes to stay with me or I get to go and
spend a month with him at Whispering Gums. He still has a magic effect on
me!

What else? Oh, yes, my mother. I'm glad that she has met a really nice man
and re-married. He's a bit younger than her but that doesn't matter. Even
now he still comes to all of my swimming carnivals and trials and taxis me
to and from the airport whenever I have to fly off somewhere. He's just
like the dad I never had.

I have my own bachelor pad now - I am 24 after all! I am a qualified
personal trainer, and that's the work that I do when I'm not swimming
competitively, or spending time with Kurt out in the country. I love it out
there. And love being with Kurt.


***Martin (Marty) O'Brien, son of Acacia (`Mum' O'Brien), brother of Anna,
Chad (police officer in Big Town) and Sean (ambulance officer in Big Town),
landlord of Tom, cousin of Will, Jake and Jane

After Tom became the legal owner of historic Jintabudjaree Station, I knew
that it would only be a matter of time before he wanted to move out
there. Who wouldn't? However, I wasn't sure whether my young cousin, Will,
would go too. But, knowing that he and Tom were half-brothers, and after
hearing them in bed together at night, I should have guessed that he
wouldn't think twice about going. (I'm sure that when we were young
teenagers, my older brother Chad and I never made that much noise while he
was teaching me stuff!) Anyway, I'm happy for both of them. Will had a hard
life as a kid, and Tom is such a great guy – one of a kind. Everyone
here loves him and it is still believed that he's responsible for somehow
bringing an end to that dreadful drought! He's already a legend. We even
had a ceremony to officially make him the unofficial `Mayor of the
Village'. That was Jacko's idea.

Well, what can I tell you about the past 10 years? The most significant
thing has been the restoration of the pub and the construction of a number
of period-style `cottages'. The Village is a totally different place
now. It's amazing, which is due primarily to the skill of the architect,
Ashley Cook. He spent many hours out at Tom's place, Jintabudjaree Station
and incorporated some of its architectural highlights into his plans.

Ash's plans for the pub were very detailed, all the way down to which
bricks, stone and mortar had to be used. The `cottages' were designed in
the style of the Victorian London terraces that became popular in early
Sydney and Melbourne. Originally there was to be only one street but, with
Tom's decision not to go ahead in building their big house and to make
additions to the Jintabudjaree homestead instead, Ash designed two streets
of terraces. Those at the southern end of each street, closest to the pub,
have two bedrooms. At the farther end, closest to the river, there are some
that have three bedrooms. Both streets were planted, alternating down both
sides, with young peppercorn trees that almost match the old one outside
the pub. They are now about 8 years old and up to roof height. There was
some initial concern about them competing with native flora as their seeds
are spread by birds, but Ash did the research on them and, hopefully this
variety won't become a problem. They won't grow much taller, and we have
already witnessed them filling out, as they should continue to do even
further. Each street looks amazing; they don't have official names but
everyone just calls them `First Street' and `Second Street', as they were
designated on Ash's plans.

It was a pleasure back then to work with Ash and Jan and the teams of guys
that we gathered from around the district. Ash also brought in some
specialist stone masons to assist. One of the guys on my team ended up
marrying my sister. Long story! They initially lived on his family property
about half-way to Big Town. Then they moved back to my old place, when I
moved out, so that they could be close to Mum (who's getting on in years)
but without being too close to her, if you know what I mean! They were
happy to have my dogs stay down there with them.

Tom is an amazingly generous guy. He gave one of the 3-bedroom terraces to
Jan and Helen as a wedding present. It's the one at the river end of First
Street, closest to the school, almost where Jan's old house used to
be. Helen usually drives in from Whispering Gums with the children on
Monday morning so that her oldest two can go to the school. She stays in
the house and then drives back out after school on Friday.

During the week, apart from looking after her little 4-year old 'Benny'
(Benjamin actually), she organises the groups to go out to the property and
to Tom's place by helicopter. She sometimes helps Julie Smith at the pub or
drives up to Thunungara Station to assist Di and Jake with the place and
with Uncle Reg.

Ash and I worked so well together that we joined forces to set up a
business, `Cook and O'Brien, Heritage Restorations'. Ash does the research
and designs and I supervise the work projects on site, all over the state,
and even in Sydney and Melbourne. We both travel a lot together and when we
are back here (where our `office' is) we live in one of the terraces at the
end of the second street. Ash specifically designed this particular place
for the two of us to use. From the outside it looks like two adjoining
terraces but, once inside either front door, it is essentially one big
home. His place (through `his' door) is the official office. My place is
just my place. His downstairs is set up as a business office; mine is a
lounge/dining area. There's a dividing false-brick wall, which we can slide
closed if ever we need to have clients in the office. However, our living
space takes up all of the upstairs of both terraces combined. Very few
people, apart from our closest friends, have ever been upstairs. There are
three large bedrooms spread across the space, even though Ash and I really
only need, and use, one. LOL. Yep, we are more than partners in business!
For about 9 years now!

Designing and setting up the business office was another `arrangement of
convenience' with the new place. We even made a show of one of us always
being seen to exit from the other one's door only to re-enter via our `own
door' at night. We still do it. I `go home' after being in the office. Ash
`goes home' via the front doors after having dinner with me. To this day,
most people haven't `connected the dots'.

When Tom and Will decided to move out to Jintabudjaree Station, there were
plenty of opportunities during the constructions for Ash and me to get to
know each other. He `bunked' down at my old place so that rooms at the
hotel could be left available for the workers who couldn't travel back and
forth to their home each day due to distance. At least that's what we told
everyone. Haha. House Rules rule!

I remember the first night that Ash and I were able to spend alone at my
old place. Of course the dress code was `shirtless' and
`everything-else-less', totally au naturel! We couldn't keep our hands off
one another. Our `little bit of fun' before dinner turned into an orgy to
rival the best of Tom and Will's merrymaking sessions. No protein was
wasted in the process and dinner reverted to being a midnight snack. After
all, we had to consume some carbohydrates for energy!

I re-visited `him' and `her' in Big Town a couple of times, but soon
realised that Ash could provide every sensual experience that I would ever
need. And, in addition to that, his sense of humour has me in stitches. Why
not spend the rest of my life with him as my partner? Between you and me, I
think that Tom and Will were jealous, initially. But we regularly get
invited to dinner out at their place, and you should hear Ash and Will
trade stories and humorous insults. Tom and I ache from laughter once they
get going! Oh, yes, we have a lot of other fun but there are limits that we
place upon ourselves. Hey! We're not totally perverted!


***Ashley (Ash) Cook, architect, engaged by Bill Grant for the restoration
of the pub and the construction of cottages in The Village

Not a day goes by that I don't rejoice in the phone call I had from Bill
Grant, 10 years ago, asking me if I was interested in working on a project
`out west'.

I had done some work for him previously but he seemed more excited than
usual about this particular `opportunity'. Bill had provided me with Google
Earth photographs of the property and a full brief about what I should
design. Only when I had finished the preliminary drawings did Bill
introduce me to the owners, his two sons by different mothers who, he had
pre-alerted me, were `an item' and would be sharing the sheets in the
master bedroom. Perhaps that's why Bill chose me for the job, knowing that
I was gay. I must say that I was amused by the interplay between the two
boys, once they realised that I knew about them and I had dropped them a
hint about my own preference. As I recall it, Tom patted me on the back,
just at the top of my buttocks, and kept his hand there, which was followed
by Will kicking him in the ankle. There were other times when I observed
the same playful behaviour from them, apparently vying for my
attention. Hilarious!

As it transpired, young Tom fell into some wealth of his own, in the form
of a very large historic property and beautiful homestead. Bill reckons
that, based on his library alone, Tom could now be even richer than him (on
paper)! But, the point of all that is that plans for the big house in town
were scrapped and I started over. There were extensions to the homestead to
be drawn by adding stables and a studio for Will, the restoration plans for
the pub, and two rows of English-style terraces.

The field of weeds between the pub and the school became a landscaped
`village green' with water drawn from below the weir to maintain it.

The only thing that remains `out of place' today in the neat little Village
is the old church. We still haven't found the right people to authorise any
work to be done on it. I did, however, organise to replace the fence and
plant some trees, and the locals now keep the grass cut. The dilapidated
chapel is almost a tourist attraction in its own right – an indication
of the ravages of time and neglect.

Marty was supposed to supervise the work on the big house and Jan on the
terraces, so then, with his part of the original plan `shelved', Marty
worked closely with me and the specialist craftsmen, on the restoration
instead. With local volunteers as labourers in addition to Marty's team of
three paid workers, we made excellent progress.

With Tom and Will moving out to Jintabudjaree Station, Marty suggested that
I stay at his place. We told people that it would leave more accommodation
available at the pub for workers and, besides, Marty and I could compare
notes and plan for the next day's work. Actually, after the night of the
dinner with everyone at the pub and with Marty `taking me home' with him, I
was expectantly excited about him and me sharing an otherwise vacant house
together.

I remember the first night alone together. I don't know whether he planned
to seduce me or if I was going to have to seduce him. Either way, I don't
think that there would have been much resistance. However, after that
particularly dusty day he suggested that we shower before dinner. He stood
in the hallway and casually stripped off all of his clothes, tossing them
through his bedroom door one piece at a time, then he headed for the
bathroom. He walked past me with his manhood fattening noticeably with each
step. When he reached the bathroom door he turned and asked with a smirk,
"Well, are you coming, or not?" So much for the instantly-unnecessary
scenario that I had been hatching in my mind to `get him'!

When I reached the bathroom door, Marty was adjusting the water
temperature, slightly bent over the bath. Rather than pressing my body
against his, as I was tempted to do, I moved to stand alongside him and
simply asked, "Need a hand with anything?"

He turned to face me, displaying his fully-hard erection. He looked down at
it and then looking up into my eyes replied, "What do you reckon?" He
stepped into the bath, allowed the shower to wet him all over and then
handed me the soap. I wet my hands, got them really sudsy and then started
rubbing his chest and abdomen, then caressed his lower bits. His moan of
pleasure was a real turn-on (as if I wasn't half there already). "Get in
here!" he growled, and he did to me what I had been doing for him. We
washed every square centimetre of each other's body, neck to knee, front
and back, soft and hard (not that much of him was soft – every taut
muscle of his body was a delight for my fingers).

