Country Life (2) by Tim Anders (Extensively revised sequel to "Bush Treatment")
Copyright Tim Anders © 1998, 2001 Dedicated to Dad who hugged me when I came out As much
as I appreciated living with Dad again and the chance of a new start
in a new school and all that, the episode with Craig and Dean brought
back memories of Dave. It made me more aware of my inner loneliness
and the deep longing for a close mate to love and respect. The hardest
part was not being able to talk about it. Dad was about my closest
mate, and I even thought maybe I'd just fess up to him that I liked
boys better than girls, but he always made such a thing about how
he wanted me to grow up and be 'manly', presumably provide him with
grandchildren and all that. He mentioned gays only in passing, and
when they came up in conversation with other guys, we only made fun
of them as limp-wristed, mincing queens, and I didn't want to be one
of 'them poofters'! Gay, as I understood it, was never an option. On
the other hand, I was very aware that my little mate responded to
boys in a way he never reacted to girls, no matter how _s_e_x_y people
said they were. I guess quite a few young guys can identify with the
confusion and insecurity during those years of growing up. Luckily
we all outgrow that phase in one way or another. But while my little
mate was a good indicator, there was more to it. Some boys evoked
such a deep longing in me: 'I want to be with you, I want to hug and
kiss you, I want you to hold me tight and be my best mate forever!'
They were strapping, athletic, masculine guys, often a bit older,
who didn't fit the general 'queer' image at all. Most of them would
have knocked my teeth out, most likely, if I'd told them. Why did
I feel like that and they didn't? It was all so bewildering. Steve
was one of those guys. I had first noticed him riding his bike past
our house, a day after I arrived. He was about my age, with very striking
blond hair that seemed almost white, and he wore the cutest shorts,
making my little mate jump to attention every time I saw him. But,
although I saw him ride past several times, he never looked my way,
even when I was out on the front lawn. I tried to think of some ruse
to attract his attention, but I didn't really know what I'd say if
it worked, so it all remained a dream until the day I started school. I
arrived a bit early and reported to the Secretary who directed me
to my class room, saying the teacher wouldn't be far behind. Imagine
my surprise and joy, when I saw my pin-up boy there among the 20 odd
boys and girls, probably bragging about their conquests over the weekend.
He looked even more beautiful and was clearly 'one of the boys', horseplaying
and fooling around. My heart sank, he wasn't going to need me for
a friend, he had them all! I stood there in the door for a moment,
but nobody took any notice of me. As I'm not the type who barges in
with 'hey, look at me', I turned to wait outside the room, and then
I felt a hand on my shoulder, "you the new one?" I turned around,
it was his hand!! WOW!! I was so taken aback, I almost lost my voice
and nodded "yes." "They told us about you, what's your name? I'm
Steve." "Tim," I said, and we shook hands. "Come, meet the others,"
he grabbed my arm and pulled me along, introducing me to the rest
of the class. They all seemed quite friendly but I knew I'd only remember
half of the names. I was amazed Steve took such an interest in me,
and when he said "you can sit next to me if you want," my knees went
so wobbly, I could have cried. "Thanks," I stammered, "I'd like
that, if it's OK with the teacher." "Ah, leave her to me!" With
that brief remark Steve had opened a part of my heart that made him
very special. I've always admired self-assured guys who knew what
they wanted and how to get it. I would have loved to be like that
myself, but I only ever managed to adore and attach myself to someone
to whom it came naturally. Some things never change . . . Mrs. Clay,
the teacher, never even questioned the seating arrangement. She welcomed
me to the class and then embarrassed me by raving about my 'academic
record'. I couldn't imagine where she got that from, she was obviously
talking abut the dim past. Could Dad have 'built up' my image, so
they'd take me? I just wanted to crawl under the floor boards. I
assured Steve and the others later that she'd grossly overstated the
case, but Steve rejoiced, "I knew it was a good move to get you sitting
next to me! With your brains and my charisma, we'll go a long way
together!" He certainly had no modesty problem, but he didn't need
my brain power, either. Steve's remark proved prophetic in that
we became good mates in no time, and before very long I was totally
infatuated with him. He was very bright and talented, and his lack
of scholastic success was largely due to lack of application, as had
been the case with me back in my old school. I was amply motivated
with the threat of the cane and, more importantly, of being sent back
to the city if I didn't shape up. So, I made an effort and, as we
often did our homework and projects together, it rubbed off on Steve
and results began to show. Once we'd started improving our performance,
we were competing not only with the rest of the class, but even with
each other, it was like a drug. On my own I would have been shunned
as a 'swot', but Mr. Popular's reputation never suffered, maybe even
inspired others to new efforts, and I travelled in his backwash, loving
him more every day. Of course, we didn't only study together. We
played lots of sports, especially tennis, and we both loved swimming
in the river. Steve taught me to play chess, but I hardly ever managed
to beat him. He had so many gifts, perfect pitch for one, and a natural
ability to play the piano. We spent many hours with him 'fantasising',
making up his own tunes, and me watching, listening and adoring him,
often in tears of pride and happiness. He was MY MATE!!. Steve's
family didn't own a piano and he'd been using one at his grand parents
house. Dad had bought an old one a while ago, goodness knows why,
neither of us played, but whenever Steve came to our house, he headed
straight for it. Dad was so impressed with his talent, he had the
piano tuned and wanted me to take up lessons as well. But I stalled
because I sensed I'd never be much good at it. Luckily he didn't persist. As
I have always enjoyed writing stories and plays, Steve and I decided
to write a rock opera together and become famous. Yeah, well, the
music was quite stirring, the plot was pretty thin but hilarious,
and the lyrics were great, ranging from vulgar to downright offensive.
