Date: Mon, 15 Jul 2013 09:05:50 +1030
From: Robert A. Armstrong <rob.aa@hotmail.com>
Subject: Schoolie - chapter 6

Thank you all for your encouraging feedback. I love corresponding with you
all.

By now you should know that this is a work of pure fiction - just an
expression of a fantasy. The resemblance of my characters by action, name,
location or description to any real person is purely coincidental.

If relationships between boys and men is not your scene, or if you're under
age, or if it is not legal for you to be reading this, then please leave,
now, before somebody finds out!

Otherwise, enjoy! Things are startng to happen.


Chapter 6

Friday has rolled around again. The first two weeks of school have gone
very well. Little ones settled in. Routines re-established.

Jane is a natural leader and `mothers' my other students when they need
it. She mothers me a bit too, helping me to settle in. She is a perfect
`Assistant Teacher'. I've let Reg and Di know what a great help she has
been. As a reward, they are allowing her to spend this weekend with a
friend in the big town. With Jane away, Di has also invited Will to stay
with Jake from this afternoon until Sunday.

As arranged, Reg picks up Jane straight after school for the three-hour
round trip to the big town.

With just the three of us left at the school, Will and Jake complete their
assigned tasks, putting everything back in its rightful place and closing
the windows. Jake does the classroom and Will, the craft room. Then they
move to cross check the other room and pull down the blinds. Sounds like
the routine for cabin crew on an aeroplane! I do not miss the quick playful
grope of each other in the store room as they pass one another. Boys! Will,
facing me, gives me a wink when he knows that I've seen them. I lock the
door and we all head for my car. Jake is well trained and, as the last one
out, snaps the lock shut on the gate. I smile at this, musing that
entrenched habits override rational thought. The padlock should keep out
the rabbits, snakes, lizards, spiders and crows. Not!

Five minutes into the drive to Jake's place I spot a mob of emus running
parallel with the road. The mottled feathers of the adults are waving up
and down like huge feather dusters. I'm mesmerised by the rhythm of their
strides and the bobbing of their plumage. Among the adults are about a
dozen chicks, with their whitish stripes running head to tail, and it's
comical how quickly their legs are going in order to keep up with their
elders.

As we pull into the yard, Di comes out to meet us, and says that she has
afternoon tea ready, and that she's never known growing boys to say `No' to
a basket of hot scones with home-made jam and fresh cream. The three of us
`boys' all express our agreement.

I sit opposite Di so that we can more easily understand each other. I speak
slowly and try to mouth my words distinctly for her benefit. I think she
appreciates the effort, and her smile is a beautiful complement to her
wonderful nature and hospitality. My ears become 'tuned in' to her slightly
indistinct speech, and my own focus on her mouth makes comprehension much
easier.

I enjoy a very welcome cup of tea to go with the scones, while the two boys
have a glass of fresh milk. Jake is sitting on his mother's 'bad' side and
has obviously learnt to shield his mouth when he doesn't want Di to read
his lips. Will is next to him at the end of the table. They are already
into their plans for the next few days, and tell us that they want to go
exploring along the river, rabbit trapping, horse riding, and more. There
are also a few whispers, girlish giggles and some betraying glances that
tell me they are planning a lot more than they want to tell any of the
adults. I wink at both of them. They look at each other and giggle some
more. I don't know what Jake thinks, but Will can tell that I am on to
them, and he gives me the cheekiest grin! I wonder what it would be like to
share their fun, little realising that Will has plans that may see my
little fantasies become realities.

After much chit chat with Di (and far too many scones), I thank her
appreciatively and head back outside. Will follows me to the car. We do our
secret handshake and I say, "See you Sunday night, bro. Have fun."

"Yeh, you too, bro," he replies. He gives me a wink, the O'Brien smirk, and
the `H'. Now what the hell does he mean by that? Is he just acknowledging
that he intends having fun with Jake and wishes that I would be having some
fun too, or can this kid tell what I'm thinking? Now that's scary! Am I so
transparent?