I quickly became over-stimulated and warned him of what I could tell was
about to happen. He nudged me out of the direct stream of water, dropped to
one knee and took it all in his mouth. Even when I finished unloading I was
still stiff. Massaging his big balls with one hand, I held his rod in my
mouth with the other and sucked and licked it until I had his load of cream
down my throat. Even when we rinsed and dried off we were both still at
full mast. "Dinner can wait a while," Marty declared, grabbing some clean
towels as we headed for the bedroom. Three hours later we had both been
fondled, frotted, jacked, sucked and fucked to the point of exhaustion. And
we used up Marty's supply of condoms, too.

"I told you once before that I thought I was going to like it here," I
said, lying beside him and reminding him of that morning when Tom and Will
found Marty and me in bed together and the 'four-play' that followed. I
added, "Well, we've had the liquid protein, what else have you got in this
place? I'm starved."

That was the beginning of a fantastic regular ritual that ended up with us
discussing with each other whether we would like our new `friendship' to
continue well into the future. So positive was Marty about it that I
altered the layout of two of the terraces so that we could live together,
with one part seeming to the outside world as a separate
office-come-residence for me, the other part being `Marty's place' as Tom
and Will had already offered it to him. That Will is a sharp cookie. He
spotted our `friendship' for what it really was almost immediately.

Our restoration business was originally set up purely as a convenience, to
deflect people's suspicions about us spending so much time
together. However, it has actually turned out to be very profitable. After
the publicity that we received regarding the pub and the Village, everyone
who could afford it wanted us to project manage the repairs and restoration
of their old properties. I think that it is a status symbol for them to
brag that their work was done by `Cook and O'Brien'. We even have some
ongoing government contracts to systematically analyse the needs for each
of their heritage-listed properties, and they have given us grants to
assist private owners whose properties are on the national heritage
register.

Marty and I travel extensively. Sometimes I am away scoping out a project
before coming back to draw up the plans and submissions for contracts and
grants. Sometimes Marty is away supervising the work. However, I relish the
times when we are away together. And back here together!

Tom and Will are definitely our best friends and confidants.

Ten years ago I could not have imagined me living in `the middle of
nowhere' and being this happy. Life is great!


***Julie Smith, licensee of The Village pub

I can't believe the transformation of the pub that Tom, his father and the
architect, Ashley Cook, have managed to achieve. I think that it looks
grander than all of the photographs of the original. We have solar panels
built into the roof, which powers our electricity and hot water. The
architect is a genius! Marty and Jan and their teams all worked extremely
hard to ensure that the smallest details were done according to the
architect's plans.

One unexpected upside to the work was that Marty's sister, Anna, found
herself a boyfriend whom she has since married. What a great day that
was. You should have seen Acacia – she was in her element! Tom hosted
the wedding out at Jintabudjaree Station and my husband and I did the
catering. Any tourists in town that day were also invited.

Before the restoration here was completed, Tom's father also arranged for
the installation of satellite TV, which the locals from 100km around come
to watch. That's great for business!

We also manage the letting of the cottages that they built opposite the
pub, on the land that Will O'Brien and Tom own. We employ Jane O'Brien (Reg
and Di's daughter) to look after all of the house keeping – pub and
cottages. She's great with the guests and she has a real eye for detail. We
receive many messages of congratulations on the standard that she
maintains, both by mail and on social media.

We get lots of tourists out here now, which is great for the local
economy. They come to look at the restored pub and Victorian-style cottages
(they have a choice of which to stay in), go out to Jintabudjaree Station
to see Will work and to purchase some of his paintings and drawings. There
is also a regular helicopter service between here in the Village,
Jintabudjaree, Whispering Gums and Cunnamulla. Young Danny, the pilot, is
very popular with the locals and tourists alike. I like his girlfriend
whose father is a publican in Cunnamulla, so she knows her stuff and, when
she's here, usually pitches in to give us a hand if things are really busy.


***Jane O'Brien, daughter of Reg and Di, sister of Jake

I still have my boyfriend in Big Town. We've been `going steady' since I
left school and I wonder when he's finally going to `pop the
question'. I've been pretty busy since the pub was restored and the
cottages built. My job is to be in charge of the housekeeping –
everything about the rooms – dιcor, cleanliness, services and overall
hospitality. I love my work and I meet some amazing people from around
Australia and from overseas too.

My Dad had a stroke a few years back so Mum, Jake and I all look after
him. Maybe that's why my boyfriend is so hesitant. I haven't had a lot of
spare time to be alone with him, but he does come out to Thunungara fairly
regularly when I'm not working. Mum and Dad both like him and he and Jake
get on well, too.


***Jake O'Brien, son of Reg and Di, brother of Jane, cousin and school
friend of Will

Hi. If you're wondering whether I have a girlfriend or not, the answer is
`no'. Since Dad had his stroke, I've been taking care of the property. The
animals keep me pretty busy, so does looking after Dad. Mum doesn't hear
too well and Jane spends a lot of her time working at the pub. Mum feeds
him and I bathe him and help him go to the toilet. I think he likes it most
when he sits in his rocking chair on the verandah and I read to him, or
when I tell him what everyone in the Village is doing. He nods and hums a
lot but doesn't speak much.

My old school friends are terrific. Will always comes out to help with the
work when he's back here from his travels and commitments, and he sometimes
brings either Karl or Kurt with him. They are all so supportive. When Will
is here by himself I love to get away with him for a while. We ride the
motor bikes up to one of our favourite spots along the river, talk a lot
about what's happening in our lives, and usually end up having a bit of
`private fun', like we used to back in our school days. Even though I'm 24,
I just don't have time for a girlfriend at the moment. Anyway, I know that
I'm not gay, but that fun stuff I can do myself, or I can let my buddy Will
give me a hand. LOL.


***Reg O'Brien, brother of Acacia, husband of Di, uncle of Marty, father of
Jane and Jake

I don't get around too well these days. Having a stroke has been extremely
humbling, with other people pitching in to do just about everything for me,
even bathe me, dress me and take me to the toilet. But they take it in
their stride and I have learned to get over my embarrassment and am so
thankful for them – especially my son, Jake. He's amazing – he takes
after his mother!

I remember the day that it happened. It was a family gathering at Acacia's
for Anna's birthday. I remember feeling uncoordinated and unbalanced. I
attempted to walk but fell over. Somebody said, "Hey, Uncle Reg, you should
lay off the booze!" Sean, knowing that I had only been drinking water, and,
after checking my face and arms, concluded that I was having a
stroke. Thank God, he was there. He had driven out in the ambulance with
Chad and had everything at hand that he needed. I must have blacked out,
because when I woke up I was in the hospital in Big Town and stayed there
for a couple of months.

I love my wife, my children and my friends, but some days, when I feel
really low, I would just be happy to die, and relieve them of the burden of
looking after me.


***Anna O'Brien, sister of Marty, daughter of Acacia

I'm married. I finally got myself a man! I thought that the day would never
come. In the end, it all happened so quickly. Marty brought three guys on
his work team, from the restoration, home for lunch. One of them told me
that he'd met me out at Jintabudjaree Station and had been thinking about
me ever since. I recognised him. Then he started coming for lunch or dinner
a lot and we used to go for long walks. He was a great kisser. Still is!
One night he asked me to marry him, after he had spoken to Mum. Of course I
accepted! I was tempted to use one of my cousin Will's favourite
expressions, `Hell Yeh!' but I restrained myself.

I'm 28 and my husband is 30. We live in Marty's old place, and Mum and I
have done it up really nicely! Marty moved all of his stuff up to one of
the cottages that Tom and Will let him use, next door to his business
partner. I like it over here. It's private, away from Mum, and she can't
hear us having fun. We decided to wait a few years, but at the moment we
are trying for a baby. Every night. My husband doesn't complain!


***Acacia (`Mum') O'Brien, mother of Marty, Chad, Sean and Anna, aunt of
Will

Finally! One of my children got married. I don't know what's wrong with the
boys, but Anna found herself a nice young man who was working on the
restoration of the pub with Marty. Marty brought a few of them home for
lunch one day and Anna was like a kid in a toy store. Anyway, one of them
reminded her that he had met her previously, out at Jintabudjaree Station
the day the Tom became the official owner. They hit it off and he became a
regular visitor. One night, after dinner, he asked if he could speak with
me privately. I was a little worried, but he came straight out and asked me
if I would consent to him marrying Anna. What a gentleman! I think I hugged
him so hard that he was winded. I insisted that they let me tell everybody.

And the wedding was amazing. Tom let us use his big house for the wedding
and the enormous hall for a sit-down celebration dinner. Julie Smith and
her husband and their team did an incredible job with the food, and they
even brought out a truckload of trestle tables and chairs from the pub. And
the wedding made the local paper in Big Town, photographs and all.

I offered them to live in the cottage out the back of my house, but Marty
suggested something else, which they preferred. He told them that they
could have his place and that he would move into one of the cottages up in
the Village, because Tom (bless him!) had offered one to him, rent free, in
appreciation for all of the work that Marty had put in. And that was in
addition to what he had been paid!

I can't wait to be a grandmother. A little bird tells me that it shouldn't
be too far off!


***Simon, Gold Coast resident, tenement neighbour of Luke and Andy, surfing
friend of Tom and Will

My friend Luke and I met up with Tom and Will a few times during school
term breaks in the Gold Coast when we weren't away on holidays
ourselves. We all had some good jerk-off and oral sessions together but it
became obvious that there would be no lasting relationships beyond a bit of
occasional and brief pleasure.

When Luke's parents bought a house up the coast and moved away, that
heralded the end of any fun with the boys from the bush, especially since I
had decided to join the army. However, I do get my share of pleasure in the
barracks, but that's something that none of us guys ever talk about.

We know that young Andy Thompson and a younger guy from Tom and Will's
little Village, Kurt, became best mates and whenever he came to town we
hardly saw Andy at all.

After Andy's miraculous recovery from his injuries of 10 years ago, he went
on to become a famous swimmer and even won a medal at the Olympics. Andy
started `going bush' in the `off season' for a month or two at a
time. Still does, apparently. When we asked him what he did out there, he
would only tell us about his friend's property, the horses, the bikes and
the tourists. He was always a randy little devil and I suspect that there
was a lot more going on, but we could never get out of him what he got up
to between sunset and sunrise! Andy just used to touch his nose and say,
`House Rule!' Like in the barracks, I suppose.

All of us still keep in touch on Facebook but we rarely bump into each
other.


***Rocco Verdi, nephew of restauranteur, Giuseppe, cousin of Tony, friend
of Will

Tony and I never did get to visit Tom and Will's school, but they kept in
touch with us every week as they promised.