The less said about the opus, the better, but it was fun. We thought
we were the greatest team since Rodgers and Hammerstein or whatever
their names were. And I loved it because 'my Steve' and I did it together,
it was ours and nobody else's. One day we were on a school excursion,
visiting a nearby dam. As we were walking along this very narrow ridge
and I got a bit worried, Steve just took my hand and led me along,
for all to see. It may not mean anything to others, but I was deliriously
happy and wished that walk would never finish. He probably thought
nothing of it and of course let go as soon as we were past the ridge,
but I have never forgotten that wonderful feeling, not just the touch,
but the feeling he cared for me and didn't worry what the guys might
think of him holding my hand. I was very much in love with Steve,
or, to put it more bluntly, I had a very bad case of the hots for
him. He had taken Dave's place in my wanking fantasies very soon after
we became mates, but apart from that hand-holding episode and an occasional
enthusiastic hug, there was no sign of affection from him. I yearned
for closer physical contact with him and often initiated some roughhousing
as a way of getting it without arousing suspicion. During these bouts
of wrestling or when we went skinny-dipping, I'd noticed his little
mate got just as hard as mine, and we sometimes even wanked together,
but never each other. Well, not yet, but all that was to change quite
soon. Dad and I had sorted out running the household along the lines
'whoever cooks doesn't wash up' and stuff like that. He wanted me
to concentrate on my schooling, but I had to do my share of the house
work too, which was fair enough. Some things we decided as they came
up, but most of the routine stuff was assigned and organised and not
a problem. At least it shouldn't have been. The next time I got
a hiding, about a month after my arrival, wasn't even for anything
very serious. I'd just forgotten to take the rubbish bins out, which
was one of my jobs. I'd already gone to school when Dad realised what
had happened and did it himself. I hadn't given the bins a thought
all day until I got home from school and saw the empties outside the
house, and I knew I'd be in for it. But my wildest dreams couldn't
have foreseen that the day would be much more momentous than I expected,
for an entirely different reason. As I went inside, debating whether
I should make the first move and ask to be punished, I realised Dad
had already dealt with it. There was a cane lying on the kitchen table.
No sign of Dad. Just a note 'Back by 6. Be ready'. _s_h_i_t_! What
did he mean by that? It wasn't even 5 p. m. yet. Did he expect me
to strip and wait till he gets here? And what about that sudden erection?
OK, I can deal with that, but there's no guarantee that'll be the
end of it. I went to my room, dropped my things and gave the room
a clean-up, if only to remove any additional 'trouble spots'. As it
was not really shorts weather, I changed into just my jeans and a
jumper so I could to strip off quickly when Dad got back and I had
to 'be ready'. While I was sorting out the mess in my room, I heard
the front door and a voice calling "Tim? You there?" It was Steve.