As I drive back to Marty's I have time to reflect on my first fortnight in
the outback. I replay in my mind my times with Marty, Will, Anna, `Mum',
the twins, the cherubs, the school. What a change in my life in just two
weeks! Things are complicated - but good. The boundary of professionalism
with Will still gnaws at my conscience, but the guilt is fading as pleasure
and joy take its place. Not just my joy, but Will's too. And then there's
the new complication - Karl and Kurt.

My thoughts are disturbed by the barking dogs. I hit the brake, jump out
and, with a feeling of frustration at their intrusion on my reveries,
scream, "Shut up!" They cringe and cower back under the building. Hooray
for me! The schoolie just mastered a new skill!

Marty has a cold beer waiting to thrust into my hand. He cheerfully
announces, "Here's to our two week anniversary!" I accept it thankfully,
but I'm determined that tonight will not be a repeat of the first Friday. I
want to remember everything that I say and do. And everything that Marty
does! Anniversary indeed! What a joker! And a great guy!

After two cans, Marty asks, "So, are you ready for the demonstration?" I am
about to question what the hell he's talking about, when my memory
overcomes the light effect of the alcohol. The men's room demonstration. I
had said that I wasn't ready to try it yet - without him demonstrating! I
look him squarely in the eye and detect the most mischievous intent. I
think, 'Why not? Will's having fun with Jake, so I may as well entertain
myself with a hole in a piece of wood in the back of an ex country dunny!
Besides, I'll get to see Marty's hot body - in action!'

"Yeh, why not?" I say enthusiastically. I take a leaf out of Will's book on
perception and intercept Marty's glances. He's checking to see if I'm
getting hard. Because I can see that he certainly is! Haha. "Just let me
get out of my `work' clothes, and I'll be right with you." I go to my room
and Marty follows, under the pretence of telling me about the snake that he
saw earlier today. My intuition tells me that he's more interested in
another kind of snake. I do a quick change, mostly with my back to him. Am
I cruel, or what? "OK. Let's go!" Marty grabs the porn mag on the way out
and heads off at a pace that is brisker than is usual for him.

When we get to the men's room he places the mag on the cabinet and then
goes into a quick strip. He's eager. First the shirt. Then the belt. Then
the boots. And he lets his cut-offs drop to the ground and steps out of
them, allowing his very hard cock to spring free. He's facing me. He puts
his hands on his hips, tilts his head slightly and raises an eyebrow all of
which give me the not-so-subtle hint to do the same, which I do, but in
teasingly slow motion. I'm truly incorrigible! He takes the mag down and
turns a few pages. His cock twitches a couple of times and he puts the mag
back on the cabinet, face down at the open page. I think, `What? The sight
of me naked and hard isn't enough stimulation for him?'

He takes the tub of Vaseline, unscrews the lid and scoops out a dollop,
placing the open tub up next to the mag. I watch as he carefully lubes up
one of the holes and then smears the rest on his stiffness. He edges his
body over to the hole and pauses with his elongated head at its
entrance. "Ready for the action?" he asks with a quivering joviality in his
voice. I nod and give him the thumbs up. He rests one hand on the wall for
support then slowly pushes his cock into the hole.

His eyes are closed as if he is imagining something, or someone, else. He
pulls all the way back and repeats his penetration. Then he slowly begins
some regular and rhythmic thrusting. I can see his cock going in and out of
the hole and observe his ecstatic expression. However, my eyes are more
keenly attracted to the contractions of his butt - the squeezing of his
cheeks together, and the hollows that form on the side of his muscular
glutes each time as he thrusts forward. I watch and take in the repetitive
action and wonder, `if he's like this with a lump of wood, how would he be
in bed?'