Regarding the bullying, it was Tom's suggestion that Tony and I try for a
while not `hanging out together' at school and to keep our distance, but
always stay within sight of one another, with our phone cameras at the
ready to capture video of any harassment that the school continually denied
was actually happening. Tony told me not to worry about him and that he
could endure a few bruises if it meant that we could put a stop to the
hoodlum activity. He was so brave.

Tom was right. In the very first week, without me as his `bodyguard', Tony
was accosted on at least a dozen occasions by a variety of the thugs. I
caught it all on camera. At the end of the week, after speaking with Tom
and Will, Tony and I went to see the Principal. Tony was sporting a black
eye. We made our accusations. Those whom we named were called to the office
to explain and, as usual, had their contrary stories well rehearsed,
throwing the onus of everything back onto us.

It was only when the Principal threatened to expel Tony and me for
continually lying and trouble-making that I produced the videos. I told him
that I had already shared them with friends `in education circles' and was
going to post them on social media, exposing not only the bullies, but the
school's indifference to their actions and the possibility of potential
legal action. The Principal called in the Deputy to see the videos and they
both seemed to become very flustered.

Then, when I called them, Uncle Giuseppe and my dad, who had been waiting
outside the school in their car, came in and presented the principal with a
legal order for the school to make available every bullying complaint that
we had ever made, together with records of actions that they had
taken. Well, did that ever release the wild cat amongst the apathetic,
sedentary pigeons! Yes, there were expulsions, but they weren't us. And
there were a couple of sudden, unexpected staff transfers by teachers to
whom we had made direct complaints and by whom we had basically been told
to `piss off'.

As it turns out, Tony and I weren't the gang's only victims and we were
suddenly heralded as heroes among our newly-acquired school mates for
helping to rid the school of the vermin.

Despite doing reasonably well in my final exams, I had no idea what I
wanted to do after school. Uncle Giuseppe offered to `teach me the
restaurant business', considering that his only son, Tony, had other
interests that he wanted to pursue. Today I am one of three managers that
Zio Giuseppe employs. He says that I should be able to run my own place in
another year or two and that all I would need to do is find is an excellent
Italian chef, like him.


***Tony Verdi, son of restauranteur (Giuseppe), cousin of Rocco, friend of
Tom

Tom changed my life. I thank him always for rescuing me and Rocco from the
bullying that we were enduring. It got worse before it got better
especially when, while still at school, I took up dancing seriously and won
a couple of state and national school eisteddfods. After leaving school I
was offered a scholarship to work with a national ballet group. I even made
it to understudy for the principal, performing on a number of occasions and
receiving great applause for my performances.

I am thrilled that I was able to return the `rescue' favour for Will, but
I'll let him tell you about that. Dreadful episode!

Unfortunately, during one energetic rehearsal, I stepped on some electrical
cable that had been left at the back of the stage; I fell and I broke my
ankle - badly. End of dancing career, although they did suggest that they
would 'look after me' if I took up choreography. Not my passion!

Reluctantly, I went back to work with my papa, in the restaurant. He tells
me that I have the makings of a fine chef and is teaching me what he knows,
including a few `secret family recipes'. He couldn't quite understand why I
was so keen to master cannolis, but Rocco knows! We see Tom and Will a
couple of times each year when they come back to the Gold Coast, and they
always appreciate our cannolis. And cream.


***("Horse Boy") Sam, son of the motel owners between The Village and the
Gold Coast, older brother of Mikey

It's a few years since I've seen Will from the Village and his brother,
Tom. They used to always stop in at the motel on their way to and from the
Gold Coast. Will and I used to love playing games together – both
computer and `private' ones. I couldn't wait as the date of their next stay
would approach. I was so excited. Will was the only person who really
understood my needs, and he loved to play with me and I always looked
forward to playing with him.

Unfortunately, all of that changed when they sadly told us on one trip
that, in future, they would be flying instead of driving. I was
devastated. So was Mikey, who used to love `hanging around' Will's older
brother, Tom, who had also been Will's teacher. I never quite understood
why Mikey did liked him so much. Perhaps he just missed having our dad
around and took to Tom as a substitute. Tom was very patient with him and
used to read to him and play board games with him, taught him chess and he
was one person whom Mikey could always beat at computer games. He loved
beating Tom because he had no chance against me or Dad!

We visited Will and Tom once. They had mentioned a couple of times that we
were welcome to come and see the school. It was just before Christmas the
year that we first met them. Dad was home for two weeks and said that he
would look after the place for one night if we left on the Friday morning
and were back again by late Saturday because there was only one booking for
the Friday night. Mum drove us out there and we went straight to the
school.

It was before lunchtime and Tom introduced Mikey and me to all of his
students. We had brought some of our home-schooling work to do while we sat
in the classroom with the others. However, we didn't get much done because
everyone was interested in hearing about what we liked to do and about the
motel. Tom allowed us all to talk a lot.

Tom had arranged for the nice lady at the hotel to bring us over some
lunch. Mikey and I ate our food quickly and then went to join in the games
with everyone in the playground. Mum went back to the hotel with the nice
lady who said that she would show Mum all around because it was being
renovated. Mum and she have become good friends and ring each other all the
time now. That's right – her name is Mrs Smith. I remember. She came to
visit us once at the motel.

It was funny during lunchtime when I needed to go to the toilet. Will
showed me where it was. We were both hanging out starting to take a pee and
I remember getting a bit hard just being next to him. All of a sudden the
three older boys appeared, the twins and another one, and said that they
needed to pee as well. (I think they just wanted to have a good look at my
big cock because I was aware that they had all been checking me out ever
since I arrived.) When he saw it, one of the twins said it was the biggest
one he'd ever seen, except on a horse, and asked if he could feel it. Then,
of course they all wanted to do it! To be fair, they said, they would all
let me feel theirs too. When the three of them left with Will, I had to
stay a bit longer until it went down. I have trouble hiding mine because
it's so big. Will told me to wash my face and arms with cold water. That
helped.

During the afternoon Mikey and I did some of our work, but we also sang
songs with everyone, listened while the biggest girl, Jake's sister, read
everyone a story and then we walked to the weir and talked about the local
birds, some of which I'd never seen before.

We all stayed at Tom's big house that night. Mum had her own room (nearly
everything in it was pink). Mikey and I shared the 'green' one next to
hers. When I was sure that Mikey was asleep, I sneaked over to Will's
room. He was very happy to see me! He even had some towels ready for what
he called my `fountain'. It was a couple of hours of my life that I will
never forget!

These days, I work with my dad in the mines. I drive one of the big
loaders. Our money's good and it takes all the pressure off the finances of
the motel. However, it still just manages to pay its way. Mum said that she
wanted to keep the motel, mainly because she got to meet some 'lovely
people', even though there were not a lot of customers on a regular basis.

Mikey helps Mum run the motel. Dad said that if he and I are both home when
it coincides with a school holiday time, that Mikey and I can go and spend
three or four days with Will and Tom and he will stay with mum to look
after the motel. He's arranged it with Tom, but it just depends on our work
rosters and the school terms. We are both really dying to seeing them
again. Mikey and I will take turns driving. Hey, the handsome little squirt
has turned 21 already. Where does the time go?


***Jacko, local farm hand

I knew that if I sucked up to him long enough, the soft-hearted Tom would
give me a job. Most people wouldn't like it but I enjoy looking after the
horses and even don't mind mucking out their stables. Besides, Tom lets me
keep my own mare here as well and he won't let me pay him for her
feed. When the stables were built they included a small, but very
comfortable, living quarters for me at the far end. Tom has entrusted me
with the care of the landau and on special occasions I add a team of four
of Will's best horses to show it off. That's one of the best parts of the
job deal.

I was a little disappointed that I wasn't able to convert Tom to a real
man's drink, but, hey, I've actually developed a taste for lime juice and
mineral water over some crushed ice. Refreshing rather than
intoxicating. Who would have thought? It has become a local joke. My mates
at the pub always pretend to gag when they see me drinking `that stuff'.

Some time after Tom offered me a job, we went horse riding together one day
and, about an hour's ride west of here, we discovered a series of
below-ground caves full of aboriginal paintings. One of them contained a
pool with a hot spring; warm enough to enjoy like a relaxing bath but not
hot enough to cook us. We still go out there occasionally together.

Bathing naked in hot spring water is better than swimming in the cold
Village weir. Yeh, Tom's seen my `magic wand' and I've seen his, and, after
performing some initial magic back then, we manage to keep our hands to
ourselves these days. Well, usually. Except, maybe, when Will has been away
for an extended period and Tom reminds me that I am `his hired hand'. LOL.

I feel privileged to be one of only very few people who know of the caves'
existence. Tom doesn't want any `outsiders' to know about them and has
sworn me, Will, one of the Andersen twins and his Olympic swimmer friend to
secrecy, or else he'll invoke some curse on us. I'll bet that he could too,
after all, he did bring an end to the big drought 10 years ago.

I know about him and Will, and he's the only person I've ever told about my
`mate' in Big Town. I live with him every weekend (unless we have tourists
out here). Mutual trust and discretion! Tom's a great boss, and I'm
delighted to call him my friend.


***William Grant (Snr), world-renowned photographer, known affectionately
to many as `Uncle Bill', father of both William O'Brien and Thomas Grant by
different mothers-

I'm proud of my two boys.

My eldest, Thomas, is well respected in the Village where he is still the
sole school teacher. The people there even made him the unofficial `Mayor'
when, 10 years ago, most attributed to him the end of a long drought.

That was the same year that he became the legal owner of that magnificent
Victorian-period homestead on `Jintabudjaree Station' through some quirk of
fate that I still find difficult to believe or even comprehend. Part of the
homestead included a library of documents and first/second edition books
that are rare and extremely valuable. Nobody can understand how they remain
so well preserved. Thomas has insisted that nothing may leave the library
because he won't part with any of the house's original items, but he did
allow some historians and university researchers to come and photograph all
of the documents to display them at the State Museum in Brisbane.

Speaking of being well-preserved, I think that Thomas and my second son,
Will, hardly look too much older than they did 10 years ago. Amazing! It
must be that clean Jintabudjaree air in Thomas's lungs that is keeping him
young. If anything, Will, who has spent a large amount of time travelling,
now looks as mature as Thomas. Anyone who doesn't know them well could
easily mistake them for identical twins.

