Published: 13 Mar 2023

Chapter 15

There was inclement weather for Chip and Owens commencement to their camping expedition. The rain started a little past midnight with heavy intermittent showers hitting the metal roof, as if someone had hurled a handful of gravel but by morning the rain had turned into a steady drizzle, the day gray and depressing, although along the horizon line there was a teasing patch of blue.

As promised Owen was up early to set the breakfast fire and soon after was met by Alf, “Chip will more than likely call it off,” Alf says with a deep yawn and head scratch.

“Have you got fleas dad?”

“There isn’t much left for them to hide in,” Alf admits. “You’ve got a good head of hair. You and Gavin must take after your mother’s side.”

“I remember Jim was thinning even before he enlisted,” Owen recalls.

“Yes he must get it from my father, as Granddad Parker was quite bald by thirty and what remained was as gray as today’s weather not long after.”

“I’ve put the kettle on, would you like a cup of tea?”

“Make one for your mother as well and I’ll take it into her.”

While waiting for Chip’s arrival or not, father and son found conversation, Owen occasionally lifted his gaze through the kitchen window along the soggy drive to the mist hidden gate.

“Any more and Chip won’t get the jeep to the house,” Alf comments.

“Possibly,” Owen says as Gavin comes to the kitchen ready for breakfast and his final school day and examination for the school term.

“Where is mum?” Gavin asks.

“She isn’t feeling well and is having a lay in. Owen has made you toast and eggs.”

While having his breakfast Gavin is grinning.

“What’s got you smirking kid?”

“I don’t think you will be going anywhere today,” Gavin offers with a cheeky smile as he bites into the crunch of a slice of toast.

“Maybe,” Owen says but as he speaks there is a vehicle at the gate. “Then again maybe I am,” Owen corrects and goes for his travelling bag.

“You better get a wriggle on as well young man, as the bus will be along in a moment.” Alf warns as Gavin finishes the last of his toast. He washes it down with a gulp of tea and leaves the table, collecting his school bag as the bus arrives close behind Chip.

“Don’t forget a B or better and you can have that trip down the coast with your Uncle Vince.”

“Huh fat chance,” Gavin grows and hurries out, passing Chip on the verandah on his way.

“Good morning,” Chip greets.

“G’day Chip, I hope you brought an umbrella and your wellies.”

“What are wellies?” Chip questions.

“Wellington boots.”

“It looks like it may clear,” Chip gazes hopefully beyond the gray heavens to the distant patch of blue.

“I doubt it, I’ve gotta’ go – see ya.”

“I hear you have exams today – good luck.” Chip calls after Gavin as the bus driver gives an impatient blast.

“I do – it is maths and will need more than luck.”

After a quick greeting at the Parker farm the two set out towards the Tablelands with Chip apologizing for the weather but as he was working to a roster and the war did not, he couldn’t waylay his leave, “so you are the tour guide for the duration, where to?”

“There are a couple of volcanic lakes where we often camped while in the scouts, I thought that would be as good as place as any but with the rain it may be difficult finding a dry spot,”

“Still the rain should keep most indoors so we should have it to ourselves.” Chip assumed while slowing for a check point close on Rocky Creek and the main camp for troops on the Tablelands, as that part of the country had travel restrictions.

“A little damp,” Chip simply says, offering his identification up for inspection to drenched soldier.

“You’re not out here in it mate, at least the wet is warm, who is the civvy?”

“He’s my guide – we are off for a little sightseeing.”

“Huh you won’t get much of that today, if you want my advice I’d head straight for the closest bar.”

“I may take up on that suggestion.”

The soldier returns Chip’s identification and takes a closer look at Owen. There is recognition, “don’t I know you?” he asks.

“Possibly, I am often making deliveries to the Mareeba air field.”

“You would be Jim Parker’s brother.”

“Yes, the second Parker, I’m Owen,”

“I know Jim and you are definitely a younger version of him and that is a certainty,” the soldier says.

“Is he in camp?”

“No he is back at the hospital.”

Owen becomes concerned as Jim had missed his weekend home to the farm, “is he alright?” he asks.

“He’s having some tests or something, I’m sure he is alright. I only saw him yesterday and he was laughing it up with some of the boys over at the camp bar.”

Once past the township of Atherton the weather changed. In an instant the sun appeared with tropical strength that soon transformed the country from wet, to damp to steaming, even so to the east, hugging the tall mountains with thunderous voice was obviously the next installment but should hold off for a few hours.