I move closely behind him and place my hands on his bum so that I can feel
the rhythm, not just watch it. He moans at my touch and pauses momentarily
to savour it, then picks up speed as the moans gradually turn into grunts
and gasps. Louder. Faster. I move my hands to the side of his hips and move
forward enough to allow my stiffness to rest vertically between his
cheeks. Almost immediately, he freezes and I can feel the spasms of his
ejaculation pulse throughout his body, and mine. He leans fully back
against me, and I wrap my arms around his chest and nuzzle his neck as he
comes down from his orgasm. "Get the idea?" he whispers. Then we both
laugh.

I take a few steps backwards and he pulls out of the hole and cleans
himself off with some tissues. Then he grabs the Vaseline and I put my hand
out to take it. "Can I do it?" he asks nervously. I look at the desire in
his eyes. I nod assent, wondering whether this will be the first or the
second time that he has felt my naked cock, thinking back to my first
Friday's drunken stupor. I reach for the porn mag, keen to see what he was
looking at that turned him on.

The open pages do not really answer the question that is running through my
mind. On the left, a young guy spooning a girl with his tool firmly planted
into her from behind and they both have looks of ecstasy on their faces. On
the right I see the rear view of two men; one guy with his cock deep in a
smaller guy's hole. The one on bottom has low hanging balls and the guy on
the top has fatter, rounder ones to complement his cute bum. I immediately
imagine `the boar in the bull, recalling Marty's reference to mine and his
respectively. I still don't know which picture he was focussing on - the
straight one, or the gay one, and whether he's imagining himself inside the
girl, or me inside of him or vice versa.

My mental vacillation is interrupted by the feel of the Vaseline being
gently spread up and down my shaft, not just once but multiple times, with
a good fondling of my boar-like balls thrown in. I give him a look that
implies, `Enough Marty. You're not supposed to be jacking me off, you
know.' He pulls an embarrassed, almost-guilty face, shrugs and backs off,
nodding towards the holes. I decide to use the same one as he did. It's
already primed for use! Perfect fit! I emulate his moves and immediately
envision myself in another place, with another, younger hole. I push in and
pull out slowly, savouring each movement. He fondles my contracting bum
cheeks for a few seconds as I did to him and then disappears outside. I'm
not sure whether he's giving me privacy or...

I suddenly feel my cock slide into something warm and slick. I hope it's
his lubed hand, although I imagine a couple of orifices that it could
be. `Anyway', I think, `he's enjoying himself and so am I'. It's been days
since I had relief and even though I try to delay the ending, I feel my
eruption building. I thrust and moan and groan, and I feel Marty's hand
helping me to get there. Without any verbal warning to my `assistant', I
spurt hard then I hear Mary's voice, "Fuck, you've shot me!" He squeezes
the last drops of cum out of me and lets go. When he comes back inside,
wearing the cheesiest grin, I can see my stuff on his stomach and running
down his thigh. We share the tissues, pick up our clothes and amble back to
the house, naked, with my hand around his waist and his hand on my bum, his
fingers lightly exploring the cleft between my cheeks.

I ponder that mucking around with Marty I feel none of the professional
restraint, but also none of the emotional attachment, that I do with
Will. I wonder how far I should allow this `friendship' with Marty to go,
while, at the same time, exercising a huge measure of self-imposed
restraint with Will.

There is no sense in getting dressed, so we lounge naked in our chairs and
toast each other with another can of beer.

"Thanks for the demo, Marty" I manage through a smirk.

"Hey, you're a real quick learner!" he laughs.

After a perfect Saturday morning breakfast of a huge serving of lamb's fry
and bacon with hot buttered toast and coffee, we go into what I'm sure will
become our normal routine - with Marty heading into the big town and me
going to the school to prepare the next week's work - week three coming up.

