schoolie-32.html

Schoolie

Life in The Village, through the eyes of Tom Grant, the only teacher at the remote school.

This is an original work of pure fiction (just an expression of a fantasy)
by Robert A. Armstrong (a pseudonym)
(re-written from my 2013 version)

The resemblance of the characters by action, name, location or description to any real person is purely coincidental.

If it is illegal, or offensive, for you to read stories involving interactions of a sexual nature between adults and youths, then what are you doing here?

 

From Chapter 31

He laughs, “Hey, I”ve just decided that, apart from custard tarts, I like big Italian cannolis too!”

“Well, I”ve got a big, Aussie cannoli full of cream for you!”

“Hell, Yeah!” he chirps, stopping and bending forward provocatively in front of me. I cause him to squeal again and then lock the door behind us.

 

 

Chapter 32 – Villa di Verdi

 

There is something extremely sensuous about two guys who, while tightly hugging each other face to face, release their `cannoli cream” between their bodies and enjoy the feeling of the other person”s body spasming and the sensation of wet heat following those moments of intense frotting.

This ecstasy and some passionate kissing are my last memories before falling asleep, wet and sticky in the arms and the gently-caressing hands of the guy whose magnetism I savour more than any physical thrill, experienced or imagined, with one of our new friends.

 

It is still early. I stir, feeling Will in his favoured position – spooned up behind me, with his morning glory separating my cheeks – lengthways.

I slowly rotate my body so that I am facing him, and I roll him gently 180 degrees away from me then snuggle tightly against him. I slide one arm under his neck and rest my hand on his chest. With my other hand, I reach and cradle first his bulky orbs and then his silky stiffness.

Relishing the feeling of my own wood resting along the cleft between his firm glutes, I kiss his neck and whisper, “I love you, William O”Brien-Grant”. He rouses momentarily, murmuring a contented `Mmmm”, then, as our breathing synchronises, I return with him to the land of slumber.

 

Sometime later, the need to pee becomes increasingly stronger than the desire to linger with Will. As my feet reach the floor, I realise the need to spray a large amount of deodorant around my room to dispel the lingering `aroma of love” from last night.

While directing my yellow stream back and forth within the toilet bowl, and recalling Tony”s playing with me at the urinal, I hear Will turn on the shower. He asks, “Are we gonna save some water together?” I look around, smile, shake and flush.

He moves to one side while I join him, closing the shower door behind me. We alternate stepping in and out of the direct stream of hot water. I then experience the sensation of extra heat on my leg. I look down to see Will peeing on me. “What the hell…?” I begin.

“Hey, just saving more water,” he jokes. “No need to flush.”

A tickle fight ensues, with us finishing in a sensuous embrace and kissing frenzy. We wash each other. Oh, how I love the feel of his firm body, as his youthful muscles flex and yield to my roaming hands!

Mum”s breakfast evokes many senses – not only the aroma, but the colours, textures and taste. The one sense missing is sound. However, I”m sure that I can hear the fruits, hotcakes, syrup, bacon, scrambled eggs and tomato calling out, `eat me!”

As Will and I assuage our usual morning hunger, Amelia seems lost in her thoughts while Dad is absorbed in the financial pages of the weekend newspaper.

It”s Mum who opens up. “Has anyone heard how Mrs Thompson is faring? I feel so sorry for her. How is she coping? Her boyfriend abused and tortured her, bashed and raped her son and tried to kill him. And what happened to Andy”s father? Does anyone know?”

“Assistant Commissioner Grayson told my dad that Mrs T. was in hospital, receiving treatment. That”s all we know,” Will comments.

“I”d like to visit her,” Mum replies. “I think that she could use a bit of support. I just have a sense that she doesn”t have many friends.”

“You could always ring Bill,” Dad throws in, looking over the top of his paper. “With his connections, he should be able to find out and give you the latest information.”

“Of course!” Mum replies, as though it had never occurred to her, and cheering up somewhat.

“Maybe Uncle Bill will be able to find out the latest information on Andy as well,” I add. “Although, I reckon that visitors won”t be allowed to see him for a long while yet.”

Without delay, Mum excuses herself and takes the phone out by the pool. She returns just a minute later. “Bill”s phone went straight to voice mail. I left a message about what we wanted to know and asked him to call me when he knows anything.”

Dad grunts, “Hmph. He must have had a late night.”

Will and I look knowingly at each other and he winks. I think to myself, `With Angela”.

Amelia takes her dishes to the sink, rinses them, and puts them into the dishwasher. Will and I follow. “Hey,” I say to him, “do you want to go for a walk? Not much is open this early on a Sunday morning, but it would be a good chance to just look around without the crowds.

“Sure!” he replies. “I think that we”ll be busy tomorrow and we”re heading back home on Tuesday.”

“Take your phone. I”ll call you if Bill is able to tell me anything,” Mum adds. “It”s a beautiful morning so you might as well go out and enjoy it. The weather forecast if for a change later today or tomorrow.”

I step outside to check the temperature, then I message Simon and Luke and tell them that Will and I are going for a stroll around town, if they want to join us. No response. They”re either still asleep or out in the surf.

I change from my T-shirt into a long-sleeved polo, shorts and sandals. My `twin” bro follows suit.

