Date: Thu, 23 Sep 2004 11:24:01 +0800
From: James MacMannis <james_macmannis@hotmail.com>
Subject: aboriginal-farmboy/aboriginal-farmboy-01

Author: James MacMannis <james_macmannis@hotmail.com>
Subject: aboriginal-farmboy-01(interracial, rural)
Archive;'Aboriginal Farmboy #1'{James MacMannis}(BB, interr, rural)[]
Homosexual, young male sex
Interracial
Rural setting

ABORIGINAL FARMBOY - PART ONE

Copyright (c) 2004 by James MacMannis
This document may be downloaded for your personal pleasure; however, you may
not place the document on a website or reproduce the story for distribution
in any media whatsoever without my permission.


I live in a rural district in Australia, 15 kilometers from the nearest town
and about 200 kilometers from Perth, the capital city of Western Australia.
My lifestyle is moderate and comfortable, making my income from a fruit tree
orchard and olive grove.  The countryside is very beautiful rolling hills
climbing gradually to some low ranges.  My property is about 450 meters
above sea level in a fertile valley.

Being out of town necessitates occasional trips to do shopping, buy parts
for farm machinery, and so on.  Last Thursday I happened to make a trip to
town, had completed my shopping and pulled in to a service station for fuel.
  I have a number of vehicles, partly dictated by work requirements and
partly by my own love of cars and trucks.  This day I was driving my dark
green BMW sedan.

As I began to pump the petrol a well-kept 10 year old white Volvo wagon
pulled in to the adjacent bay.  A stunningly attractive young man got out of
the wagon.  Not overly tall, fairly slim, long dark wispy hair hung to his
shoulders done in a sort of loose dreadlock style.  Fine facial features
dominated by a very classic aquiline nose above a thinly trimmed moustache
and goatee beard, skin colour like flat white coffee and eyes a steel blue.
All of this I took in like a camera processing a magnificent landscape to
hold it indelibly for future recall.  I captured this lad instantly, and my
heart missed several beats in the process.  He stepped to the front of his
car and opened the engine compartment.  I saw that he was wearing a light
coloured shirt under a dark jacket and faded jeans.  Bare feet completed the
picture perfect image of this magnificent young man.

We made eye contact at some point and nodded our greeting, as country folk
tend to do.  He rewarded me with a gleaming smile that lit every corner of
his face then continued checking his motor.  I went on with filling my car.

A moment later I thought I was seeing double.  A younger version of this lad
appeared and talked with him.  He was almost identical to look at despite
the age difference, although not as tall.  I guessed there would have been
three or four year's difference in their age.  As they spoke the younger boy
became more insistent and his voice rose so that I could catch the odd word
or two.  It seemed to be something about not having enough money for
something, but the rest of their conversation was too distant for me to
hear.  I wasn't really trying to eavesdrop, I was much more interested in
looking at these two beautiful boys, but it just happened that the
circumstances allowed me to pick up a bit of their conversation.

I finished taking on fuel, put the cap back on my car and started off
towards the cashier to pay my bill.  As I went past the boys I saw that both
were somewhat distressed, the older boy saying something like: "I can't
really do very much about it."  I noticed that they had not begun to pump
fuel and thought it a bit strange.  On impulse I deviated a little closer to
them and asked if there was any problem I could help out with.

The older boy seemed upset and the younger boy obviously close to tears.
The senior said, "It's ok, we just have a problem to sort out."  "It's not
just a problem," said the younger one, "Our brother is down in the city and
we can't go pick him up because we have no money left for petrol."  The
story came out that they had unexpectedly needed to buy some oil for the
car, the cost eating into their petrol money.  All they had left was $1.50
for petrol, nowhere near enough to do a round trip of 400 kilometres to pick
up the other brother.  I have no idea what prompted me to do it, except that
I was stricken in wonder at these lads, but I told the older boy to fill up
his car and I would pay for it.  He argued that it was not right that I
should become involved in their problems, but I replied that it was a joy to
help out two beautiful boys like they were and who obviously knew enough to
care for their car engine rather than just drive off regardless.  The lad
thanked me profusely and said he would be able to pay me back the cost of
the fuel next Tuesday when some money they were expecting would arrive.  I
agreed to the deal, not really ever expecting to see the money again, and
already feeling somewhat annoyed with myself for being so impulsively
generous.  Their tank was very close to empty and I ended up with a $48.00
fuel bill to add to my own.  The boy said again that he would pay me next
week and I gave him my address details.  "That is only a little way from our
place," the boy said.  "We live in Railway Road!"