I haven't been at the school more than about twenty minutes when I hear
chattering. I can recognise Karl and Kurt's voices now, without needing to
see them. I look up from my recently-cushioned seat and my eyes follow them
across the verandah to the doorway. "Come in boys," I call. I'm not used to
seeing them dressed in anything except their school clothes or their white
underpants, or nothing. LOL. These adolescent cherubs, with their thick,
sandy-blond hair swept across their foreheads, are wearing tight white
T-shirts and blue jeans that must have been bought for them before they
started their most recent growth spurt. Their jeans don't yet bulge the way
that Marty's or Will's do, but you can definitely tell that they are boys!

"Hello Mr Grant. We thought that Litt... umm, William might have been
here." They walk across and sit on the desk directly in front of me.

"It's hard to not call him `Little Willie', isn't it?" I joke. "His cousin
Marty's having the same problem. No, he's not here. He was invited to
Jake's because Jane is spending the weekend in the big town with one of her
friends."

They look disappointed. Karl adds, "Dad's gone into town too and we thought
that we would just stay at home and hang out with Willi...am."

Kurt looks a little sheepish and, with his eyed slightly downcast, avoiding
mine, asks, "Mr Grant, can we please talk to you about something?"

"Yes, Kurt. You can talk to me about anything." I suspect that it's not
going to be about his school work. I guess that it is either going to be
about them and Will, or about him grabbing my cock at the weir last week. I
prompt him, "Is it personal stuff?"

"Yes, sir, it is," he replies.

"Well, I'm happy to discuss personal stuff if you like, but let's agree on
something before we start. Anything personal that you and I discuss will
remain confidential between just you and me. I won't be sharing it with
anyone else - not William, not your father, not anyone. I suspect that you
might want to keep it secret too. Am I right? Are you OK to keep everything
just between you guys and me?" They make humming-type affirmative sounds
and nod excitedly. I add, "Unless you tell me that you have murdered
somebody, then I might just have to say something about that to the
police." They look at each other, then with their bright blue eyes staring
straight at me, their faces brighten into beaming grins, accompanied by
giggles at my attempted humour. I extend my hand to each of them to shake
on it and say, "Deal." They respond likewise.

"Good." I say. "Now, what would you like to talk about?"

There is a short silence while the boys look at each other for
courage. Karl nods to his brother, and Kurt opens up. "Mr. Grant I want to
apologise for what I did last week at the weir." Now, I've been wondering
all week about what Kurt is thinking and how he is feeling. I resist the
urge to jump in and provide instant absolution. I just smile and wait to
see if there is anything he wants to add - a technique I learned somewhere:
provide somebody enough silence in a conversation and it will be hard for
them to resist filling it. "I really thought that you were William. I
couldn't see very well in the river water and when I felt your legs, I
thought they were his, and so I just..." I can tell that he is going to
have difficulty explaining the next bit, but I just nod and keep my mouth
shut. "Mr Grant, we were playing this game, and in the game it's OK to grab
somebody, so I'm really sorry for grabbing you."

He's got the worst of it out, so I decide to end my torturous
silence. "Thank you Kurt for the apology. I must say that I've never been
grabbed by one of my students before. It was a great surprise. And you held
on for quite a while didn't you? But please don't think that I was angry or
upset by it." Both boys look at each other, obviously trying to understand
what I am saying. I continue, "Boys, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm a guy
too, and I know how much fun it can be for guys to muck around with other
guys - whether it's on a football field, or wrestling, or naked in the
river - especially when they are twelve years old. And, yes, I was twelve
once myself."  Part of what I am saying is deliberately cryptic, but if
they are smart, they'll work it out. I add, "Boys, all I can say is, be
very careful where you do it, and make sure that you check first if
anyone's around who might see you."

Karl, who's allowed his brother to wear the heat so far, chimes in, "We
normally do, Mr Grant. We just weren't expecting you to be there. That's
why Kurt didn't check. He really thought that you were William, because
where you were sitting is right where he dived under."