We start in the direction of the mall. We cross to the beachside promenade and stroll northwards, not driven by time imperatives or any specific objective.

I take Will”s hand and he gives mine a squeeze in a tacit gesture of our `oneness”. This is something that we will not be able to do once we are back in The Village, the thought of which elicits a pang of sadness which I quickly dispel by focussing on the here-and-now.

There is not a moving car on the road. The rhythmic breaking of the waves upon the beach provides a mesmerising background, broken only by the occasional squawking of the early bird looking for the worm or, in this case, multiple seagulls each claiming the same morsel of discovered food.

I see an elderly lady being led towards us by a small dog on a leash and I release Will”s hand. He turns and looks at me and his expression asks, `Why?”. I reply, “Grandma alert!” nodding in her direction as the distance between us narrows. Will chuckles.

We greet `Granny” and `Fifi”, exchange pleasantries, then continue. Will slips his hand back into mine. I squeeze it. He squeezes back.

I wish that I could somehow preserve this very instant – Will and I strolling aimlessly together, joined at the hand as well as at the heart. The moment is made even more idyllic by the wisps of sea breeze tempering the warmth from the steadily-strengthening sun in a flawless sky of brilliant blue. The flashes of light reflected from the rippling ocean surface are hypnotic and the saltiness in the air is heady and exhilarating.

We zig-zag through streets which are usually crammed with slow-moving people and even slower taxis and tourist busses which all express their displeasure at the pace by their cacophony of horns and occasional profanities. Sunday morning is different. Shop windows are unobstructed and far more interesting, catering predominantly, as we comment, for the tourist trade, with their souvenirs and oddities.

We amble and talk – uppermost in both of our minds are Andy and also what we are going to tell Marty about us. We agree that Marty should know that we are biological brothers – me through donor sperm and Will through… well, he knows that bit of history!

Then there are the sleeping arrangements. How do we tell him that two single beds no longer suit us, and that we”d really like a double, or larger? If he”s smart, he”ll work it out and won”t even have to question us as to why. But, even then, I”ll bet that he would ask anyway, just to watch us squirm.

Or, should we `stick it out” until our new house is built? That”s another issue – moving out and leaving Marty alone, without the benefit of our companionship and my rent money. I do not want anything to break up a good friendship with him. He”s been so good to me… and to Will.

Maybe we could broach the subject in a round-about way by asking him if he”s ever shared a bed with one of his brothers and whether we could swap rooms with him for one night, because we”d like to try out a double bed! No, that sounds way too corny!

Or, maybe, Will might just come out and say, `Hey, he”s my brother and he”s really good in bed and, by the way, I”m no longer a virgin.”

Whatever! I”ll bet that it won”t take long for Marty to realise what”s really going on.

Will and I decide that the topic needs a little more discussion and our story needs a lot more finesse. We have today, tomorrow and our travelling time on Tuesday to `get it down pat”.

Suddenly, in the midst of the main retail drag, we happen across a landscaped strip. It captures my attention by first breaking the otherwise-continuous line of shop fronts. Secondly, the neatly manicured rows of box hedge and sandstone paving leading from the broad, kerbside area and narrowing towards the heavy wooden double doors, both of which are opened to their maximum reach. This is the church that I used to attend as a na�ve 11-13-year-old. I pause and contemplate those few years before the `sins of the world” overtook me.

On impulse I say to Will, “Come with me,” and I retrace some very familiar steps. Despite his uncertain expression, Will obliges, unquestioningly. It”s too early for the morning service and the church appears empty.

“What are we doing in here?” Will whispers respectfully. I take his hand and lead him into one of the back pews and we sit.

“Do you believe in God?” I ask.

“I dunno. I suppose so,” he replies, softly.

“I remember a verse, `…ask and it will be given to you…”. Would it hurt to ask God to let Andy live and to make him well?” I put to him, yet staring straight ahead towards the altar and crucifix.

“No, I suppose not,” he whispers hesitantly. Then he adds, “I”d feel good about that.”

I say, “Close your eyes then, and quietly ask God, in your own words, if He would heal Andy. I”ll do the same.” I take his hand and silently make my supplication. When I”m finished, I squeeze his hand and say `Amen”. A few moments later he squeezes back, and we leave.

“I also asked God if he would fix Andy”s mum, and yours,” Will confides as we re-enter the brightness of the street.

His compassion for others is touching and causes my eyes to mist up. We continue to meander southward, exploring side streets and small malls – including one displaying a copy of Michelangelo”s `David”. I don”t know whether it”s true to proportions with the original, but it”s big.

“Wow!” Will comments at David”s perfect form and unashamed nakedness. He walks completely around it to check out all of its `features”. “How would they react to us having one of these in our new house back home?”

“Badly,” I tell him, and give him a friendly elbow jab in the ribs.

We find ourselves at the southern end of the beach, crossing to the promenade and turning towards completing our circuit. Among those frolicking in the gentle swell are some familiar surfers. We stop and watch then wave when one of them appears to look in our direction. He gesticulates to the others and they all wave then head for the shore. The current trio of Simon, Luke and Joey seems incomplete without young Andy.

It”s the first time for a number of days that we”ve ordu escort seen Joey. “Hi guys!” he calls, leading the others in their dash out of the water and up the sand. He uncouples his leg rope, drops his board and stretches up to us on the promenade to shake our hands, adding enthusiastically, “I”ve missed you. How long are you going to be in town for?”