Oh gawd! Any other day! I looked at my watch, it was after 5:30. What
now? I emerged from my room, Steve had already let himself in, looking
a bloody mess. "_s_h_i_t_, what happened to you mate?" He'd come
off his bike on the way home, some idiot car driver had pushed him
off the road not far from our house. He was limping, his jeans were
torn, his knees and hands were bloody, and I was shocked to see that
sweet face scratched and bruised. I put my arm around him and I could
feel him shaking. "You want a drink, mate?" "Just water, ta." I
guided him to the kitchen and poured a glass from the jug in the fridge. "Where's
your bike?" "Left it in the ditch, bloody useless." "We'll get
it later but we better clean you up first, mate. Think you need a
doctor?" "Don't think so." "My Dad's pretty good with medical
stuff, he should be here any moment - " Hell, I'd forgotten about
THAT!! And the bloody cane is still on the kitchen table! And the
note! Steve must have seen it, surely. Maybe he was in too much pain
to notice? All he said was, "you got any Dettol?" I took him through
to the bathroom and gave him the Dettol bottle. "Can you help me?" "Sure."
We carefully pulled his torn jeans off, and his legs looked not too
bad, apart from the knees. I just washed the dirt off them and then
spread some Dettol over the wounds. Steve yelped, "Gee, that stings!" "Sorry,
mate." I'd just started on his face when I thought I heard the front
door. _s_h_i_t_! What now? "Is that you, Dad?" No answer. "Listen,
mate, keep working on your face, just dab it, I'll just go and see
who --- " "Tim?" Dad's voice. "Coming!" I rushed out to the hall.
"Dad, I'm sorry, we've got an emergency." "What d'you mean, emergency?" "Steve's
had an accident." Dad had become quite fond of Steve from his many
visits to our house and soon declared I couldn't have picked a nicer
fellow for a mate. When I told him it was more a case of Steve picking
me that first day at school, Dad was even more pleased and reckoned
Steve'd be a good influence on me. "What happened, where is he?" "In
the bathroom." Steve was gingerly applying Dettol to his face, Dad
looked him over and said "looks like you've come a real cropper, son.
Nothing broken?" "I - I don't think so, Mr. Anders." "Let me have
look." Dad looked him over, "I think you'll live, mate. At least you've
done the sensible thing with the Dettol." "Tim did most of that,"
said Steve with a little smile and ruffling my hair, which made me
feel so good, I nearly went to jelly. "Very good," said Dad, and
then to Steve, "have you had a tetanus shot recently?" "I don't
think so. Mum would know, or the doc." "Have you rung your mum yet?"
Steve shook his head. "Well, better do it now," and with a light slap
on his bottom, Dad directed him to the phone. My little mate stirred
in my jeans and kept growing as I admired Steve limping down the passage,
looking really cute in his little briefs and the shirt partly hanging
over them. While Steve was talking to his mum, Dad wanted to know
more about the accident and I told him all I knew. He was so angry,
"drivers like that should be - - - " I had a pretty good idea what
Dad had in mind for 'drivers like that. I also worried that his anger
might spill over into another area closer to home, and as he had made
it very clear that I was old enough to take responsibility for my
own punishments, I brought up the question again, "Dad, about your
note and the cane - - - " "Not now, mate, let's get young Steve
sorted out first." Steve came back to ask if Dad could drop him
at the surgery, his Mum would meet him there. "I'll talk to her,"
Dad went to the phone and persuaded her we'd take Steve to the doctor
and bring him home afterwards, to save her the trip. I was getting
a bit jealous of Dad taking over. Steve was MY mate and I wanted to
be the one doing things for him. I knew I couldn't drive him anywhere,
but I still resented it. Steve's jeans were in shreds and he didn't
want anything rubbing on his knees, so I lent him a pair of shorts.
He looked really cute in them, even with his cuts and bruises. The
fact they were MY shorts, gave me a wonderful warm feeling. I felt
like sticking a label on them telling everyone: 'Steve is wearing
his best mate Tim's shorts'. Silly, I know, but that's how I felt. Steve
got his tetanus shot, but he had to come back for X-rays, next morning.
We took him home and Dad offered he could stay the night with us,
and Dad would take him to the hospital for X-rays when he went to
work in the morning. Steve's dad wasn't home and his mum didn't want
to 'be a nuisance', but they lived 12 km out of town, and in the end
she accepted. Steve and I were really excited about him staying
the night with us, even if it was in such miserable circumstances.
As soon as we got home, we got the folding bed from the garage and
set it up in my room while Dad was heating up the casserole Steve's
mum had insisted we take along ("it's the least I can do"). We had
our meal, and I was glad that cane and note had gone from the table.