"No further explanations necessary," I say. "The three of you were just
normal boys having normal fun." They smile at my unexpectedly `cool'
response. I detect a bit of pulsing movement in Kurt's jeans and he
discretely moves to cover his growing bulge with his hands. I look at him
squarely and say, "And that's normal too. Those things..." indicating the
front of his pants, "...seem to have a mind of their own sometimes -
getting hard at the most embarrassing times." Looking directly into my
eyes, he grins at me and removes his hands but the pulsing continues.

I decide to change the subject. "So guys, tell me about your mum and dad."

Karl, as seems to be usual, takes the lead. "Umm, mum doesn't live with
us. When we were about ten, mum was really sick and said that she couldn't
live here with the heat and flies any more, so she went back to live with
grandma and grandpa in Brisbane. She thought that she'd taught us enough so
that the three of us could look after ourselves until she got better, and
that we could visit her any time. So for now it's just dad and us. We live
over there." He points out the other house near the river, between the
school and Will's place. 'Dad manages a property about two hours' drive up
the road, but prefers to live here in the village. He works really
hard. He's usually very tired at the end of the day. Sometimes he goes to
the pub for a drink, and sometimes he takes some beer over to have a drink
and a chat with Aunt Lilly. Whenever he goes over there, William is allowed
to come to our place and we get to muck around for a while."

I understand `Aunt Lilly' to be a term of social `respect' for Will's
mother rather than indicating some blood relationship. I'm not sure whether
Karl fully understands what I have just interpreted by his statement. But,
I'll bet that Will knows what his mum and Mr Stevensen do whenever he
visits to `have a drink and a chat' with her. I wonder if Will has
explained it to them. Maybe not. He's not mentioned anything to me about
it. Maybe they already know. Anyway, I'd much prefer Lilly to satisfy her
needs with a grown man than with her own son.

"Guys, thanks for coming and having a chat. I promise that I'll keep
everything a secret between us, as we agreed. Any time you want to talk
about `guy stuff' or anything else, I'm happy to be here for you. And I'm
sorry that William isn't here today. But now, if you'll excuse me, I'd
better get some work done."

"OK, Mr Grant. Thank you sir. Thank you very much - for everything." Karl
says, jumping up and leading the way to the door. I follow them, and can't
resist giving Kurt a couple of friendly pats on his firm little butt as he
follows his brother. He gives what sounds like an excited little squeak.

Kurt turns to me and almost whispers with a very impish grin, "You know if
you wanted to muck around in the river with me, I mean... us, any time,
that it we could have a lot of fun. OK, Mr Grant?" I look at him trying to
discern his intent then, allowing a slight grin to come over my face, I
give him a wink, and wonder how much of Will is rubbing off on him. He
grins broadly and returns an exaggerated and mischievous wink. Then he
chases after Karl. I am weakening.

I put in a few hours of work and head back to Marty's for lunch. He's not
there. It's unusual being alone in the house. I'm used to either having
Marty or both him and Will around.

I decide to utilise the alone time to `nose around' a little or, should I
say, `more fully acquaint myself with my surroundings'. I've not been in
Marty's bedroom, nor looked into his store room. Marty has left his room
tidy. Very plain. Double bed, wardrobe and a bedside chest of drawers upon
which there is a nondescript low-wattage lamp plus a box of tissues. I look
into his wardrobe. It's all fairly Spartan, with a few light-coloured dress
shirts and jeans on hangers, a pair of dress slacks and one dark
jacket. Not a tie in sight.

There are some drawers in which I see some socks, some folded T-shirts and
two or three pairs of shorts, including his favourite cut-offs. There is
also some underwear - very underused, I'd say. The bedside chest is a
little more revealing. The bottom drawer contains some basic medication -
aspirin, band-aids, vitamins, etc.. The second drawer has a couple of more
porn mags and the top drawer contains lube, condoms and two different-sized
dildos. Hmm. I feel guilty for snooping, but what I've found doesn't shock
me.