“Hey, mate, missed you too,” Will says. “We”re leaving Tuesday morning. How”ve you been?”

“OK… `til I heard about Andy,” he replies, his voice becoming more subdued.

I join in. “He”s alive, Joey. He”s alive. We all hope and pray that he can recover from his injuries over time.”

Simon and Luke catch up. “Hi Will, Tom,” Luke says, panting. “We thought that you might have come down for a swim this morning.”

“And a shower,” Simon adds, raising his eyebrows. That elicits an expectant and supportive giggle from Joey.

“Maybe tomorrow,” I tell them. “Even though the weather may be showery in the morning, it really shouldn”t matter, should it, if we”re in the surf…?” Then I add, “… or in the showers.”

That brings a smile to everyone”s face.

“We couldn”t leave without saying `goodbye” to you guys properly. See you tomorrow.” We all high-five although, for me, it”s the lowest one I”ve ever done as Will and I have to reach down to them.

Will and I stand to watch their perfectly-rounded backsides as they return to the water. Wet Speedos rule! Then we continue walking. The loud tone on my new phone alerts me to a message. Will looks at me. As I retrieve it from the deep pocket of my Chinos, Will”s phone sounds off too.

“It”s from Tony,” I tell him, glancing at the screen.

“Mine”s from Rocco,” Will replies.

Before reading the messages, we stop, look at each other and smirk. I read Tony”s message aloud. `Hey, Tom. Great to meet you yesterday. Any chance of seeing more of you?” I look at Will. “He wants to meet up again.”

Don”t be stupid,” Will tells me. “It”s probably in code, saying that he wants to get you naked and muck around.”

He reads Rocco”s message. “Hi Will. You and Tom wanna come over to Tony”s later and play?” Will adds, “It sounds like he has computer games too.”

“Yeah, right!” I say sarcastically. “We”re not talking Mario Brothers! I think the Verdi cousins have their minds set on a game called `cannolis and cream”! You up for it?”

Predictable response coming up…

He doesn”t disappoint. “Hell, Yeah!”

Will replies a little too enthusiastically, while at the same time, grasping the front of his shorts and giving them an exaggerated jiggle.

“Grandma alert!” I call out, which startles him.

He whips his hand away from the now-obvious bulge and asks, “Where?” anxiously looking around.

“Just kidding!” I laugh. “Good reflexes, though!”

“Swine! You scared the shit out of me,” he complains, then punches my shoulder.

“Hey, I”ll get you for that,” I tell him.

“I hope so!” he smirks back. “And you”d better brush your teeth tonight, too!”

I grab him in a headlock. He doesn”t fight back, but just slips his arm around my waist. I relax my grip and just leave my arm draped over his shoulder. He gives me a quick squeeze. I reply in kind, then we loosen our grips and continue.

While walking I reply to Tony. `like 2 C more v U 2! Where? When?” I receive a quick reply, inviting Will and me to have lunch at his place. I tell Will. He texts back to Rocco C U @ Tony”s . He shows me before he sends it. “You only put 3 smiley faces. There should be 4,” I tell him. He adds another one.

We arrive home relaxed, having taken in the Gold Coast sights on a sleepy Sunday morning, but with the prospect of an active afternoon.

Cousin Karen and Mum are having coffee with Dad out by the pool. No sign of Amelia. She could be anywhere from back in bed to out jogging with a friend. As we walk past the jug, I flip the switch to `on”. It lights up and the electric buzz and crackle of water heating begins almost immediately. We greet Karen, who rises and kisses each of us on both cheeks. Will blushes. He looks even cuter whenever that happens!

He nervously says, “I”ll make us a coffee, Tom,” and retreats hastily to the kitchen. I smile as I think that I will be able to corroborate his assertions to the cherubs at school that my `girlfriend”, Karen, had kissed him – more than once!

Karen backtracks over her discussion with Mum and Dad about alternatives to chemotherapy. Some of it is technical and I learn a new term, `cruciferous” vegetables. I quite like cauliflower and cabbage, endure broccoli, hate Brussels sprouts and am suspicious of turnips!

I also learn that cancers are reported to feed off sugar which, Karen says, Mum should attempt to avoid, in all forms. `Black Seed Oil” and `Aloe Barbadensis” sound like witch doctor”s concoctions. Karen explains that while the medical authorities and drug companies pooh-pooh the idea of `natural” remedies, there are plenty of documented testimonials from those for whom they have `worked miracles”. The key, she reiterates to us, is to strengthen the immune system so that the body can fight the cancers itself, while depriving them of the very thing that feeds them.

I”m sceptical. Mum is determined. Dad is supportive and hopeful.

Will is back, and places two coffee mugs on the table.

“I don”t suppose you guys like custard tarts?” Karen asks, smiling at Will, whose eyes widen. “I”ve brought some, just in case.” I see her cast a sideways glance at Mum and wink.

“In the pantry,” Mum says. Will gracefully executes a half pirouette and disappears.

Will and I make short work of the pastry and custard and, while we `mop up” the crumbs with saliva-moistened fingers, Mum says, “Bill rang just before you boys came in.”