Will, the surprise of my life, is the most amazing artist with a unique
talent. Do you remember when I introduced him to Monika, the Director of
the City Art Gallery? She thought I was joking when I first told her how
good he was, until she saw his work for herself, especially Will's ability
to capture the inner soul of people in his drawings and paintings.

Monika organised an exhibition of his work in her gallery and invited a
`who's who' of art critics, none of whom could believe that the incredibly
realistic landscapes, horses and portraits were all done by the one
artist. They fawned over his portraits and spent a lot of time extolling
the virtues and skills of this `previously unknown master'. Then, they were
absolutely astounded when, later during the opening, Monika finally
`unveiled' and introduced `the artist', aged 17. The disbelievers were
placated when Will, handed a pencil and paper by one of them, promptly
produced a drawing that perfectly captured his scepticism, much to
everyone's amusement and applause.

From that day onwards, he has been in great demand throughout the country
and has even been invited to exhibit in some of the most notable galleries
in France, England and the United States. During each of his exhibitions,
he has made it a custom to paint a portrait of either the gallery's
director or one of its patrons. On the closing day, the portrait is
auctioned and the proceeds split between Will and the gallery. The value of
the successful bids has increased rapidly in recent years. He has also
picked up quite a number of private commissions as a result. He is in great
demand.

One of the proudest moments of my life was when the director of the Tate
Gallery in London, whom I had met on a number of previous occasions, asked
if she could organise a father and son showing – his paintings and my
photographs. It almost coincided with Will's 20th birthday and, to
celebrate, Thomas flew over and joined us. It pains me to say, purely from
an egotistical point of view, that Will's work, today, is even more highly
regarded than my own!

Needless to say, he has met a multitude of people – famous (including
movie and sports stars), influential (the rich, politicians, nobility and
royalty) and artistic (from the creative, visual and performing arts). Many
of these people had a great effect on him, either as paying commissions, or
by way of introductions, or supportingly stroking his ego and encouraging
his `gift'. There are too many for me to detail but one in particular, I
should tell you, was nearly Will's downfall.

His name was Gregor and he was introduced to Will following one of the
shows in which my friend Giuseppe Verdi's son, Tony was dancing. Will was
invited, since he was `in town' at the time. I had to decline Tony's
invitation because of a prior commitment, and Rocco, to Will's
disappointment, was left `at home' to run the restaurant.

At the after-party, the charismatic Gregor, a principal dancer, swept Will
off his feet with his charm, humour and flattery. I imagine that his
physical appearance (by all accounts handsome facial features, slim and
with classically-defined musculature) stirred something deep within Will as
well. They became instant friends and spent a lot of time together when it
didn't interfere with either of their professional commitments. They were
often seen around town, arm-over-shoulder, and at parties, and I believe
that Will started staying for a night or two, regularly, at Gregor's place
instead of at his hotel accommodation. It was Tony who first alerted his
father that he thought something was wrong. Of course, Giuseppe rang me
straight away.

It came about like this: Tony said that he rarely went to the Saturday
night after-show cast parties, but had relented on this occasion because it
was also to celebrate his first major supporting role. After he arrived he
noticed that Gregor seemed already well on the way to being under the
influence of something and that Will was not his normal, coherent and happy
self, as Tony remembered him, appearing gaunt with the beginning of dark
circles under his eyes. When Tony questioned them, Will said he was `just
having fun' and Gregor told him that Will had had `a few too many' and that
he would take him home to his place to sleep it off. They left soon
afterwards, with Gregor supporting Will as they managed to find their way
out.

Concerned and suspicious because he had never seen Will drunk or in such
poor physical condition, Tony followed them, and rang Rocco from his car to
tell him what was happening and the direction in which they were all
heading. Rocco headed off and Tony confirmed the address after the cars
stopped. When he arrived 10 minutes later, with noises coming from inside,
Rocco knocked, then banged, on Gregor's door. Nobody answered.

Fearing that something injurious to Will was occurring, with one hefty
shoulder charge against the door, Rocco was in, only to find them naked,
Gregor on top of Will on the day bed, `pounding his arse' (as Rocco so
un-delicately expressed it). Noticeably, it was without a condom, which he
knew that Will always insisted on using, except with Tom. Rocco was so
incensed that his friend was being abused, he pulled Gregor off him and
punched him in the face before his feet even touched the ground.

Will appeared to be barely conscious. Rocco rang for an ambulance and Tony
called his father who rang me. I immediately excused myself from my
engagement and contacted my friend, Angela Grayson, Assistant Commissioner
of Police, who had local officers there within minutes. I arrived at
Gregor's just as the officers were putting Will into the ambulance. I
travelled with him to the hospital, held his hand and talked to his
almost-lifeless body while one of the medical officers worked on him. We
came so close to losing him! I cried. I will be forever in Tony's debt for
saving Will's life.

I didn't tell Thomas the details when I rang him, but said that Will was in
trouble and that I had arranged for young Daniel, Danny's son, to pick him
up at home in the helicopter and take him to Cunnamulla where a Lear jet
would be waiting to get him to Brisbane as quickly as possible. Thomas was
beside himself with grief, but I didn't tell him all of the details. I just
said that Will was in hospital and needed his brother's support.

When I met him at Brisbane airport, Thomas was a mess, worried sick and
imagining the worst, as you do. On the way to the hospital, I explained
everything to him, just as Tony conveyed it to me, and as I have just told
you. Thomas and I both waited by his bedside until Will regained
consciousness. I'm sure that Will and Thomas may tell you more about that.

The police later uncovered a stash of drugs in one of the bathroom
drawers. Despite the fact that Will was in no condition to even be aware of
what was happening, Gregor claimed that the sex was consensual. He was
subsequently charged with rape, drug possession, trafficking and
administering an illicit drug to gain sexual advantage. Angela saw to it
that Will's name never emerged in the press and that all records of the
case were `secured from general access'. Gregor `disappeared', which gave
Tony his big break on the stage.

I made sure that I took lots of photographs while the teams were
re-developing the Village, and I am pleased that I was able to sponsor the
venture. It has not only put the Village (back) on the map, it provided has
employment opportunities for the many of the locals both in construction
and in tourism. Daniel has benefited from charter helicopter services,
Jan's family has created a working farm-stay business, the pub does a
roaring trade and Will sells some of his art works, but keeps the best ones
for showing in galleries world-wide.

Acacia loves it when I visit the boys and she loves cooking for me at her
place. We have our own after-party.


***William O'Brien (Jnr): Will, previously aka `Little Willie',
half-brother of Tom, son of Bill Grant and Lilly O'Brien

Hey guys! What has everyone else told you? Let me add my thoughts of the
past 10 years.

  --Last year of School

My last year of school was a life-changing one. I turned 17, got my
driver's licence, had a lot of fun with my friends, lost my virginity, met
my dad, `got discovered' for my art work and ventured `out into the world'.

On top of all that, I discovered that I had a brother! OMG! Not just some
illegitimate urchin (that would be more like me), but, by some incredible
power within the universe, my brother was none other than the new school
teacher! To this day we still debate, during times of friendly rivalry, as
to whose prayer (for a brother) God answered – his or mine!

I remember the day that I first saw Tom. All of us kids were playing in the
weir. When Jane announced that she thought that the new schoolie had
arrived, everyone dashed off to meet him, except for me and Jake. He got
out and hid up a tree. I chose to hide in the space behind the waterfall of
the weir. After a long while I slipped out, close to the bank farthest from
the school, and stuck just the top of my head out of the water to see what
was going on.

I couldn't believe what I saw. The new schoolie looked like me, except that
he was older, of course, and better dressed than I ever was. All I could do
was stare. Then his eyes found mine. For some reason, perhaps in shock, I
stood up, open-mouthed, and just gawked at him. Then, when I realised that
I was having one of those sudden, unwelcome, teenage erections, I turned
and dived underneath again, with my heart thumping. What had I just seen?

I don't remember how long I hid behind there with the image of the new
schoolie running through my mind, over and over. Was he real? Did he really
look like me? How come? Did I just imagine it? Jake popped up in the water
next to me and said that he had to go because his dad was here.

Eventually, when I plucked up the nerve to emerge again, everyone was
gone. Still dripping, I walked across to the school. I knew the schoolie
was inside because his car was still there. I crept as quietly as I could
to the door and looked in. I knocked and he said, "Come in". When he came
to meet me and told me that his name was `Mr Grant', I shook his extended
hand and told him my name was `Little Willie', which is what I had been
called, and answered to, all of my life.

Neither of us let go of our grip and just stared at each other, sizing each
other up. I could tell that he was as puzzled as I was. What raced through
my one-track mind was whether any other part of him was like me, not just
our faces, blue eyes and hair. We could pass for brothers, sort of like
Karl and Kurt.

Then his eyes dropped away from mine to the lower part of my body. He
stared at that too for a while. When I looked down to check what he was
gazing at, I could see that my wet shorts didn't hide very much and my dark
curly pubes and chunky cock very obvious in my tight, wet shorts. Was he
like me down there too? Did he like guys too? Would he like me? OMG! What
if? I couldn't help but grin at the possibility.

Just after that he told me that he couldn't call me `Little Willie' ("for
obvious reasons" he said, clearly checking out my still- conspicuous cock
and balls again), and that he would prefer `Will'. It hit home that I
actually had one person in my life now who would not be calling me `Little
Willie', but `Will' instead. I also thought that there was a chance that he
and I might become friends. I somehow knew then that he must be like me! I
felt it. I was so thrilled. I didn't know what to say. I simply continued
grinning. But, just as suddenly, I realised that none of this could ever be
possible because he was the schoolie, my school teacher, and I was just a
dumb, big-dicked, fatherless school kid who liked guys instead of girls. I
was so overcome that my momentary hope was an unachievable delusion that I
began to cry. How embarrassing! I couldn't face him, crying, so I just ran.

However, as fate would have it, when I moved to Marty's (where Tom was
staying) to get away from my drunken mother, that heralded the beginning of
a lot of fun with Tom and finally `getting lucky' with him, which led to us
sharing our beds (in reality, mostly his bed) and our bodies. (Actually,
author Rob, my creator, wrote all of it down back then much better than I
could ever remind you.)

Then, so much happened so quickly; like how I met my dad, William Grant,
who wasn't the demon that my mother (I don't want to talk about her!) had
said that he was. He was (and is) a kind and generous man, an extremely
talented photographer, and world-famous. Tom brought us together. Then
through Dad, I met Monika, Director of the Brisbane City Art Gallery and
the rest, as they say, is history. But more about that in a minute.