I skip the store room. Marty told me on day #1 what he keeps there, but I
would certainly like to see Will's artwork. I will ask him to show it to me
himself. I grab a can of lemonade from the fridge and settle into one of
the armchairs. With no TV to watch, I look at the pile of magazines for
inspiration. The porn mag is there.

Taking a mouthful of lemonade, I put the can down, remove the porn mag from
the pile and start turning the pages, savouring what I see. I skip the
girl-only pages and focus on the guys - alone, with girls and with other
guys. It's difficult to stay soft.

I turn pages with one hand, while encasing my growing erection with the
other. I close my eyes and, for a moment, allow myself to imagine that it
is Will's or Kurt's hand on me. I do what I wouldn't let Will do in the car
- slowly slide down my zipper and feel around inside. I savour the feeling
of rubbing my hard cock through my thin undies. Then I undo my belt and the
button at the waist of my pants, fold the flaps down and run my hand inside
my CKs. My cock pops out and my hand reaches farther down to liberate my
confined balls. I continue turning pages and rubbing myself, rubbing and
turning. I stop at the double page that Marty had open in the men's room
and take in all the details of the him in her, and the him in him. I close
my eyes and enjoy the sensation of pre-cum being spread up and down my
rigid cock.

The dogs start barking. Oh no! Why now? Fuck! I struggle to stuff
everything back in, zip up and put the porn mag back on the pile, as I hear
Marty silence the dogs. He comes in as I recline slightly with the can of
lemonade trying to look as though nothing was happening. Marty says, "Hi,"
looks almost automatically at my crotch, then at the pile of magazines,
smirks and continues to the kitchen with a box of groceries. Shit. I'm not
as smart as I thought I was. I just realise that I've left the porn mag on
top of the pile, instead of returning it to the bottom. He knows!

Marty puts everything away, grabs two beers and then sits in the other
chair. "Oh, I see you're on the soft stuff," he says as he opens one
beer. "Doesn't matter. The second one won't go to waste." He drains the
first in rapid time, burps loudly, excuses himself, then opens the
second. He talks about the trip to town, meeting friends and says that he'd
like to introduce me to them. I can tell that he's nervous, because he's
running his sentences together rapidly and forgetting to breathe. What he
is also doing is occasionally glancing at my crotch. When I look down, I
can tell why. There's a wet patch that, together with the porn mag on top
of the pile, is totally incriminating. I expect him to make some smart-arse
wise crack about it, but he doesn't.

Throughout the afternoon, over dinner and into the early evening he
continues to drink and talk about everything from the fun he derives from
deliberately annoying his mother to the preponderance of self-serving
politicians currently in office. Finally his mouth stops. Perhaps his
facial muscles have finally reached the point of chronic fatigue. He
slouches and drops his latest, now-empty, can which clatters on the wooden
floor. Then... silence. He looks really awkward, slumped to the side like
that. I can't leave him in that position so I decide to put him to bed. I
manage to get him to his feet and somehow support his weight as I half-drag
him to his double bed. I let him flop backwards with his knees over the
edge and his feet just off the floor. I take off his boots and
socks. "Mmmm" he groans. I lightly rub his feet. No response. Should I go
the whole hog?

I fumble with the buttons on his shirt and fold it open, revealing his
obscenely-perfect, chiselled pecs and abs. I pause to fully take in the
perfection in front of me. Removing his shirt is a bit of a struggle
manoeuvring his arms and also in sliding it off under his semi-comatose
body. I say, "Marty. Can you hear me? Do you want me to take off your jeans
too?" No answer, except the beginning of a snore.

I unhurriedly run my hands over his chest and abdomen a few times,
relishing the feel of his toned muscles. All the while I am talking to him,
with absolutely no response. My hands follow his treasure trail of brown
hair to the top of his jeans. I undo his belt and then the top button. I
slowly slide the zipper down revealing his bushy pubes, and I pause while I
watch his cock harden and extend down the leg of his jeans, stretching the
denim as it grows. Still no verbal response. So, grabbing his jeans
alternately by the legs and the waist, I slide them downward, with my eyes
glued to his cock and balls as they slowly emerge, all the while glancing
at his face in case he starts to waken. My confidence grows and I soon have
him totally naked.