We both look to her in anticipation. “Of greatest relief,” she relates, “is that Andy”s position has stabilised this morning. They had operated to relieve the pressure on his brain. He has a broken arm and a number of cracked ribs. They still have him in an induced coma.”

I frown.

Karen adds, “It”s a good sign, Tom. An answer to a lot of prayers, I”d say.”

Will and I look at each other in amazement. Could our humble prayers have helped?

Mum adds, “Mrs Thompson is being kept in for a couple of days for observation and counselling. I feel the need to go and visit her. Can you all fend for yourselves for lunch?”

“No problem!” I tell her. “We”ll probably go out again for a while.” I see Will smile but he avoids eye contact with anyone, opting instead to collect the plates and empty mugs and Mum”s and Karen”s cups.

“Amelia and I won”t starve,” Dad says and returns his attention to his trusty companion newspaper.

I follow Will to the kitchen. We give the cups, mugs and plates a quick rinse, leave them to drip dry, then head upstairs.

“What do you reckon is going to happen?” Will asks, “How much will Tony and Rocco want to do?”

“You know, the important question is how much do you and I want to do?” For me, the purpose of any relationship with Tony and Rocco is friendship (albeit with benefits), not just to have more sex. “Let”s play it cool and just enjoy ourselves. I think that we should find out as much about the bullying and other stuff as possible. We can be the friends that they need without having to let them try to push their telegraph poles into places where they won”t fit!”

“I knew you were smart the first time I saw you,” Will replies.

“What? You can tell how clever a person is by just staring at him from a muddy river?” I ask.

“Of course! Especially if he looks just like me!” he says, smirking.

I give him a quick swat on the tail.

“And what does your smart meter tell you about Tony and Rocco?” I inquire.

“Well, let”s just say, Rocco”s smart and Tony”s smarter.” He pauses, then adds, “but not up to your standard!” He smirks.

I think of Will”s ability to observe things that others miss, his quick wit and his artistic skills. I ponder that, despite a poor early education, he may be the smartest of us all. His physical magnetism is dynamic. He makes my skin (and other parts) tingle just being near him. And I admit that I have fallen in love with him.

 

The drive to Tony”s takes about 20 minutes. It is on land elevated above the coastal strip, just above the foot of the escarpment. Even without having seen it, I can tell immediately that the view across the vista of the Gold Coast from near the house is going to be spectacular.

While I am scanning for a button to press, the heavy wrought iron gates slide open to reveal a crushed granite drive, lined with carefully-trimmed ornamental trees. It leads to a broad annulus that encircles an ornate triple-tiered fountain featuring animals and naked people – round-breasted maidens and moderately-endowed youths.

The entrance reminds me of photos that I have seen of Italian villas in the rolling hills of Tuscany.

Tony and Rocco come bustling through one of the two huge, carved wooden front doors then both slow to a more sedate pace. They extend their hands and we shake them, back and forth, in a manner reminiscent of the end of a doubles tennis match.

“Welcome to Villa di Verdi,” Tony pronounces proudly.

“Thank you; beautiful place; magnificent views,” I reply, indicating the vista of the gardens and the panorama beyond, up and down the expansive stretch of coastal beaches which are partially obscured by clusters of high-rise developments.

Tony gives us a brief history lesson: “My grandfather bought this land when it was covered in scrub and was too far from the beaches to be of much interest to anyone else. He employed the best builders and gardeners to create something that reminded him of `the old country”. My father continues to add to Nonno”s dream. Please come in.”

The grandeur of the interior matches that of the grounds – marble-tiled floors, paintings by European masters, tapestries and ceramic display pieces. However, I think that the indoor fountain of three boys, pointing their penises skyward and peeing towards a central dish, from which the water then spirals down to the shallow pool in which the bronze figures stand, is a bit `over the top”.

We follow Tony and Rocco through to the `back” of the Villa. Multiple French doors lead onto a broad porch with a grape-vine covered pergola running the full length of the house. Each of its supporting stone pillars is accompanied by a large planter-pot shaped like a white Romanesque urn. I wonder whether they are marble too. Their multi-coloured contents are vibrant and healthy specimens.

The view from here is, indeed, spectacular and the boys point out various landmarks to Will and me more, I think, for us to `gain our bearings” than of their intrinsic interest.

A large table is surrounded by sixteen chairs. I can imagine jovial family gatherings with matriarchs incessantly urging children, grandchildren, nephews, nieces and friends to eat more! Mangiare! Mangiare! In my mind, I can picture freshly-baked bread, platters of cheeses, olives, salamis and bottles of wine. And the broad, flat strip of lawn would be perfect for a friendly kick-around of a soccer ball by aspiring young World Cup stars and their semi-inebriated uncles.

My mental images are dissipated by Tony”s voice. “Just so you know,” he says, “there”s nobody else at home today… just us. My father has prepared some pastries for us to have before lunch. Would you like them with coffee, or a limonata or chinotto?” I glance at Will. His focus is already checking out a couple of other cannolis and I smirk.

I say to Tony, “Would it be too rude to ask that Will be able to try both the limonata and chinotto? He”s never had them before. Then he may want coffee.” I suddenly realise that I”ve spoken for him without even asking. “Sorry, Will,” I apologise, drawing his focus back to the drinks and offerings on the platter.