Steve and I washed and dried the dishes, but he nearly fell asleep
standing up. Maybe it was the pain killer. Dad said bed might be a
good idea, and Steve agreed. I went with him to make sure he got into
in my bed, since he was an invalid. I insisted I'd sleep on the folding
bed and Steve was too tired to argue. He declined my offer of pyjamas,
saying he always slept with nothing on. 'Just like me', I thought.
My little mate stirred again when he just stripped, lay down and bombed
out as his head hit the pillow. He looked so angelic, I nearly cried.
I wanted to lie beside him, hold and kiss him, but I resisted the
temptation and just covered him up. I went back to the sitting room,
"Dad, about the note - " He put his book down, "I must say I was
bloody disappointed, just when I thought you were beginning to lift
your game." "I'm really sorry, Dad, honest. That was really careless
and stupid, and I was going to be ready as you wanted me but - " "I'm
not talking about that, mate. It's about you not sticking to the rules.
No big deal taking the bins out myself, but you're not going to drift
back into your 'she'll-be-right' mode again." "I won't, Dad, but
I know I deserve the cane for that, so, can we please get it over
with." "What about your mate in there?" "He's fast asleep. Anyway,
he probably saw the cane on the table. Didn't say anything, but." Dad
got up from his armchair, "see me in the kitchen, the cane's on the
washing machine." I took the cane to the kitchen, gave it to Dad
and took my jeans off. I was about to take my jumper off, but he
stopped me. "It's not that warm any more." The jumper was too short
to even reach my bottom, and there was no chance of it getting in
the way anyhow, but I pulled it up out of habit, as I bent over the
kitchen table. "This is going to hurt, mate. Six, and I want you
to count them." Six! Yikes! It had been quite a while since I'd
felt the cane on my bum, but I was determined to take it 'like a man',
no matter what, if only to avoid waking Steve. It hit me like a
knife. My "ONE" came out louder than intended, "TWO" - _f_u_c_k_,
I can't take six of those!! Of course I did. When I shouted "SIX",
I had a very 'moist' view of the world. "OK, mate, I hope you got
the message." "Geez, Dad, I'd forgotten how much it hurts!" I was
rubbing my bottom furiously, pulling faces and wiping my eyes. He
gave ma a hug, "I don't want any more repeats Tim, [I was in two minds
about that], go to bed now, it's getting late." I took the cane
back to the laundry, rubbing my hot buns, collected my jeans from
the floor, said good night to Dad and then quietly sneaked into my
room and bed, gently rubbing my tingling bottom, tracing the stripes
left by the cane with my fingers, and my little mate was getting excited
again. I wanted a good wank but Steve was stirring in his sleep, so
I tried to keep as still as possible, but I couldn't get comfortable
and kept turning from one side to the other. Just as I was half drifting
off to dreamland, I felt a hand on my bottom. I woke with a start,
and even before my hand went back there, I knew it was Steve. He
nuzzled my neck from behind, "Sorry, mate - is it very sore?" I
turned around, grabbed his head and pulled his face very close to
mine, "not your fault," was all I could say. I wanted to kiss him
but was too scared. Steve's fingers ran through my hair, "must have
been bad, mate, I could hear you." "My old man's an expert," I said,
bursting into tears and trying to pull him into my bed at the same
time, but it creaked badly as if it might collapse. Steve stood
up, the room was dark but I could see his contours in the small light
from the clock radio. He took me by the hand, like that time on the
ridge, "come to my bed," and led me across, "or rather your bed,"
he corrected himself. We cuddled, he rubbed my sore buns and our not
so little mates met. I kissed him gently and let my fingers run through
his hair, but he winced. I'd almost forgotten his injuries. "Sorry,
mate, I forgot how sore YOU are." "That's OK, I'll be fine in the
morning." We just lay there, holding each other, and then he suddenly
said "I like you a lot, Tim." I was so overcome, I kissed him again
and said, "I think I love you, Steve." "Rubbish," he chuckled, "you
can only love chicks." I bit my tongue, even more confused, just
as things seemed to be falling into place, and I did a Scarlett O'Hara
('Ill think about that tomorrow'). More pressing things were at hand,
so to speak: sore as we were in other areas, our little mates did
get exercised that night after all, and I went to sleep the happiest
boy in the universe. Next thing I knew was Dad throwing the door
open and turning the light on. "C'mon guys, time to get up," and
he was gone. "_s_h_i_t_! Was that your Dad?" Steve was out of bed
like a shot. He looked gorgeous in his nakedness, in spite of all
the scratches and bruises. "That was him allright," I said, getting
out of bed. In spite of the shock, we both burst out laughing as we
looked at each others stiffies. Steve was worried, "what're we going
to do?" I didn't know what to think and grabbed his little mate
instead, "what about?" "Not that, you idiot!!" But he weakened as
I kicked the door shut and kissed him. He grabbed mine, and we resolved
each other's problems without delay. I was worried, too, but somehow
I sensed if Dad had been really mad, he would have raised hell instead
of just walking out and leaving us to it. I pointed that out as a