Marty stirs ever so slightly and my heart jumps. He mumbles in long, slow
fragments of speech, "promised you... demonstration... Come on... show
you... Where's the damn hole? Where the fucking Vaseline?" He's dreaming of
our time together in the men's room, and I decide to play along within his
delirium.

I reach for the lube in his top draw and squeeze some into my palm. Then I
take hold of his cock and start to slide my slickened fist up and down. He
mumbles, "Found it... Watch... very... very... carefully... now..." I vary
the speed and depth of my rubbing, exactly as he demonstrated at the
hole. So hard is his cock and so soft is his skin, it feels like rubbing a
steel rod with a silken glove. His breathing becomes erratic. His muscles
tense. His low hangers draw up and his cock swells slightly. I cup his
balls with my other hand and then there is a massive series of spurts and
he utters a low groan. He's a mess, from chin to pubes. I release him and
reach for the tissues. I wipe my hands and then clean him up and continue
to absorb the remaining dribbles of cum as they ooze out of his softening
thick sausage.

I take the wad of tissues to the toilet and flush them, then return to
Marty's room and manoeuvre his head up to his pillows, and cover him with a
sheet. When he wakes up in the morning, he will know that I've undressed
him and put him to bed. Will he remember or deduce anything else? I go back
to the toilet to relieve my own Kransky. I don't last long.

My sleep is only disturbed by the smell of breakfast. I don my undies, go
to relieve my bladder, wash my face and hands and head out to the
kitchen. The beer cans have all gone. There was more than a dozen last
night. I try to act `normal' and say, "I hope you don't mind me putting you
to bed last night. You'd passed out cold here. Just returning the favour."
And I smile at him.

Marty responds with, "Thank you Tom. I appreciate everything you did for me
last night." I continue to smile but say nothing, my conscience pricked by
the innuendo, whether he intended it or not. I'm not going to be the one
who raises the subject of undressing him and jacking him off! Maybe he was
meaning something else, like my keeping a full can in his hand all night,
or my fixing dinner for us both, or for supporting his political biases. I
can feel my heart rate increase and my palms have become sweaty. I think,
`please don't let him tell me that he knows what I did!' I'd die of
humiliation.

Marty lays a hand on my forearm and quietly says, "In addition to the House
Rule, Tom, I have another one - if it feels right, just do it." I look at
him inquisitively as my heart beat manifests itself at my temples,
throbbing at a rapid rate. He continues, "I'm a seasoned drinker. Did you
really think that I'd passed out? It takes more than a dozen spread across
an afternoon and night to put me to sleep." Massive pause and silence. Then
he resumes in a low and sensuous voice, "you enjoyed it too didn't you?"
Nausea! "I let you do it because I knew that you wanted to. I loved every
moment of it. I didn't respond, even though I wanted to, because you would
have known I was awake, and that would have freaked you out and you would
have stopped. Right?"

"Marty, I'm feeling very embarrassed. I'm really sorry."

"No." he says. "Don't feel embarrassed. It's OK to have needs and to be
able to relieve them. You certainly relieved my need." That smirk. "I
haven't felt that good for a long time. It was hard not to scream out as I
erupted though!"

I just stare at him, not knowing how to respond. "So, you wanted to do it
back to me?" I ask.

"Yep. Would you have liked me to?"

All I can say is, "I know that you're not drunk now, and I'm not freaked
out... Have you ever done a role play? We could pretend that I am you last
night, passed out on the lounge, and you are me, carrying me to your bed".

"Yeh, I reckon that I could give that a go." He smirks and I think, `This
is going be fun.' Then I feign collapse.


To be continued...

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