“No problem, bro,” he answers. “I wasn”t going to ask, but I did wonder about those things.”

It hadn”t escaped my attention either, that both Tony and Rocco are wearing lightweight osmaniye escort grey tracksuit pants, taut across their firm backsides and showcasing very discernible shapes at the front. The way that those things are flopping back and forth with every step and movement that Tony and Rocco make, I could hazard a guess that they are not wearing any underwear. I feel my own pants tightening.

We sit, facing the garden with the urban sprawl, beachside skyline and blue ocean beyond. Chatting, we sample the cold drinks. Even though I prefer the sweetness of normal Cola to the slightly bitter chinotto, I quite enjoy the tang of the limonata. Then, the coffee is strong and aromatic.

Nothing of a sensual nature has been suggested, until… Tony disappears momentarily and brings out four longer-than-normal cannolis, more than six inches long, with piped mascarpone cream extending from their ends. Rocco smiles.

“Yum!” Will comments, looking at the delicacies and then at Tony and Rocco in turn.

“Can you do this?” Rocco puts to him. He picks up one cannolo and pushes most of its length into, then out of, his mouth.

“Easy!” Will responds, and demonstrates his own oral ability, taking it all in, before making it reappear.

“What about this?” Rocco continues. He displays the cannoli with cream still showing, then places it in his mouth and sucks on it, eventually displaying the creamless tube to all of us.

“Yeah. I can manage that,” Will suggests, then with vacuuming cheeks, emulates Rocco”s effort, in less time.

“I think that, with those skills, we could have some fun today,” I say, repeating the sucking efforts of the previous two, but in a much more suggestive manner.

Not to be outdone, Tony picks up the remaining tube, licks the protruding cream from one end, then pretends to jack it off, adding commentary… “Oh, that”s good… Yeah… Nice… Can”t stop… Oh… Ohhhh…” Then, placing it in his mouth and sucking the remaining cream from it, he deliberately smears some of it around his lips with his tongue.

I reach over to him, wipe his lips with one of my fingers and then lick it clean and murmur, “Mmm, very nice!” Everyone laughs.

“I”d love to do another one,” Tony says, looking at Rocco. Then he turns his gaze directly to me and waits for a response. “Well?” he asks.

There is no sense in trying to read anything between the lines. It”s as obvious and the aching firmness in my pants. “I”m game if you are,” I tell him. “But not out here!”

“My room then,” Tony shoots back. He stands up, revealing that my pants aren”t the only ones concealing a stiffness begging for release.

I rise from my chair slowly. Tony lowers his eyes and I juggle my cannoli to a more comfortable position, pointing sideways. He leaves his straining outwards and I”m tempted to grasp it, here and now.

“What about you?” Rocco puts to Will.

I think, `Wait for the response… 3… 2…”

“Hell, Yeah! Just point the way.”

Rocco stands, then leaning his solid frame backwards a little, points his erectile projectile towards the open doorway. He thrusts his hips forward and says, “That way!”

There is much light-hearted bumping and jostling on the stairs to the upper floor, accompanied by anything-but-subtle nudging, patting and grasping of one another – front and back.

Tony, in front of me once we reach the top of the stairs, stops. I don”t stop (accidentally of course), pressing myself against his firm backside. Then I feel Rocco”s pole push hard against my cheeks. “Oops! Bad brakes!” he jokes.

I reach back, feel him and reply, “I think that I found the handbrake.”

Then we all fall forwards as Will deliberately pushes against from the back of the procession. “Hey, I didn”t see any brake lights!” he remonstrates to Rocco. We roll apart and continue, laughing at our own boldness and in anticipation of what we know is going to follow.

Tony”s room is towards the northern side of the floor. He enters a code on a touchpad next to the door. I hear a `click” and he pushes it open. I wonder, `Why the security?”

I discover that his room takes up one complete end of the building, with west-facing windows overlooking the driveway to the escarpment, eastwards to the sea, and rows of what appear to be olive trees plus grapevines to the northern side.

Apart from its size, the room”s most striking feature is its matching furniture, in beautifully carved wood. No cheap DIY flat-packs here! Its colour is lighter than the oak that I”ve seen in some historic houses but it”s darker than pine. Everything in between I have no idea about!

The king-sized bed is placed between two of the northern windows and flanked by matching, low, bed-side chests. To one side of the bed, nearest the ocean, is a full set of exercise equipment.

To the other side, with driveway views, is a large, matching desk, inlaid with what appears to be dark green leather, and supporting a large computer monitor which is currently displaying multiple CCTV images, including the front gate and entrance.

Beside the door and opposite the bed is a long set of mirrored robes. Hmmm. To the other side of the door is a large wall-mounted TV screen, fronted by a 3-seater settee alongside the weights. And then there are more fixed mirrors, floor-to-ceiling – just right for admiring your body while you work out. Wow! Then there is the ensuite in the corner.

I cannot see anything innocuous that might necessitate the security door – unless he has secrets that he doesn”t want his parents or hired help to discover. Or, which is more likely, to ensure his total privacy.

Tony flops, no – dives, onto his bed, face down, then looks expectantly over his shoulder when nobody joins him. He rolls onto his back and, as if I could possibly have not seen his alluring bulge, he grasps it and wiggles it around. His puzzled expression says, `Well? What are you waiting for?” I know that he”s anxious but it doesn”t seem right, somehow, to just jump on him.