I had so much fun with lots of guys during that first school holiday when
Tom asked me to spend time with him at his parents' home. Let's see, there
was `horse-boy' Sam at the motel, the guys at the beach (Luke and I took a
real liking to one another), Rocco Verdi (Tony's cousin) and, of course,
Jarrod at the games shop. Tom and I `went all the way' for the first time
in his bedroom. It's a wonder that I didn't wear the skin off my cock
during those two weeks! Oh, and back here in the Village, how could I
forget Karl! We'd been jerking each other around for a long time. We
probably would have the opportunity to do a lot more if Tom had shown some
genuine interest in Kurt and had kept him away from Karl and me for more
than about fifteen minutes at a time!

That year went all too fast, and I suddenly found that my school days were
over. Anyway, by the end of the year, I had an exciting and prosperous
career. I'm coming to that!

  --The visit by Sam, Mikey and their mother

Before I forget (how could I?) let me tell you about Sam and Mikey's
visit. Tom and I stayed at their motel every time we travelled back and
forth for the holidays. Sam and I loved playing with each other and we
usually ended up in the shower with Sam thrusting his giant tool between my
legs, as he loved to do. I loved the feel of it too, pressing and emerging
from under my balls, lifting them each time he pushed! My spurt and his
fountain were always the best ending to our fun. One time we actually
spurted at the same time. What a fantastic feeling and experience that was!

Tom, bless him, always kept young Mikey away from us long enough for Sam
and me to have our fun. Mikey loved it the first time that he beat Tom at
chess! As I suspected, Tom confessed to me that he let Mikey win.

I even let Mikey (`pony boy', as Tom and I nick-named him because he was
`horse-boy' Sam's little brother) come down and wake me up each morning,
whenever we were there, by `tickling' me (you know what that means!) just
like he did the first time. I pretended to be asleep and when I would
suddenly wake up and grab him he was so excited that he squealed with
delight and mock (perhaps) concern, especially when I convinced him that I
was about to throw him, clothed, into the shower. I used to lift him with
one arm across his chest and the other between his legs from behind, which
gave me a `convenient' and playful feel of his boy gear, which was most
often hard. He seemed to relish that game too. I could tell by the end of
the term three holiday that our `pony boy' Mikey (who was `twelve and five
twelfths' as he reminded us then) was already growing into a bit of a young
donkey! At least, part of him was. LOL.

Anyway, on our way back home on that third holiday break, Tom again
extended an invitation to them to come and visit the Village because, by
then, we were well settled into our 4-bedroom house with visitor
accommodation available. Their mother said that she would organise it and
bring them out, only they couldn't stay more than a day or two, and it
would have to be when their father was home to look after the motel.

`The planets all aligned' for the boys just a couple of weeks before the
Christmas holidays. Tom had been in contact with their mother who was going
to bring Sam and Mikey down on the second Friday in December, but they
would have to be home by the Saturday night. So that would give us Friday
afternoon and night with them and all of Saturday morning.

They arrived late in the morning and Tom introduced their mother to Julie
Smith who brought lunch over for them, Tom and me. When their mother went
with Julie to look at the pub, Sam and Mikey joined in with our lunchtime
games, including everyone's favourite, soccer, where all the kids play on
two evenly-balanced teams. Mikey was on my side and Sam was on Jake's. Karl
and Kurt were always on opposite sides with the little kids evenly
allocated. It was a rule that everyone had to get a kick at goal so we used
to take turns, by age.

When Sam asked where to take a pee, I said that I needed to go too and
showed him the toilet. We stood next to each other at the longish urinal,
hung out, and started to let fly, looking down at each other's hoses. "Bit
of fun tonight?" I asked Sam. He grinned but became more concerned at his
growing stiffness especially because, almost predictably, Karl, Kurt and
Jake came in. "I have to go too," Karl said, standing up close next to Sam
and immediately checking him out. "Me too," Kurt added. "And me," Jake
smirked. I could tell from the small amount that they peed, and by their
erections, that they were more interested in Sam's hard-to-disguise,
horse-sized tool than in relieving their bladders.

It was plucky Karl who was the first to succumb to the temptation and ask
Sam if he could feel it. Sam agreed and Karl let him feel his too. Of
course, Kurt and Jake both followed suit. The three of them left, grinning,
with their shirts hanging out to cover and disguise their excitements. Poor
Sam! There was no way that he could hide his, so I told him that washing
his face and hands in the cold water would help and that he should come out
only when he was comfortable. He thanked me and I don't know where he
tucked it but, when he finally re-joined the game, it wasn't obvious.

Five minutes later, when Mikey said he needed to go, Karl and Kurt went
again. I knew why, and it wasn't to pee! Sam came over to me and said, "The
little squirt's grown a lot since you saw him last. He's as big now as
those two are, from what I saw, or a just bit bigger." Then he asked me,
"Hey, actually, have you ever seen Mikey's dick? It's a nice one. He'll be
thirteen in a few months. He's around the age that I was when mine went
crazy and just kept growing".

Well, that probably accounts for why the three of them took so long in
there. I asked no questions!

At the end of the day, Tom, Sam, Mikey and I all walked over to the pub for
afternoon tea. I discovered that Tom and I aren't the only ones who like
custard tarts! Julie even presented us with some dinner to take home. At
least, by then, we had the ability to re-heat our food without having to
use firewood.

I gave the boys a tour of the house, while Tom escorted their mother
around. She was envious of the kitchen. After dinner, we all had coffee (or
a chocolate milk shake) and dessert in the lounge room. Mikey and Tom
played chess. Sam and I stuck to our electronic games. I actually won
some. The boys' mother took a great interest in some of the albums and
historic magazines that Tom had placed on the coffee table.

Tom had organised for the boys to have the room between their mother's
`pink' room and the bathroom on the southern side while I took the `blue'
room next to Tom's on the northern side. We all went to our own rooms once
people started dropping hints about being tired. The boys were a bit antsy
but their mother was really beat after driving such a long distance.

I lay in bed waiting for Sam to `visit' as we had previously arranged. He
finally opened my door then closed it again. "I had to wait for Mikey to
drop off and then make sure he was out to it," he almost apologised. That
was the first time that he and I had been in bed together. Previously we
had played with each other on the motel bed and had fun in the shower, but
to be able to be fully naked between the sheets was a thrill for me, as I
know it was for him. Tickling, frotting, jerking and sucking (and Sam's
couple of fountains) ensured that the towels needed a good wash by the end
of a couple of hours. And I had to spray lot of deodorant after Sam went
back to his room.

On the Saturday morning Sam's mother couldn't help herself and made
excellent use of the big kitchen. I could smell breakfast cooking when I
woke by being tickled by Mikey. I opened one eye. He was alone. I jumped
out of bed, grabbed him and picked him up (like I usually did) and was able
to confirm Sam's assertion of Mikey's nether-region growth. We didn't make
it to the bathroom shower. LOL. I `wrestled' him to my bed while he kept a
firm grip on my cock, laughing "tickle, tickle". I tickled him too until he
exploded.  Lots of subdued moaning rather than overt squealing! More
wetness for the towels from another family fountain. More deodorant.

It's going to be very interesting when the two of them (now adults) drive
back out here for a few days later this year. I can't help but wonder
whether Mikey is as big as his `horse boy' brother and what we might be
able to do together. And what will Tom say if Sam and Mikey both want to
play `tickle' with me? I wonder, could I ever convince Mikey to play with
Tom while I keep Sam busy?

  --The extension to Jintabudjaree station

You all know the story of how Tom came to own this place, Jintabudjaree
Station. Even before that, he and I had decided that we couldn't live
apart, and Tom had plans drawn up for a big house in the Village. But, when
he became the owner of Jintabudjaree, we decided to live here. The
architect who had been engaged by my dad to draw up plans for the
restoration of the pub also designed an art studio and gallery for me out
the back. The plans balanced the studio with stables that were to be added
on the other side of the house. I love my horses. Ash made sure that the
stables were down-wind of my studio and not the other way round. Smart
guy. Not just a cute arse! LOL.

Here, today, I still draw and paint. People come from all over the world to
watch me and talk to me and many of them pay me to paint their portraits. I
like to have those people stay for a few days while I get to know them
better so that I can paint them as they really are; not just as they appear
at first glance. My dad is amazed at my skills. I tell him that I must have
inherited them from him and thank him every time that he mentions it. He
loves that!

  -- My First exhibition

I recall vividly the first time that Monika wanted me to display my
paintings and drawings. I didn't think that my work was such a big deal at
the time; it was only what I had loved doing for years. However, everybody
kept telling me how good it was, so I began to believe it. Anyway, Monika
invited me to send her a whole lot of my work – horses, landscapes and
people. Dad helped Tom and me pick out a lot of them – `early' ones and
`later' ones, then he took them to her for me so that they didn't get lost
or damaged on the way. I know that he enjoyed any opportunity to meet with
her. LOL

When Tom and I met Dad at the Gold Coast he took us to the exhibition. We
arrived about two hours after everyone else, as Monika had requested. When
I walked in, I was amazed at what I saw. At first I didn't recognise the
works as my own. A lot of my pictures were hung on various walls with a
light above each one to highlight it. Monika had spread the portraits and
the horses among the landscapes. I had thought that she might have grouped
them but she said later that it was better for people who had a particular
interest to walk around and see all of the others as well. It also
prevented people from `bunching up' in any particular area.

Monika greeted us and then, after making sure that we had something to eat
and drink, rang a little bell and called for silence. She made a wonderful
speech, thanking everyone for coming and hoped that they appreciated the
works that they had been viewing and discussing. There were comments
floating around about the skill of `the artist' in his or her ability to
work with such a variety of subjects, and in different media. To that point
Monika had obviously revealed very little about `the master' of the
artwork. All they had to go by were two different signatures, `LW' and
`WOBG'. I heard her assure them that they were by the same artist and that
the `LW' signature was what he used in his `early period'.

Monika motioned to me. Dad and I walked and stood a little behind her and
to one side. "That's Bill Grant," somebody was heard to say, then added
aloud. "Don't tell me you've traded your camera for brushes and pencils,
Bill!"

I should have guessed that many of these people would be familiar with Dad
and his photographs. Another remark came, "Who's the kid, Bill? Have you
taken on an assistant? What, getting too old to read your own light meter?"
There were a few sniggers but most ignored the semi-inebriate's comment.