I was surprised to find that they lived in my neighbourhood and I had not
seen them before, but then again most people live on small land holdings
some distant apart and it is quite usual to only ever get to know those that
live immediately adjacent to your own place.  Bushfires and floods are the
only major events to bring out all the people in the community, and they,
too, can be of such a scale that you don't get to meet everyone.  I went in
and paid the bill.  Coming back to my car I saw the boys were still there.
"Thanks again, Mister, for helping us out.  My brother is at university in
the city and is coming home today for a semester break.  We could not have
picked him up without your help.  I just want you to know we appreciate it."
  As they drove off my mind dwelt again on how magnificent the boys looked.

Being in the country it is not unusual to see people barefooted.  These days
many kids follow the foolish Americanism of wearing sneakers because it is
supposed to be "cool", but it was not so long ago that it would have been
considered odd to have worn shoes except to church on Sundays.  When my
generation was in its prime years there was hardly anyone who wore footwear
of any kind, yet sadly that era seems to be passing.  I felt good to think
that these were real barefoot boys.  I wondered what the older brother would
look like and if I would every see him, or, for that matter, any of them
again.  I suddenly realised that I hadn't even asked their names or address.
  Railroad Road, where they said that they lived, is quite long and there
are hundreds of families living in it.  As its name suggests, the road
follows the railway line between the city and town.

The days passed by in the kind of routine I had set for myself over the
years.  Tending the trees during the winter months is less demanding than at
other times of the year, so I could afford the time to tinker with machinery
and build odds and ends for my workshop or house.  It would not be long
before the season changed in its annual roster and spring would announce
itself with budding and flowers.

A cold afternoon shower of rain made me think it was time to stop work for a
while and I went over to my house to warm up and make some coffee.  I like
fine coffee and I like it strong, so I made a pot to my liking and put it
aside to brew.  As I did so I heard the soft swishing of bare feet on my
veranda decking just before a knock sounded at the back door.  To my
surprise, there was the young aboriginal man.  I asked him inside, and he
politely scraped his feet on the doormat before coming indoors.  As he came
in the door I noticed a fresh tear in the fabric of his jeans.  "I've come
to pay you some of the money I owe you.  I really hoped I could pay you the
lot today, but we had some extra costs in the city before Connie, that's my
brother, could leave.  So if you don't mind, I would like to pay you over a
month."  I suggested we talk about it sitting down, rather than awkwardly
standing inside the door, and asked if he would like a drink.  "I've just
made some coffee, but if you would like tea or something else I can get it
for you," I offered.

"I can smell it is fresh coffee, so a cup of that would be just great,
thanks.  By the way, my name is Chris," he said extending his hand for a
handshake.  His grip was firm and his hands as calloused as my own.
"James," I said.  "Let's sit out on the sun deck."

The day was fairly cold and I could see that Chris was wet from the rain, so
I thought the sun deck, which has a potbellied stove, would be the most
comfortable place to be.  "Give me your jacket and shirt so I can dry them,"
I said as I indicated chairs at a coffee table.  I hung his jacket in front
of the fire as he took off his damp shirt.  I hung that out as well and we
sat as I poured the coffee.  "I take mine black," Chris explained when I
offered milk and sugar to him.  "And I only put sugar in the first cup in
the morning."  That made me chuckle to myself, because I had the same habit.

Another habit I have enjoyed all my life is smoking hand rolled cigarettes.
I have tried tailor made cigarettes, but don't like the taste.  I rolled
myself a cigarette and offered the pack to Chris.  He thanked me as he
quickly rolled a neat cigarette, nipping the ends and economically putting
the bits back in my pouch.  We lit up together and I had a chance to look at
this fine specimen of a man before me.  He was a thin lad, not scrawny at
all, and the outline of firm muscles showed under his dark skin.  The colour
of his nipples and lips was somewhat darker than the rest of his skin tone,
more of a chocolate colour, and I was surprised to notice he had no chest
hair at all.