good sign, but Steve was too embarrassed for any rational thought
and wanted to just run. We showered, got dressed and went out to
the kitchen, wondering what Dad would say about finding us in bed
together. He didn't mention it until we all sat at the table. "You
gave me a bit of a surprise then," he started. We both blushed, not
knowing where this was heading. "First time?" "Oh yes," I piped
up, "we've never - - -" Steve was so embarrassed he just mumbled,
"sorry, Mr. Anders." "Don't look so worried, guys! Best mates comfort
each other sometimes, I remember it well." We looked at each other
in amazement. "After all, you were both pretty sore last night, weren't
you?" I blushed, but Steve put his hand on mine, "I started it,
Mr. Anders." I protested, "no, I -" But he pressed my hand very
hard, "shut up, Tim," then again to Dad, "I felt sorry because I heard
Tim getting - " he looked at me apologetically. Dad smiled, "Did
you? Tim said you were asleep." Steve nodded, "I was, but I woke
up again, maybe I was worried." "What about?" "I saw the cane
on the table and I guessed - " I started wishing I was somewhere
else. "And you put two and two together." "I know what a cane
looks like and what it's for and I saw the note," he looked at me,
"sorry, mate, it's the truth." "Dad!! Do we have to?" Dad raised
his eyebrows as if to say, 'watch it, mate,' then to Steve, "and you
waited so you could comfort Tim?" Steve blushed and nodded, "sorry
Mr. Anders." He then looked at me and I could see tears welling up
in his eyes. Before I knew what I was doing, I put my arms around
him and pulled his face close, so our cheeks were touching. "Thanks,
mate," I whispered in his ear and kissed his cheek. When I let go
of him and looked back, Dad had got up and was standing by the sink,
"anybody for a cuppa?" I knew then, he really wasn't mad with us at
all. "Yes, please," we both said as one, holding hands below the
table. Dad cleared his throat as he was pouring the coffee, "for
what it's worth, but I am pleased you're such good mates and," to
Steve, "there's no reason to be sorry." "Thanks, Dad," was about
all I could manage. "Just a bit of advice, boys, be very careful
so you don't get hurt." He looked almost benign. We maintained our
silence. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here, but I want you to
know I didn't see a thing, OK?" "Thanks, mate." I was so proud of
him, I could have kissed him. "It's perfectly normal at your age
to experiment, and absolutely harmless, just like wanking, but not
everyone agrees with me." "I don't think my Dad would be so cool
about it," Steve said with a worried look on his face, "I reckon he'd
have a fit if he found us - erm - like you did." "You mean sharing
a bed? Well, as long as you're under age, he has have every right
to object and even stop you - " "But you didn't," I interjected.
I was really proud of my "cool" Dad. "Mate, you know if you do the
wrong thing, you get a sore bum." I blushed, but Steve's hand on my
leg under the table eased my discomfort. "But I see nothing wrong
with a couple of young colts having a bit of fun, as long as you don't
go overboard." I wondered but didn't ask what he meant by that. Steve
and I became inseparable. He did stay over occasionally, and we'd
share the bed, but Dad never barged in again. He'd knock on the door
in the mornings, "c'mon guys, time to get up!" But in spite of Dad's
cool approach, we kept feeling as if we shouldn't be doing what we
were doing, which was only kissing and cuddling and playing with each
other's little mates. Although we had '_s_e_x_ education' at school,
we were totally ignorant about gay _s_e_x_. Asking Dad was out of
the question because I was convinced he saw the whole thing as a temporary
aberration which I would outgrow, while I knew deep inside that I
would always be 'like that'. So, all our information came from others
jeering about what 'poofters' did, which, according to them was noting
but wearing dresses and wigs and _f_u_c_k_ing each other's bums. We
both found that so disgusting, we were quite relieved we weren't like
'that', after all. At the same time it was so confusing because if
we agreed with the straights on those things, why were we so keen
on kissing and wanking each other - things they would never do? Or
would they? In contrast to the 'anal option', the oral one had a
great appeal for me. I don't think anyone told me about it as an option,
I just felt a great desire to kiss Steve's little mate and maybe even
take him in my mouth. It was one of my many wanking fantasies to pull
his foreskin back very slowly and let my tongue play over his gorgeous
head and shaft, but I was too scared to suggest, let alone do it,
until one day - We were having a wrestle in one of his family's
paddocks out in the middle of nowhere. The wrestling match developed
along our usual lines, our little mates were getting pretty excited,
we kissed and pulled each other's shorts off and played with each
other's dicks. We rolled over and under each other, and I noticed
some marks on Steve's bum. He'd never told me he got the stick at
home but that's exactly what they looked like, and I was pretty familiar
with that kind of marks. I held him down and let my fingers run over
the faint stripes. "What are these, mate?" "What?" "You got
the stick or something?" "Ah that, yeah, coupl'a days ago." He tried
to wriggle away, but I held him firmly down and he didn't struggle
very hard. "Why didn't you tell me, mate?" I felt almost betrayed.