Monika overlooked him and simply said, "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present
to you my latest, and most talented discovery in decades, the artist of all
the works that you see displayed today, Mr William O'Brien-Grant," and she
motioned to me to stand alongside her. There were a few seconds of absolute
silence and then some polite applause. The same guy piped up, "What's this,
Monika? Are you pulling our leg? It's not April Fool's Day is it? You've
just wasted two hours of my time!" I felt my temperature rise, my lips
tighten and the hair on my neck bristle, like it did when my mother used to
drink or when she `entertained' a guy.

Monika obviously knew how to handle people like him. She ignored him. Then
she said, "Ladies and gentlemen, let me assure you that Mr William
O'Brien-Grant IS the artist. I will invite him to speak and then you may
ask him some questions." She smiled at me. This was unexpected. I looked to
Dad for reassurance and he nodded.

I remember, heart thumping and hair still bristling, taking a deep breath,
then I said, "Thank you Monika for this opportunity, and thank you ladies
and gentlemen for coming to look at my work. I would like to hear all of
your comments later, and I'm happy to answer any questions that you might
have." Then I looked at the drunk, squarely in the eyes, and said (not in
my sweetest voice), "And thank you, sir, for availing yourself so freely of
Monika's liquid refreshments. I can see that your two hours has not been
wasted at all." I swallowed hard, thinking that I had opened my mouth and
just insulted one of those people to whom I should be most grateful for
promoting my work. However, instead of any reprimand from those present,
the room erupted into laughter and spontaneous applause.

"I don't fucking believe it!" the guy shot back, much to everyone's
disapproval. Now I could see that Dad was getting a little agitated
too. The guy continued, "If you're the artist, why don't you prove it. He's
a pencil and paper. Let's see you draw me."

I readily accepted the challenge. It took me only around five minutes to
capture his squinty eyes, the sneer of his mouth and the nastiness of his
attitude. "What is your name, sir?" I asked, to which he replied haughtily,
as if I should have recognised him, "Frank Osborne!" I smiled and wrote in
capital letters under his pencil sketch, `F.O.', happily thinking to myself
of an appropriate ribald rendition of those letters. I signed it `WOBG' and
displayed it to everyone, at which there were raucous hoots and whistles,
before I handed it to him. I think that I answered a barrage of questions
for nearly another hour before Dad `rescued' me (or was it them? LOL). We
thanked Monika and left. Dad kept commenting all of the way back to my
hotel on how well I had put that much-despised bore in his place. He said
that that action alone had instantly won me a lot of supporters, apart from
their fascination with my artistic talent.

  --Travelling with Dad

During the next couple of years, I had the opportunity to travel with
Dad. When that happened, he always booked us separate hotel rooms. I
suspect it was so that he could smuggle in some female acquaintance and
have some fun in private.

However, there was one occasion when the reservations had somehow been
`screwed up' and the embarrassed hotel manager, knowing who we were,
offered us was a suite instead, gratis – two bedrooms, one bathroom,
large living area and even a kitchen. I remember that, years before, Dad
and I were supposed to share a room at the Village pub the day that Andy,
Mrs T and Aunty Susan came to town with him after his friend's funeral,
but, because I hardly saw him, I believe that he changed his mind and spent
the night somewhere else.

What was even more memorable than simply sharing the suite with my Dad was
that I actually got to see his body naked for the first time. I'd be lying
if I told you that I hadn't wondered about it multiple times before
then. We needed to get ready to go to an exhibition of his work and both of
us required a shower because of the Queensland heat during the day.

"You go first," he told me, so I did. While I was in there he called,
"leave the shower running and let me know when you're done."

So I showered and when I stepped out, I called, "The shower's free,"
expecting him to wait until I emerged. However, while I was still drying my
nakedness, he walked in with a towel around his waist. I was still a little
plumped up from the hot water, but hanging quite freely.

He flushed somewhat with embarrassment and apologised, "Sorry, son. I
thought that you were finished in here."

What could I say other than, "That's OK. You were bound to see your son in
his birthday suit one day."  Having mucked around with so many guys in the
past, being seen naked didn't faze me at all, even if it was my Dad. I'm
sure that Karl and Kurt's dad had seen them without their clothes plenty of
times. I almost felt an element of `closure', being naked in the presence
of my father. Dad shrugged, took his towel from around his waist and hung
it behind the door, then tested the water temperature with his hand. I
couldn't help but look at his body, all of it, even though he was my Dad.

"Have you ever seen one this big?" he asked, facing me and grinning
knowingly at my focus on his manhood.

"Yes," I replied simply, adding no further comment, but continuing to dry
myself. I was thinking of Sam. However, two things crossed my mind
immediately – firstly, my mother was actually correct about one thing
and secondly, it seemed that I was still the `Little Willie'.

"Who?" he asked, surprised. "Not Thomas?" His question caught me off guard
but told me two more things. One, that he thought he was the biggest donkey
around and, two, that he had never seen Tom's – at least in its adult
form.

"No," I replied, smirking. "In that department, I'm the big brother."

"Well, I'm glad that you inherited more from me that your artistic talent,"
he replied, stepping into the shower.

As I left, I joked, "The women in Aunty Susan's family must carry `smaller'
genes than the O'Brien clan." Then I wondered about Marty. Maybe his mother
was from a `smaller' family too.

  --The Tate Gallery Exhibition

Then there was my first trip to London. The director of the Tate Gallery
had arranged for an exhibition of Dad's and my work at the same time. She
thought that a father and son showing would be unique. I don't know if Dad
had negotiated the dates or not but it was during our school holidays here,
so Tom got to come over too.

On that occasion I was so glad that there was no confusion over his room
and ours. Tom and I also had our own private, blond, trim, handsome
`steward'. (I still haven't worked out why the Americans call them
`bellhops'. Do they hop when someone rings a bell?) He brought our room
service order up to us before Tom and I had even dressed. We were in our
underwear when `the cutie', as Tom and I referred to him behind his back
later, arrived. It was immediately obvious what his orientation was when he
couldn't take his eyes off us. It wasn't just the apparent `twin' thing. He
didn't say anything while he served the food, but focussed much lower than
our faces, and the growing tube down the leg of his tight black pants
`sealed the deal', as far as I was concerned. He looked about 15 but he
assured us that he had to be `over 18' to be employed there.

To cut a long story short, without much persuasion needed, Tom and I ended
up with him in our bed after he was off duty. He was so good with the
lights out that we invited him on three consecutive nights. I certainly
`hopped' when he rang my bell! We tipped him well when we left. I don't
think that Dad ever found out.

The exhibition was a huge success, and I've made a point of staying at the
same hotel the two other times that I've been in London, and, with Tom's
knowledge and blessing, the `bellhop' even supplies the condoms. Great
service! Ding! Dong!

  --Life at Jintabudjaree

It was fairly Spartan when Tom and I first moved into the homestead. There
wasn't even a refrigerator, and we relied on what Julie Smith lent us from
the pub. Needless to say, we bought our own generator and used it until Ash
designed some solar panels to fit in. Almost the entire roof areas of my
studio and the stables now generate our electricity.

And, Ash solved the mystery of the water, discovering that the house was
actually built on top of a spring which force-feeds the water into a series
of just-below-ground cisterns which, apart from inhibiting leaks, stored
the water and gave us the water pressure to run showers, etc.. Ash said
that he'd never seen anything like it and that one engineer back then
certainly knew his stuff! When we first had showers here, the water was
warm, heated by the hot sun on the thin layer of earth covering the last
tank. That's been hooked up with the solar panels so that we can now have
really hot ones.

Tom discovered another passage between his bedroom and the adjacent one,
the `blue' one, which became `my' room. This meant that whenever we had
people staying Tom and I could slip into each other's room without being
seen.

The visitors were given the `pink' and `green' rooms on the south side,
with their own bathroom. We tried not to be noisy during our love-making if
there was anyone else here; unless, of course, it was Marty and
Ash. Whenever they came to stay, we all agreed to leave our doors open. It
was fun to listen to them going at it, and it was often joked about over
breakfast as to who heard what the other two were doing through the
night. They still visit. We still leave our doors open. Breakfast
discussions are still a cause of much merriment.

  --Karl

I can vividly remember the day that I accidentally spilled the beans to
Karl on what Tom and I had been doing. It was a Saturday morning. Karl had
Helen's permission to stay with us at Jintabudjaree over the weekend as a
reward for having worked extra hard with some tourists every previous
weekend for a month, and that Kurt would be `on duty' at home this weekend
instead.

Tom had gone into Big Town. We were alone and it was one of those mornings
when we just took the rare opportunity to play with each other, like we
used to do after school when I was still a student. Up until then he and I
had only jerked each other off, but, on that particular day, with nobody
else around within coo-ee of the place, I just felt like giving him a bit
more, so he ended up getting his first blow job. He had just jerked me off
first that time, but I hadn't finished him off yet. He just lay there on my
bed, erection straight up in anticipation of his turn. The conversation
went something like this:

"Want me to try something different?" I asked him.

"Like what?" he replied, grinning, but with obvious suspicion about what I
had in mind.

"Just lie back and enjoy it," I told him. I continued to stroke him up and
down, like I usually did, until his body relaxed. He closed his eyes and I
licked him from his balls to the tip of his cock, which shuddered. I did
this a couple of times and then just took him into my mouth and sucked. I
massaged the sensitive spot below his head with my tongue. At first he just
groaned in ecstasy.

Then he lifted his head off the bed to look, or to check if what he felt
was really happening. "What the hell...?" He began.

I pushed him back down and repeated, "Just relax and enjoy it." He took
another look then lay back and took a couple of deep breaths. I knew when
he was about to blow. (Hey you don't jerk a guy off three times a week for
a couple of years and not be able to tell when he's about to shoot his
stuff! Apart from his stomach and leg muscles tensing, he used to make
little gurgling noises in his throat.)

"You better watch out!" he told me. "You know what's gonna happen!"

I ignored him and, after re-positioning myself a little, took him right
down my throat and began to hum. I knew that the vibrations would drive him
over the edge. He screamed as he blew, then I back off, cleaning him on the
way.

"So how was that?" I said as nonchalantly as I could muster, although I was
pretty excited about doing that to him for the first time.

"Fuck!" he panted looking up at me from the bed. "How long have you known
how to do that?

"A while!" I replied.

"Bastard! And you never showed me! So who have you been practising on?" he
demanded.