"Looks like a fresh tear in your trousers," I observed.  "Yeah.  I caught
them on a fence when I was coming over here.  I don't know what I am going
to do about it because I don't have anything at home to fix them with."
Being a farmer means that you have to be able to put your hand to any number
of tasks, and many years ago a neighbour's wife had taught me enough about
how to mend my clothes that I had gone out and bought a small sewing
machine.  I could not say that my sewing was all that great, but I could
certainly fix all my own clothing and keep it in reasonable appearance.  "If
you would like, I can sew them up for you while you are here."  "Look,
Mister James, I have already put you to a lot of trouble and I don't want to
be inconvenient to you any more than I already have been.  Thanks for your
offer, but I am sure I can do something later."  "It isn't a bother at all
to me.  My sewing gear is all set up in a spare room and we can do it in a
minute or two when we have finished our coffee."

I enquired as to where his house was.  By road it would be about eight
kilometres away, because the road followed the contours of the countryside,
but in a direct line, across a steep ridge, he was only about two or three
kilometres away.  He explained that he had walked over this afternoon rather
than driven to save the cost of fuel.  It was a demanding walk, there being
no actual pathway through the backcountry, although there are some firebreak
tracks cutting into the bushland.  Between our properties were a nature
reserve and several other farms, so he had hiked barefoot through the bush
and across paddocks to get here.  I knew, having walked the bush myself a
number of times, that some of the way was quite rugged.  A deep ravine cut
through the hills with a busy stream at the bottom of it.  It was somewhere
near that ravine Chris had climbed through a fence and caught his trouser
leg on some barbed wire.

I was very keen to get a handle on this boy's family situation, because I
had a nagging suspicion that I knew more about him than was immediately
coming to mind.  So I pressed on with more questions while we sat by the
fire, sipping our hot coffee and smoking comfortably.  "So, tell me about
your family, Chris."

Chris was a quiet sort of lad, but not shy, and immediately warmed to the
opportunity of telling me something of his home situation.  He had told me
of his older brother, Connie, in university and it turned out he was in his
honours year of agricultural science study.  Connie was short for
Constantine.  Chris said that his own name was a shortened version of
Christos.  He had graduated from high school a few years before and was now
working on their small property, growing vegetables as a cash crop.  The
younger brother that I had seen at the petrol station was Nick, shortened
from Nikolas, and he was attending the high school in town, catching a
school bus in each morning and home again in the afternoon.  They were all
four years apart in age, Chris being 18 years old.  I noticed that there was
no mention so far of parents and was about to pose the question when Chris
took a deep drag on his cigarette, commented on how much he liked the
tobacco I used, and began talking again.

He told me that his mother had died soon after Nick was born.  "I don't
remember much about her, really, because I was too young.  Dad cared for us
by himself since then."  He went on to relate of the death of his father in
a tragic vehicle accident some years previously.  His father had been
driving a truck to market in the early morning when another truck travelling
the opposite direction collided with him in a foggy patch of the highway.
He had been killed instantly, leaving the property and his worldly goods to
the three boys.  Neighbours had helped Connie, who took on the role of
parent, care for the boys so he could continue his recently started
university studies.  Chris, at the time, only had another year to finish his
high schooling, so it was not difficult for Nick to go directly from the
local primary school to the neighbours place and wait for Chris to come home
on the bus.

Suddenly I remembered the incident.  "Nick Kouros, that was you father
wasn't it?"  Chris nodded, unbidden tears welling in his eyes at the sad
memory.  "I worked with your dad when he was a young man.  We were both
farmhands for one of the big pastoral properties the other side of town.  I
respected him a lot, but unfortunately we lost track of each other over the
years.  I can remember when he bought that property you live on and started
his vegetable garden, but until he died I had not seen or heard of him for a
long time.  I didn't know about you boys."  Nick Kouros was an aboriginal
with a Greek grandfather, and I well remembered how he had looked like an
Olympic god.  I never met his wife, but I guess she must have been a pretty
lady for them to have had such stunningly beautiful children as these.

Chris had composed himself and took a final drink of his coffee before
saying "We have been doing alright from the vegetables till that heavy frost
last month killed off most of the plants.  That is why I can't pay you the
full amount I owe you right now.  I hope you understand."

"Look," I said, "Don't worry about that for now.  In fact, if you haven't
got any work going why don't you come here and work for me until the weather
fines up and you can get your vegies underway again?  I need a hand with
pruning and some odd jobs on the place here and would welcome someone as
good looking as you to be around my farm."  I had not meant to come out with
that last bit, and even the job offer was another one of these spontaneous
ideas I seemed to be getting every time I looked at Chris.  I didn't know
how he would take my offer or my words.  "You could at least work off your
small debt to me and that would take a load off your mind.  I will pay you
the standard rate and it would be up to you to work out the hours you want
to work, just so long as I know what they will be and I can work my program
out to coincide with that."