Will, with Rocco close behind, heads for the weights and extensive resistance equipment.

I say, “Hey, Tony! Slow down a bit, buddy. We”ll get to that. There”s no need to rush.” I smile at him. “I”m interested in more about you than just what”s between your legs.”

I park myself on the settee and, patting the seat, beckon him to sit next to me.

He looks confused. He sits up and slides until his feet are on the floor at the end of the bed then, almost reluctantly, stands. His smile has suddenly gone. So, observably, has most of his erection, even though a very healthy soft bulge remains. His expression is that of a chastised child for doing something wrong. He drifts across to the lounge and sits a short distance apart from me.

I lean across to him, put my arm around his shoulder and encourage him closer to me. He slides his backside until our bodies are touching. A faint smile has displaced the gloom on his face.

“Hey,” I say, “let”s talk for a bit first. Tell me about school.”

He hesitatingly, and almost reluctantly, begins to open up, occasionally glancing sideways at Rocco, either for support or confirmation of what he”s telling me. Essentially, because of a gang of bullies, nobody at school is game to show friendliness towards him or Rocco for fear of being branded as `one of them” and suffering similar torment and ostracism.

He says that if they report one bully to staff, as they”ve been advised to do, that person appears to desist while ever his behaviour is being monitored, but another of the gang will, almost immediately, take his place as the primary perpetrator. Whenever questioned, the bullies all, of course, corroborate each other”s innocence, making Tony and Rocco appear to be incarnations of the boy who cried wolf, or simply vexatious complainants.

“And,” Rocco adds from across the room, “if we retaliate in any way, we are the ones who are punished. I was suspended for a whole week because I punched one of them in the gut who deliberately knocked my lunch onto the floor and then saying, `Oh, dear, princess. You should learn to be less clumsy and take more care.” They really piss me off sometimes!”

Tony continues, “Even if we try to keep out of their way by going to the library during recess and lunch breaks, some of them do things like walk past us and fart, then complain to the librarian that we did it.”

Tony”s self-assurance and bravado that I had seen previously have evaporated. There are tears in his eyes. I put my arm around him and hug him. He melts against me, resting his head on my shoulder and wrapping his arm across my chest. He sighs deeply. It is almost a sob.

I try to offer sympathy and encouragement, but my words sound hollow even to my own ears, let alone how they must come across to Tony. I finally put to him, “Are you sure that swapping schools is not the best option?” I glance over at Rocco, who simply shrugs in obvious frustration.

“Hey,” Will throws in to the conversation, “You should try my school. The teacher”s pretty cool and wouldn”t stand for anything like that!”

I shoot him a dirty look, as if to say, `You”re not helping!”

`Why not?” he mouths silently, raising both eyebrows and shrugging.

Tony lifts his head and looks at my face. “Is that possible?” he asks.

“Well, it”s not impossible,” I tell him, “but there would be a lot of things to organise, not the least of which would be where you would live.”

Will says, “I know of a new house that”s going to be built with plenty of room for visitors.”

It starts me thinking. I”m not convinced that having Tony and Rocco in The Village would be a good idea, but just the possibility appears, at least, to have opened Tony”s mind to changing schools, and lightening his mood.

“Would the teacher punish me if I was naughty?” Tony says while, at the same time, lowering his hand tentatively from my chest to my crotch.

Laying my hand on top of his, I reply, “We have a lot to talk about. How long do you think you can hold out here?” I realise that this is a bad choice of words the moment I let them escape my mouth.

“I reckon I can last about another 10 minutes at the most,” he says, smirking and giving my gear a gentle feel-up. He”s as incorrigible as my little brother, who is smiling. So is Rocco.

OK. That did it! I move my arm from around his shoulders and lay it across his lap, giving his opposite thigh an encouraging pat before drawing my hand back and leaving it resting on his bulge. It rapidly starts to expand and harden. I find this an incredible turn-on – as I feel it rise from semi-flaccid to thick and rigid. I assist in its freedom by manoeuvring it to one side.

I acquiesce to his hands and allow him to undo my belt, release the top button of my pants and lower my zipper. He folds the two flaps to the side and slips his hand inside. I shudder at his gentle touch then I recline to give him better access. He leans back as well and stretches out his legs.

I glance at Will. He is doing bench presses with Rocco who is spotting for him at his head. What is noticeable is that Rocco”s crotch is directly over Will”s face – touching, in fact. Will seems more intent on raising his head to nudge Rocco”s bulge than in lifting the weights. Rocco smiles at me. I nod encouragement and return my attention to Tony.

We say nothing but continue rubbing and playing with each other. I feel his monster jerk a couple of times, causing mine to react similarly. He obviously enjoys the apparent control that his cock has over mine. Jerk… jerk, twitch… twitch, action… reaction – is this what Isaac Newton meant?

Time to find out if he”s wearing any underwear! I slide my hand upwards then firmly down against his stomach and under the waist band of his trackies. No undies! I feel hot flesh even before I encounter his hair. Hot, hard and hooded (as I had observed at the restaurant).