I suddenly realised that I may already have said too much, but, hey! This
was Karl! I thought that if he and I could to do this for each other, then
it would certainly help make the most of the precious little time that we
were spending together, since I was travelling more and he was mostly up on
the farm. And I could certainly have fun teaching him to do it to me.

I said, "You'll have to guess!" There was a pause while he contemplated the
possibilities. Before he spoke, I added, "But, you have to swear that if
you do guess correctly, you will never tell another soul! Or I'll kill you
if HE doesn't!" He nodded in agreement, still thinking.

"Swear!" I said, or I'll never do it again. Then I lay my body on his, and
I held his arms at the wrists, so that he was pinned and unable to move,
not that he would have wanted to with our cocks pressed hard against each
other's. "AND," I said, in his face, "you will tell me, forever, everything
that you ever get up to with anyone." He had previously made mention of the
sexy tourists that had worked with him up on the farm, and I wondered what
he did with them, and, based on a couple of his comments, whether females
were included.

Regaining his breath, he said, "If I promise to tell you stuff, then you
have to swear too, not to tell anyone else – especially not my brother
Kurt, or your brother Tom, or anyone! Deal?"

Little did I realise that, in the following years, he would have so much to
tell me!

"Deal!" I said. "Now swear."

"You first!" he told me, smirking.

I said to him, "Karl Andersen, I swear that anything you ever tell me about
what you do with other people will never cross my lips. I promise not to
tell any of it to anyone."

"OK," he replied. "Will O'Brien, and I swear, too, that I will never tell a
living soul anything that you tell me about what you do with other
people. I promise and swear."

Then I did something really weird. I licked the tip of his nose, as if it
was some pagan way to `seal the deal'. And I had totally underestimated his
strength. He replaced my grip with his own, and rolled over, until he was
on top of me, and he licked my nose, before I even realised what was
happening. "I'd much rather do something else to you, like what you did to
me before!" he said. "I've always wanted to try that but Kurt won't let me
do it with him."

There was a moment of silence and I repeated my earlier remark, "Guess who,
then!"

"So you must have practised on my brother, Kurt. That's why he didn't want
me to do it, because you're so good!" He looked down on my face.

"Nope," I said. "Never have." I lied.

He paused. "Jake, then."

"Nope."

He had to think. "Hmm. Who's left? ... Not your cousin, Marty?"

"Nope. Strike three!"

He had a blank expression on his face as though his mental list of
potential bedfellows had just been erased. "There's nobody else," he
said. Then I could see the wheels turn, one final crank. "Wait. Not... No;
it wouldn't be him!" I raised and lowered my eyebrows and grinned. "No,
that's not possible!" he said, seriously. I grinned more. "You don't mean
to tell me that you and, ... and, Mr Grant, have been doing that?"

"And more!" I smirked. I knew the instant that the words left my mouth that
I'd really stuffed up this time and that keeping the remainder a secret
would be impossible.

"What more?" he replied, in almost a reflex reaction to my words, without
even considering what he was asking.

"Come on, Karl," I said to him. "You've seen enough animals doing it to
know what else there is!"

He thought then let out, "Fuck!" It was more an expression of shock than an
answer to his own question.

"Right!" I replied.

"But, that's what males and females do. Not guys."

"Really?" I questioned him. "Haven't you ever seen a ram try to mount
another one? Or two stallions? Or two bulls?"

His wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression told me that the answer was in the
affirmative, but that he was trying to process the implication. So I added,
"What makes you think that two guys couldn't give it a go?"

"I've seen pictures," he replied, "but I thought that they were just
pretending. Do you mean that two guys actually ... can do it?" I
nodded. "What, up the arse?" I nodded again. "What, you and Mr Grant have
done that?"

Three nods were enough. "Yes," I replied. "Now, you have sworn that you
will never repeat that to a living soul!"

"Doesn't it stink? I wouldn't want my cock in anyone's shit!"

I explained to him about enemas and condoms and how great it feels. When he
asked me whether Tom put his in me or I put mine in him, I simply answered
"Yes!"

"You've got such a big cock. Doesn't it hurt him? And I've seen his. How
does he get that into your little arse hole?" He laughed at his own words.

And so the conversation went on; me sharing much more than I ever intended,
and him telling me about his dreams about both male and female tourists,
and having to relieve himself the way I had taught him way back when he was
twelve.

"Teach me," he said. It was half command and half plea.

I never did. That honour went, a few years later, to a young but,
apparently `very experienced', Swedish teenager who was staying at the
farm. The boy, while they were out together in one of the shearers'
cottages, said that he admired Karl's 'great body' and that he wanted Karl
to fuck him. Karl replied that he didn't know how. The boy showed him. Karl
shared all the details with me after it happened when I got back from
Brisbane. Karl had the time of his life that week!

To this day I don't know how good Karl is at it. It's almost like a mutual
respect for each other that we don't do it.

I sometimes go up to Thunungara and help Jake. He has a lot to do up there,
now that he has to look after his dad, following Reg's stroke. Jake and I
had been playing around long before I taught Karl stuff, so we get on very
well. He's told me that he's not gay, but is still happy for him and me to
`give each other a hand' from time to time when he can get away from the
house.

We usually head up the river on our motor bikes for an hour or so. Nobody
asks any questions, and I've made sure that I've never told him about me
and Tom, beyond the fact that we live together as brothers.

He supposed, one time, that I might find a girlfriend while I was away
travelling. He doesn't know me as well as I thought that he might have,
probably thinking that guys just do stuff for fun until they find the right
girl!

  --Events in Brisbane.

I suppose that you've already heard about Gregor from somebody. Looking
back, I'm not sure how I allowed things to get to that stage. It began
innocently enough one night when I was away from home, in Brisbane, and Mr
Verdi invited me to a performance in which my Italian friend Rocco's cousin
Tony was dancing. (Tony and Tom had become good friends.) As Tony's father,
Mr Verdi was allowed `backstage' after the performance, and Tony had sought
permission for me to accompany him.

I had never seen Tony dance professionally before, and I was enthralled at
his graceful performance, gliding around on the balls of his feet, trying
not to show too much of the balls in his tights.

When we were alone, I complimented Tony and then whispered to him, "Who was
the male principal? He looked `hot'." He smiled and said, "Beware. There
are stories about him!" He didn't explain but introduced me to him anyway.

I gushed over his performance and his muscles to Gregor. There was
immediate mutual admiration. He had seen my work. Admired the horses. Loved
the portraits. I offered to do his, if he wanted me to. He looked me up and
down and said, "You can do me any time."

You know what I'm like with double meanings. Plenty of practice with Tom,
and with Marty. However, I took the bait.

One warm afternoon at his place, I did his portrait, which he insisted be a
full body pose – nude. More bait. I took it. He said, "Now that I've got
my gear off, you must be feeling uncomfortable, being so over-dressed. Why
don't you take off a few bits?" With each piece that I removed he
applauded. The shoes, the shirt, the singlet. He stared at my pants and I
finally succumbed and removed them too. He applauded again, stared at my
CKs and waited. "That's enough," I told him, laughing. "If I remove any
more, I won't be able to concentrate on painting."

How he seduced me into mutual masturbation and sucking I don't remember. It
just seemed a natural progression, after doing it with so many other guys
in my life. He asked if I wanted to do more and I said `No'. I had learned
when to stop.

Everything within the limit that I had set became the `normal' fun that we
shared together, after rehearsals, after a show, after an exhibition, after
dinner at a restaurant, or just any afternoon when we were both in the
mood. I was a long way from home and from Tom, and Gregor was charming,
funny, experienced and gentle.

I would sometimes travel to Brisbane even when there was no artistic event
and I started seeing him every spare moment that we could be together. He
taught me a few things that I would try out on Tom, who asked where I had
learned that. I told him "Santa Claus". Maybe it should have been the
`tooth fairy'. Gregor was very masculine and yet had a very gentle nature
about him, almost feminine. Does that even make sense? Amazingly masculine
body, with superbly defined muscles, and yet ... I don't know – not
effeminate – just soft.

We made each other's body tingle with excitement and he told me on multiple
occasions that he wanted me `totally'. I knew what he meant, but my answer
was always `No'. I knew where to draw the line. I'd gone all the way with
Jarryd from the Games Shop, but that was with condoms, and with Tom. If I
could deny Karl that pleasure, I certainly wasn't going to give in to
Gregor. (There was a bellhop but he came later!)

His constant requests to `go all the way' were polite but persistent and my
responses were unyielding and adamant. There were times when I could tell
that he was frustrated at my `No' but his emotions were controlled and I
never saw him angry.

When I stayed at his place, he would often have visitors who came and went
within a few minutes. They would hand him some money and he would give them
something in return. I never saw, or knew, what it was. How naοve I
still was back then!

I remember staring in the mirror one morning, after I'd been with him for a
whole week, and thinking that I was looking really thin in the face, but I
wasn't sure why. It just seemed to have crept up on me.

And I remember the night at the end of that week when I was invited to a
ballet performance and the after party. Gregor was dancing principal, as
usual, but Tony was performing his first really important role. Mr Verdi
asked that I be there and told me that he had invited Dad, but he was
busy. I was looking forward to seeing Rocco again, but, unfortunately he
was busy too – running the restaurant.

Both Tony and Gregor were great. I could have watched their muscular bodies
do jumps and spins around the stage for hours. Gregor graciously
enlightened me that they were `ballons' and `pirouettes'. Tony told me to
go on to the party with Gregor and that he would catch up with me
shortly. He first wanted to spend some time talking with his father, who
needed to get back to the restaurant.

Gregor had got me a couple of drinks. He knew that I preferred not to drink
alcohol. They were just like lemonade but with a funny taste. I thought
that they were just a different brand, like Tony and Rocco had at their
Villa. He introduced me to all of the cast. I started to feel strange. That
was about the time that Tony arrived and asked me what I had been
drinking. I replied that it was only lemonade and that I was having a good
time. Then I told Gregor that I was feeling really sick and he offered to
take me home and he told Tony.

Gregor helping me undress for bed was the last thing that I remember
clearly until I woke up in hospital with Tom holding my hand and Dad on the
other side of me. They both looked as though they had been crying. It was
only afterwards that I understood why. They did some tests and told me that
I was `all clear'.

My strength quickly recovered when I returned to Jintabudjaree. I could
almost feel the health flowing back into and through my body. This house is
amazing. I experienced the miraculous restoration that others feel when
they come here; what Andy and Mrs Thompson felt; what Mum felt.