Chris seemed to think about it a moment or two before answering.  "You know,
Mister James, not many people like to have aboriginal people working for
them.  That is why I don't have an outside job.  I work hard, as hard as
anyone I know, but it just seems white people don't want us to work for
them.  Why are you being so kind to me?  You really don't even know me."
"But you forget that I knew your dad, and if you are half as good as he was,
then you will be a fine man.  I am not only willing to take you on, but I
want to ask you to work for me.  Sincerely I want to get to know you and
your brothers and this seems to me to be one way we can do it.  The only
thing I ask is that you drop the 'Mister' bit and just call me James.  I
want to be your friend much more than I want to be your boss.  What do you
think?"

"OK, James, I would like to do this.  I don't know why, but I feel deep down
in my heart that I can trust you and I want to know more about you too.
When we saw each other the first time at the petrol station I felt that way
- even before we had spoken to each other.  Strange, isn't it?"

"That's settled then," I said.  "How about we get those trousers of yours
fixed up?  I can't have my co-worker dressed in torn clothes.  Would you
like to take them off for me so I can use the sewing machine on them?"
Chris hesitated again.  "I don't have any underpants, so I will be naked
when I take them off.  Do you want me to wrap up in a towel or something?"
"If it doesn't bother you to be naked, it certainly doesn't bother me.  I
don't ever wear underpants, and hardly ever footwear for that matter, so we
seem to have some things in common between us already.  I can get you a
towel or a robe if you like.  You do what you are comfortable with."  With
that Chris stood, unbuckled his belt and jeans and stepped out of them.  I
am not active on the gay scene, but I certainly enjoy the company of a fine
man when I have the opportunity.  Over the years I have been privileged to
enjoy some great relationships and have seen some wonderful examples of
manhood, including many years ago a very brief affair with Chris's father,
but what stood before me now far exceeded anything I had ever set eyes on
before.

Clearly highlighted against Chris's darkish skin was the most beautifully
proportioned penis, chiselled in darker brown, fine milk chocolate coloured,
surmounted by a bush of black pubic hair and undergirded with the most
exquisite pairs of balls.  I gasped in unashamed delight when I saw him
there in his naked glory.  Chris seemed totally unfazed at the thought of
being naked in front of someone he had only recently met, and that
candidness added to the sheer beauty of the moment.  Chris handed me his
torn jeans and sat again near the fire.  "I hope this is not causing you any
trouble," he said indicating the ripped clothing.  I could hardly take my
eyes from his manhood, but I did manage to say something about it not being
any trouble at all.  When I eventually prised my eyes away from the artistry
of his body I noticed a scratch on his thigh just where the tear was in his
trousers.  "Chris, you caught your skin on that wire too.  I will get some
antiseptic for it when I have mended these.  Would you like some more coffee
while I go into the other room to sew these up?"  "No thanks, I will wait
till you have finished them."  "Fine, well help yourself to another smoke
and I should be back in a few minutes."

It took just that - a few minutes - and I was back in the sun room with
Chris's trousers mended.  Chris was sitting comfortably near the fire,
smoking with obvious delight.  He sat with his legs apart, an arm hung over
the back of the chair and the other dangling with his cigarette.  I could
have sworn he was letting me know that he was enjoying showing himself off
as much as I was enjoying the scenery.  "Let me look at that scratch," I
said to him.  He had no hesitation as I inspected the wound, which was not
deep but about 5 cm long.  Looking further up his leg I couldn't help but
take in the detail of his finely appointed manhood.  His penis was not
really big, perhaps 10 or 12 cm long, and was crowned with a bountiful
foreskin that completely covered the head.

My medical cabinet was in the kitchen, so I went in there to retrieve some
tincture and an antibiotic cream I use to prevent tetanus infection from
rusty wire.  I grabbed a cotton bud from a container and took these back in
to the sun room.  Chris opened his legs further apart so I had easy access
to the wound and I dabbed a small amount of the tincture on the scratch.  He
winced slightly at the sting from the antiseptic then, just as quickly,
relaxed again.  I squeezed a little of the cream on my fingers and gently
rubbed it into his thigh.  It was not hard to notice that this attention was
causing a growth in his manhood.  The more I rubbed, the more erect his
penis became, beginning to stand proudly out from his groin.  Chris moved
his hand to try and cover the growing erection.  "Chris," I said, "You have
a beautiful body which I like to look at.  I don't want you to be
embarrassed about getting a hard-on."  He made no comment and placed his
hand on his other leg as I finished rubbing the cream in to the wounded
area.  By this time his erection was fully hard, and the beautiful penis had
grown to about 20 cm in length, perfectly straight and still sheathed by the
now firmly tightened foreskin.  The shape of his glans was clearly outlined
under the smooth covering.