As he opens his legs, I push my hand down his shaft and over his balls, which I cup and lift as I retract my hand upwards. He emits a slow, low groan of pleasure and then begins to explore the inside of my CK”s. ostim escort He fully liberates my stalk. I glance at his face. His eyes are closed. He”s enjoying the feelings of touching and being touched, just as I am. However, I love to watch as well.

He squeezes his legs together momentarily and my hand becomes slick with a release of his pre-cum. I use it as lubrication and liberate his head. I tighten my grip and slide firmly down his length. He raises his hips to meet my fist and moans loudly as I push down again.

All is not silent beside us either. A quick glance reveals that Rocco has his trackies around his ankles with his heavy elongation dangling at Will”s mouth. Will is humming. Rocco inhales and exhales loudly as Will”s mouth envelops then releases his head.

My loins tingle, then Tony”s hand is also oiled. He opens his eyes, taking in the sight, then raises his fingers to his lips and sucks them dry. “Hmm,” he murmurs. “Nice.”

He uses both hands to take off his track pants and nudges mine downwards. I oblige. Then, removing our shirts, we are naked.

Apart from what”s between his legs, Tony”s firm body is slim. His cock and balls are hairless but sit in a thick, black bush, with only the beginning of a hair line to his navel. I look in the other direction at Rocco who, by contrast, has the makings of a very fine specimen of a young gorilla. I wonder how, as cousins, their genetics, when it comes to body hair, can be so different.

Tony and I spend a little time caressing each other. “Friends?” I murmur to him.

“Uh-huh,” he replies. He leans across and kisses me on the cheek. Then the chest and navel. Then he gives my cock a quick peck as well, removing all of the freshly-generated man oil. He says, “Would you like to do this on the bed? It would be much more comfortable, you know.” It sounds like a sales pitch. Not necessary!

I nod and smile and give him a soft, “OK.”

He stands and the heaviness of his engorged young manhood prevents it from rising even to horizontal. It almost looks out of place on his slim but firm body, like a picture which has had part of it Photoshop”d to abnormal proportions. It waggles as he walks.

I think of the `normalcy” and beauty of Joey, Andy, Karl and Kurt, and smile. There is absolute beauty in `average proportions”!

I glance back at the other two. Rocco, naked, is at Will”s feet, removing my brother”s pants while Will is removing his own shirt.

Tony clambers onto his bed then rolls onto his back, patting the space next to him, just as I did to him on the lounge. I oblige but lay myself head to toe. We tacitly shuffle ourselves to enable a mutual cock/mouth alignment. Tony wastes no time in grasping, pumping, licking and sucking me. “Nice equipment,” he says, reminiscent of his restaurant compliments.

Without desisting from his oral enterprise, one hand tickles my thigh muscles while the other explores my abs and pecs. His is no novice at this, and I wonder how much he and Rocco have done together. I cannot imagine them fitting their poles into each other”s holes without perseverance and extreme pain. I am barely able to fit his head into my mouth, but do my best to pleasure him with my tongue and suction.

“Hang on,” he says, then clambers to my legs, forces them apart, kneels between them and focusses on my member from this different angle. It gives me the opportunity to observe that Rocco is kneeling on the bench at Will”s head, leaning fully over him, with them both enjoying their own 69 action. Will”s hands are exploring Rocco”s hairy body – everything within his reach.

Tony explores my nether regions with his tongue, glancing at me regularly to gauge my reaction as he moves to a different location. “Friends with benefits,” he says, smiling at me. He confesses that he has never had the chance to do what he is about to try (probably due to Rocco”s size), and takes a large amount of my length deeply into his mouth – then gags.

“Hey, go slow, and practise breathing through your nose,” I tell him, and his actions become less frenzied.

He gets into a smooth bobbing rhythm and I watch more and more of me being taken in. “You”re doing a great job,” I encourage him, “but it won”t be long now – I can”t last!”

He pulls off me and we chuckle as we hear Rocco and Will both gagging. “Go slow!” Tony calls, displaying his new-found expertise. He and I laugh again at that.

“I”m really close,” I tell Tony. “We”d better swap.” He lays himself on his back and I take up a position between his legs.

I try to practise what I”ve preached by attempting to go down on him slowly. I jiggle his low-hanging balls, tickle the inside of his thighs and his abs and I suck hard. “OMG,” he moans. “You”ve gotta teach Rocco to do what you”re doing to me.”

I give my stretched jaw a rest and ask, “Maybe after lunch?” He smiles an evil smile, probably knowing that he will also get to have some time with Will.

“I think I”m gonna cum,” he whispers raspingly, and gritting his teeth.

“I”m ready too,” I tell him. “Where do you want it? In your mouth or on your body?”

“I want to watch us spurt,” he says. We take hold of each other and start pumping. I feel his cock swell to ultra-tight. He lifts his hips and cries out, “Aarrgghhh!” and projects a fat stream up his body onto his face, which he turns quickly to one side to avoid hitting his eyes. His hand stops jacking me momentarily as his hose continues to pump. There”s almost enough to quench a small fire!

He drops his head back onto the pillow then, seemingly recovering cognisance of what else he was doing, lifts it again watching his resumed hand action on me. I”m right on the edge and it only takes a couple of strokes. “Here it comes,” I warn him then my slimmer hose does a pretty good imitation of his fat one, including reaching his face. He continues rubbing until I become hyper-sensitive and I have to stop him.