Tom was wonderful. He didn't blame me for what had happened and how I had
changed. He said that it was a blessing just to hear Marty and me trading
insults again, and to hear Ash and me laughing at each other over
breakfast. He just told me that he loved me and that he was glad to `have
me back' from whatever dark place I had been in. I burst into tears when he
said that. He just held me and let me blubber all over his shoulder. I love
him so much!

  --Life now

After that episode with Gregor, I decided to spend as much time as I could
at home, even turning down opportunities to appear at exhibitions. I
initially limited them to two per year. I think that all that did was to
make gallery directors even more keen to have me present at their
particular event. Tom and Dad helped me choose which ones to attend.

Apart from rural landscapes I also began to draw and paint cityscapes. I
discovered that I could even give them their own personalities – from
depressed to vibrant. I didn't know that I even could do that. It just
seemed to happen. Monika was thrilled. Gallery directors pleaded with me
and almost begged that they be allowed to exhibit more of my work.

I painted two pictures of Gregor rehearsing. In one he was the charismatic
and athletic beauty that I first saw, almost angelic. The other portrayed
him as the devil that he became, or was all along, perhaps, – still
athletic but scheming and conniving to satisfy his own lusts.

One canvas was almost a mirror image of the other. Apart from that obvious
difference, I made other, more subtle, changes. I painted the second one in
slightly more muted tones. And Dad was the first one to notice that the
pictures on the wall in the background were different – in the first it
was my picture of the Village weir. In the second I substituted a city
building in a laneway outside the dance rehearsal hall. The first painting
showed his handsome bulge. The second displayed an erection in his tights;
I originally thought that I would increase his stiffness by about 25% to
indicate the magnitude of his evil. However, upon reflection, and as a
final act of my revenge, I actually reduced his natural size by a similar
percentage!

Both paintings were propped against one of my studio walls for months. Tom
said that it was painful for him to look at them. He told me that he could
see, in the first one, what had attracted me, but he hated the person in
the second one, and wanted to kill him. That was so unlike Tom's loving,
caring nature, and I realised then that I couldn't keep them. I offered
them to Monika, who knew the story but she thought that showing them in any
gallery would not be a good idea. What happened had not been reported in
the media but Gregor was a celebrated identity who had suddenly
`disappeared'. There would be too many questions if my paintings became
public.

In the end, I gave them, with his concurrence, to Tony. He said that they
would always be a reminder to him of how something so good could
deteriorate into something so bad, with the wrong life choices. Having
broken his ankle and terminated his dancing career, he appreciated them
even more. I have offered to paint one of him at his best, and told him
that he must visit us at Jintabudjaree and that perhaps his ankle will be
healed. He is sceptical.

There are days now when I feel like a kid again. Not a little kid, but just
like the year that I first met Tom. That was the beginning of a positive
change in my life (apart from the Gregor thing). Even though Karl and Jake
and I are all 10 years older, we still manage to reproduce our teenage fun
– sometimes in the weir (with Tom and Kurt) but, most often, in private.

Ash and Marty are terrific! I love having them around. We seem to have no
inhibitions when they are here, especially since the dress code is
basic... very basic. LOL. And, even though we stay with our own partners
there have been a couple of occasions when the four of us have playfully
wrestled together. Lots of massage oil adds to the fun!

At the end of the year, we are expecting a visit from Sam and Mikey. Who
knows what will happen then!


***Thomas (Tom) Grant, school teacher appointed to The Village school,
half-brother of Will O'Brien, son of Bill Grant

I'm sitting on my upstairs verandah ready to watch the dawn turn into
sunrise. This is one of my favourite times of the day. My earliest memory
of this country waking up was the day that I went jogging and ran into the
man-eater, Anna. The sunrise was heart-stopping; my encounter with her was
too, but for the totally opposite reason.

I take another sip of coffee and place my favourite `souvenir' mug that
Will brought me back from New York onto the decking beside me. I pull the
blanket more tightly around my body and I wait.

A strip of sky across the eastern horizon has, from the black of night,
become a discernible dark grey.

Dormant in the house behind me are William O'Brien-Grant, artist
extraordinaire (in my bed), and `Cook & O'Brien, Heritage Restorations' in
the `green' room. All three must be totally spent after the activities of
last night! What I didn't participate in, I heard.

The dark grey turns a shade lighter and extends upwards and across a broad
stretch of the horizon.

Marty insists on cooking breakfast for all of us whenever he and Ash stay
here. Sometimes he surprises us, but this morning he has promised scrambled
eggs with sliced mushrooms and herbs, crispy bacon, sausages and a couple
of his `Marty-made' hash browns, all served with buttered, thick toast,
courtesy of his most recent visit to the bakery in Big Town. What a
combination! My mouth is watering. I flush the saliva away with another
mouthful of coffee, and stare towards the horizon.

The light grey now has a peach-coloured tinge to it, and the blackness
above it is being forced to rapidly retreat.

The morning after Marty and Ash `paired up', I have to admit that I was a
little jealous – well, maybe not a little. It was true that Will and I
had each other, but there was something alluring about Ash. When Dad first
introduced us, I immediately fancied him as my `number 2' guy. I loved his
cute, tight backside the moment that I first laid eyes on it. I knew that
Will was `on to' me. He kicked me in the ankle. Who was he kidding? The
lust in his eyes was as strong as mine. I kicked him back.

However, I cannot deny Marty his amazing partner; they have been together
now for many years. Their antics in bed, when they are here, seem only to
be matched by those of Will and myself. If they become too noisy, Will and
I turn up our own volume, just to tease them. Occasionally, but not often,
the four of us play together, almost without inhibition. There is only one
thing that we don't do – that which is especially reserved for our own
partners in our own beds, after `brushing our teeth'. Yes, we still use
that term and I remember fondly inventing it as a secret code for Will and
I to clean ourselves in preparation for a full-on penetrative session,
bareback.

The peach is becoming quite orange now; brightest at the spot at which I
know the sun will soon appear. The gradation from that to the navy blue
which has totally replaced the blackness, is indescribably beautiful.

I feel hands on my shoulders. They slip inside the blanket and begin to
massage my shoulders. "Good morning, Sunshine," I whisper to Will. "Don't
stop. That feels wonderful."

"Just repaying a bit of pleasure for last night's marathon," he
replies. "You were amazing. You get better with age; Dad would say, `like a
good wine', but I think, like a well-worn saddle."

"I've got a saddle for you right here," I tell him, patting my lap. "And
it's not worn out at all!"

"Hey, it must be somewhat well-worn," he jokes, "especially after last
night."

I open the blanket and Will eases his bare backside onto my naked
front-side. He leans his weight back onto my chest. I enfold us both in my
ample blanket, and hug him tightly. He purrs, and rubs his cheek against my
own. My right hand, inside the blanket, rests first on his abdomen and
finds its own way naturally between his legs then completely enfolds his
manhood, which is as familiar to me as my own. There is no attempt to
arouse him. I just enjoy the feel of his body. My cock and his buttocks
have this understanding – when it's not inside him, it prefers to lodge
in the crack between his cheeks, except, today it is pointing downwards
instead of up. He contracts each cheek alternately, ensuring that
everything down there is in its proper place. He turns his face to me and
kisses me on the cheek. "Love you," he whispers into my ear.

The sky above the broader horizon has turned into a light grey-blue, with a
centralised deep orange glow. The blue all the way above it heralds another
fine day. I'm just waiting for the sun. This is the best bit – like the
anticipation just before an ejaculation. It won't be long now!

"Love you too, handsome devil!" I tell him back.

"Do you really?" he asks, rubbing his face against mine again.

I'm taken by complete surprise. "What do you mean, do I really? Of course I
do. Why would you even ask such a question?"

"Because of what I did with Gregor," he says, placing one hand over my
right hand.

"That was years ago!" I tell him. "I thought that we had put that well and
truly behind us."

"I'm just so, so, sorry that it happened," he tells me, and he emits a
single, deep sob.

"Hey, we agreed to chalk that up to experience, remember? Just a youthful
folly!" I try to encourage him out of his mood. I add, "Besides, I saw the
first portrait that you painted of him. He was beautiful, wasn't he?"

"Very," Will responds, after a reflective pause. "And it wasn't just his
body. He was great company when I didn't have you with me. He was good at
making me laugh and forget the formality of the exhibitions and media
conferences." He is quiet for a moment, then says, "Please don't hold it
against me, Tom. I couldn't stand it if you doubted my love for you.

"There's only one small thing that I will forever hold against you," I
reply.

"What's that?" he asks, with a sudden perplexed tone. I don't reply but
thrust my hips upwards. "That's not so small," he jokes. We both laugh.

There is a brilliant flash of white/yellow light at the horizon. It rises
rapidly to reveal a discernible orange/red disc until it is too bright to
observe any longer.

The laughing conversation between two kookaburras echoes from the distant
river gums.

"Pair of noisy love birds!" Marty remarks, strolling naked onto the
verandah, accompanied by the world's cutest backside.

"They're not love birds, Marty," Will chastises. "You should know what a
kookaburra sounds like."

"I wasn't referring to them!" Marty hurls back in a most jovial tone. It
takes a moment for his meaning to sink in.

"Yeh," Ash contributes. "You two were in fine voice last night!"

Ash walks to the railing and takes in the panorama. "Beautiful!" he utters.

"Exactly what I was thinking," Marty replies and covers Ash's backside with
his own pressing body. He wraps his arms around Ash who leans back into
him.

Will eases himself off my lap and stands next to them. He turns to look at
me. It's not an idle glance. It's a hint, or a directive. I stand up move
to cover his body with mine and share the blanket with `Cook & O'Brien' so
that it covers four pairs of shoulders.

"I told you that I was going to love it out here," Ash sighs.


The End


***Rob, author of Schoolie

I want to express my sincere gratitude to each and every one from six out
of the seven continents who has taken the time to email me at various
stages of this story. (What? Nobody in Antarctica reads stories on Nifty?)

Thank you for your encouragement to continue past my original goal of
Chapter 17. I have enjoyed the journey and have truly appreciated all of
your feedback.

If you've enjoyed the story and never said "Hello", why not do it now?

I can honestly say that I have shed tears in writing this epilogue and
there have been times when it has seemed like putting together an
obituary. However, I am encouraged if I allow myself to think of it as a
celebration of many lives – even if they were all just fantasy ones!

I wish you all health and happiness.

Rob
Sydney, Australia
rob.aa@hotmail.com