"You always know when I get it." "Dunno, - forgot maybe - wasn't
much anyway." "Not much? There are, let me see, one, two, three
- - - at least eight stripes here, mate." "Ten actually." I planted
my lips on his left bun and tickled it with my tongue. He giggled,
"don't do that," but he held quite still. "Why? You've kissed mine
better when I got a hiding." "Mmhmm," he purred, "that's nice." My
little mate was rampant and I reached around to confirm my expectation
that his was just as upright. Sure enough. I kept soothing his battle
scars with my mouth and fingers. "Wanna tell me what happened?" "Not
much to tell, mate. You said it. I got the stick." "That's a bit
new isn't it? I mean you never told me . . . " I kept nuzzling his
buns. "Not really new, mate, I just don't get it as much as you.
Must've been a year since last time." My little mate got very excited,
"all the more reason to tell me, when you get hurt, mate." "Wasn't
hat bad." "How long ago you say this was?" "Dunno, coupl'a days,
three maybe." "Must have been pretty bad. Mine don't last that long
usually." "Yeah, you got a tougher hide," he giggled. I slapped
his bottom, not very hard, "don't be rude!" "Ouch!!" And that's
when it happened. Steve managed to turn over, swinging his leg over
my head and I was right there between his legs with his little mate
staring me in the face, asking for attention. I gently kissed the
tight little pouch which held his cute balls, he held totally still.
There was just a kind of contented sigh, which gave me courage to
work my way up to the top and the half exposed head. I gently bared
it with my hand, and at last fulfilled my long held dream with my
mouth and tongue. The excitement was too great, and within a few seconds
he came with huge spurts and so did I without even touching my own
little mate. He pulled me and I moved up to kiss him. "WOW!" "_s_h_i_t_,
mate, where did you learn that??" "Nowhere, I'm just a natural talent." "Must
be. What brought that on, anyway?" "Just your cute bum, I guess." "Those
stripes turn you on. or something?" "Umm - - - " I wasn't sure how
to answer that, but he didn't let up. "C'mon, fess up," he was now
on top of me, spreadeagling me to the ground, our little mates touching,
rapidly getting rigid again, "or do I have to spank it out of you?" "NOOO,"
I shouted, "OK, OK, yes, they turn me on." "Good," he kissed me,
"so I can admit I get turned on when you're getting it, mate. Sorry." I
felt quite relieved by that statement. "No need to be sorry, mate." "Guess
not," then half jokingly, "you reckon there's something wrong with
us?" "Do you?" "Don't know." We lay beside each other for a
long while after that, looking at the blue sky shimmering through
the gum tree above us, kissing, touching, as if we'd just discovered
each other's bodies, full of innocent happiness. And yet, a little
lingering doubt raised its head again. "Wonder what your old man
would say if he'd seen you doing that, mate," Steve chortled. "Aw,
_s_h_i_t_, do you have to?" "Just joking, mate," he half raised
himself, looked down into my face and placed his hand firmly on my
little mate, "can I do it for you next time?" "Sure, mate," I pulled
his face down for a kiss, then I had this brain wave, I thought, "maybe
we can do it to each other?" I didn't know I was suggesting something
called '69' in the world of the 'grown-ups'. That's how innocent
we were . . . to be continued (Comments are welcome)
More stories by Tim Anders