With all my heart I wanted to pleasure Chris and to enjoy his beautiful
penis, but I still had no clear indication this would be acceptable to
Chris.  Tentatively I let my hand move further up his thigh until I was
almost touching the object of my delight and desire.  "Chris, it looks like
your need some attention here.  Is it OK with you for me to touch your
penis?  Tell me, please, if you don't want to do this.  I promise I will not
hurt you or disrespect you in any way if we do it."  "I like it when you
touch me," Chris said softly.  "I said before that I trust you, and I mean
it now.  You are so gentle in all your ways, and I know you will not hurt
me.  Please hold me there."

"Wait just a moment," I said as I darted into the kitchen and grabbed some
olive oil - some of my own prize oil.  Smearing a little onto my hands to
lubricate them I sat down at Chris's feet and reached up to that marvellous
penis standing so strongly in front of my eyes.  He shuddered just a little
at the first touch and his penis jerked in my hand.  It felt wonderfully
strong and virile and hot.  I gently rubbed the oil into his firm skin, from
the base to the tip, and then gripped the girth of it firmly in my hand.
Chris pushed gently with a thrust of his hips and that hot meat came alive
in my hands.  I wanked his meat slowly, wanting the experience to last as
long as possible and to build up the excitement in his loins as much as he
could tolerate.  Up and down, the full length of his magnificent tool, up
and down.  Every now and again the head of his penis would poke out from the
foreskin and I could see drops of clear pre-cum collecting there.  I
massaged that precious fluid back into the shaft of his now iron-like rod.

Chris took another drag on his cigarette before butting it out and stretched
his legs out beside me.  I could see the splayed toes of his beautiful feet
gripping the floor when the sensations built and ran through his body.  With
a final ripple of energy, his penis swelled to an even greater girth and
erupted in long ropes of white semen.  The first two or three explosions
shot straight over my shoulder and landed on the floor behind me, almost two
meters away.  Three more big shots of cum followed and landed closer in.
Another four or five shots came as Chris writhed under my still pumping
hand, the juices cascading over my hand onto the floor.  The orgasm was now
past its climax and yet Chris was still pumping out his semen.  I lost count
of how many times he squirted out his juices, certainly twelve times or
more, till eventually the throbbing ceased and, after a short time, I could
feel the beginning deflation of that wonderful shaft.

Chris sighed deeply.  "Oh man, I haven't ever shot like that before.  What
did you put on me to make it feel so good?"

"It was just some olive oil," I said.

"Oh man!" Chris panted again, "That was so good.  Thank you, James."

I thought to myself "If you like it so much, you can have plenty of practice
when you are working here!"

When he had recovered his breath, Chris looked me in the eye and asked "Can
I do something for you now, James?"  Despite my own hardness, which was
probably quite obvious to him, I told him no, not at this time.  I really
wanted the opportunity to show him how deeply I felt for him and for him to
be relaxed and to have enjoyed this experience, and that was enough pleasure
for me at this point of our new relationship.  He leaned forward and kissed
me tenderly on the lips before I got up to get a cloth to clean up and put
the coffee on again.

It was getting dark and was quite stormy outside, although still very
comfortably warm inside by the fire.  After coffee and a final cigarette,
Chris put his shirt and mended trousers back on.  Knowing that he probably
didn't have any at home, I handed him the almost-full pack of tobacco.  "I
have seen how much you enjoy smoking, so maybe you could use this.  I have
some more in my office, so I won't be running short."  "Thank you James.
Add it to my bill so I can pay you back later.  When I get home we will all
enjoy some of this tonight."

Chris came over to me and hugged me.  "Thank you for listening to me
tonight.  It has been a long time since anybody showed they cared about us
boys.  Not only that, you have shown me a special kindness that I treasure
greatly.  I hope that I can be as good for you as you have been for me."  He
shrugged into his warmed jacket as he prepared to leave.  I did not want
Chris walking home on a night like this, so I rebuffed his protest and took
him home in my car.  He promised to be back ready for work as soon as his
little brother was off to school in the morning.