I lower myself onto his body, hose against hose, and we gyrate, mixing his seed with mine on our stomachs and chests. I lick his face clean and then feed him some, mother-bird style. He rolls me over so that he”s on top and we continue to gyrate before he stops. I feel his full weight as his body relaxes, then I run my hands all over his back, squeezing and massaging his firm, hairless butt cheeks.

“Amazing!” he whispers. “Thank you.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” I ask, smiling. He gives me the Italian double-cheek kiss. I respond similarly. Then we settle into watching Rocco and Will blow their loads. They both try, unsuccessfully, to swallow all of each other”s outpouring. Will, on the bottom, ends up with a sticky mess at both ends of his body.

Everybody laughs. Rocco, the cleanest of us all, fetches some towels. Tony”s shower is large but obviously not intended for four. Pushing its limits, however, only adds to the sensations of soaping and groping, like at Simon”s.

Lunch on the terrace is a feast of breads, cheeses, salamis, vegetables and pastas in sauces. I decline the offered vino, but savour the aroma and taste of the freshly-ground coffee. Two cups.

Conversation is dominated by `school” and associated issues. We discuss strategies for coping with the bullying and I assure them that I, as another interested educator, will contact their principal and alert him to what I”ve been told – the boys” side of the story, which has been readily dismissed by staff. I tell Tony and Rocco that I can”t promise any specific outcome but I will definitely do whatever I can to help them.

We agree to talk to each other once each week and that they can always phone or email me or Will if there are any urgent issues.

The possibility of transferring schools has brightened their outlook – whether it”s to my school (which I actually consider to be impractical) or another. In any case, Will and I offer to host them for a `holiday” when our house is ready.

This is not the only highlight of their afternoon – with four well-fed, naked bodies ending up on Tony”s bed together, followed by another, very necessary, soap `n” grope.

As we leave, I wonder whether I”ve done enough to establish a friendship or if I”ve merely used the opportunity for Will and me to indulge our passions for `the benefits”.

We arrive home only minutes before Mum does. I offer to make coffee while Will hunts for some tasty morsel to eat with it. There are no custard tarts left and he”s had his quota of cannolis and cream for the day! Peanut cookies are fine.

“How was Andy”s mum?” I ask, to kick off the conversation.

“Physically, she”s not too badly hurt,” Mum replies, taking a sip, “but emotionally she”s a mess.”

I really want to ask about Andy but leave Mum to tell us whatever is on her mind first.

Will and I listen to the disturbing tale of how Mrs T. came to meet `the mongrel” and how, during a moment of weakness, she allowed him to stay the night, which turned into regular visits and, ultimately, with him moving in. This seemed OK, she had said, because he and Andy appeared to get on well together, providing the boy with a father-type that he had never known. “I was curious as to why but didn”t ask,” Mum said.

Amongst details of the subtly-increasing violence, I soak up any titbits about Andy and, finally, I have to ask the question, “How”s Andy? Is there any news?”

“It”s too early to tell,” Mum replies. “Because they are in the same hospital, she was allowed to visit him. When she saw his small bruised body, connected to all of his monitor leads and tubes, she broke down and had to be sedated. She blames herself for what happened to him. She kept repeating, `if only…”, but Andy”s signs are positive according to the doctors.”

“Is there anything we can do for Andy?” Will queries.

“No, I don”t think so. It”s up to the medical professionals as to when they feel it”s safe to bring him out of the induced coma. They”re going to keep him like that for a while to ensure that he doesn”t move around, while his brain is recovering from the severe bruising and also to help the healing of his arm and ribs.”

“Is he going to be OK?” Will asks, very concerned.

“Nobody can tell at this stage. We can only pray that he will be.”

I know that Andy will be on our minds for many weeks to come. I have to say to Mum, “Are you going to keep in touch with Mrs Thompson? Will you let us know if you hear anything about Andy?”

“Of course!” is her simple reply. I know that the discussion is over when she changes the subject. “Dinner will be ready at six o”clock.”

That gives us a couple of hours. I suggest to Will that we should make a start on packing our things, except for what we might use tomorrow. Mum says, “Bring down anything that needs to be washed and I”ll do it for you. At least everything will be clean and smell fresh when you get back.”

“Thanks, Mum,” I reply, standing up.

“Yes, thank you, Aunty Susan,” Will adds.

Will and I sort our things into three piles – `needs to be washed”, `needs to be worn tomorrow or Tuesday” and `everything else to be packed”. We also end up with a fourth – `undecided”, which includes our computer tablets. Maybe we will play some games, or need them to Google something, or to take photos. And, we need to set up Facebook accounts. We should have done that with Tony and Rocco, but maybe Jarrod can help us.

Sorting done, Will and I lie side by side on the bed, holding hands, reminiscing about our day with Tony and Rocco and how, realistically, we could be friends with them. Our discussions also include Simon and Luke, Jarrod, Joey and, of course, Andy.

It”s inevitable that we also rehearse what we should say to Marty. Our hands end up in more intimate touching but without the need to `do” anything apart from holding each other. However, I feel the real desire for both of us to `brush our teeth” tonight.

 

(to be continued)

 

There is a parallel version to this story, told through the eyes of Kurt.
Find it at https://www.//gay/adult-youth/kurt-series/

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