“This part of your country reminds me of Hawaii,” Chip admits while following the road through deep forest where the tall trees reached across the bitumen to kiss and block out the sunlight. To Chip the trees may have been strange but obviously tropical, holding many epiphytes in moss, ferns and orchids. There were others that didn’t simply share in the good fortune of their host, instead drained the life from even the greatest forest giant until the host died.

“I remember you saying you spent time in Hawaii.”

“I did my training there and was transferred here a short while after the attack by the Japs.”

“A date which will live in infamy,” Owen seriously recites.

“So President Roosevelt said.”

“His words were reported here in the newspaper at the time. It must have been horrific.”

“There are no words to describe and the only relief was the aircraft carriers were away during the attack and they missed the oil storage – how far to these lakes of yours?” Chip says and by his tone lacked any wish to continue conversation on that so called day of infamy.

“Not far now, Eacham is the first and I know a camping area that should be reasonably dry. The next town is Yungaburra, with the lake a few miles beyond.”

“Yungaburra now that a funny name for a town. Is it an Indian name?”

Owen corrects Chip’s pronunciation with a smile, “not Indian they are your lot, it’s from the local aboriginal language, and I believe it means a place of questioning.”

“As good a name as any I guess; so which way now?” Chip asks as they arrive at a cross road at the end of the Yungaburra village.

“Go straight ahead.”

Once again the road is canopied with tall trees blocking out the sky and dripping large drops of residual rain from their foliage, sometimes lasting for days after a heavy rain shower. Ahead the road is scattered with leaves and small branches brought down in the previous night’s storm. Off to one side a large tree had fallen but fortunately had not blocked their way, although some of its external branched covered a good part of the road. Chip allows an oncoming vehicle to pass, then skirts around the blockage; “that’s what I call a big tree,” he says in passing its prostrated trunk, its many roots up from the ground like the arms of a giant octopus.

“They often come down when the ground is waterlogged.”

“By the weather you have here that must be often.”

“It is seasonal, in the dry it hardly rains at all.”

“Not like Hawaii as it never stops – well hardly ever.”

“Pull into that clearing on the right up ahead; I want to show you something.”

Chip parks and Owen leads through the damp undergrowth into the jungle. After a hundred yards or so he pauses and points into the dark space ahead and as their eyes became accustomed to the dullness, they see what appears to be a living curtain across a cleared space.

“What is it?” Chip questions.

“It’s known as the curtain fig tree. It’s a strangler fig that strangled one tree that fell against another, then it also strangled the second tree. What you see are the roots from the parasitic fig, that germinated in the high branches of the host tree and eventually took it over.”

“Impressive, how old is it?”

“I believe about five hundred years.”

“I guess the host had a slow death. Come on better make a move before the rain starts again, but from that walk in, I couldn’t get much wetter.”

“Before we go to the lakes, I would like to show you something you wont see anywhere else on earth, except here in Australia,” Owen suggests.

“What would that be?”

“You’ll see, it isn’t far from here. I could drive if you like.”

“There doesn’t appear to be anyone about so why not.”

With ease Owen takes over the driving and in no time has left the main road turning onto a bush track. Within a matter of minutes he parks in a clearing, “we’re here, it is just beyond those trees.”

“I can hear water.You’ve got me interested but what is it you have this time for show and tell?”

Owen simply laughs and guides Chip along a narrow path, “watch that plant with the large leaves,” he warns.

“Why so?”

“It’s called Gympie-gympie and is said to be the worse stinging nettle found anywhere.”

“I’ll add that warning to my growing list of snakes, scorpians and spiders.”

“It is said some soldier wiped his arse with a leaf from the Gympie-gympie and the pain was so great he shot himself.”

“Is that fact?”

“I believe so but you know how stories elaborate. In my opinion and after I once touched one with a single finger and suffered for a couple of weeks, I can’t visual how he would last long enough to get the leaf from hand to arse before being stung.”

“But a good story and a fair warning.”

After a few more steps they came to a small stream of clear fast flowing water over a rippling rocky bed. A waterfall is heard from further along the creek.

“Quiet now and watch the water,” Owen suggsts while keeping his voice low and bringing Chip prostrate to the creek’s steep bank.

Once all is quiet a number of terrapin tortoises come to the surface and finding it safe onto the bank. As Chip watched, what Owen brought him to view arrived as a flash to the surface of the prestene stream before quickly diving between the many rocks along the shallow water course.

“What was that?” Chip softly spoke, sending the tortoises to shelter in the deeper water.

“It’s an ornithorhynchus,” Owen explains.

“What is that?”

“You probably know it as platypus,”

“Show off – but I must admit I have read about them in books but never thought I would actually see one.”

“Sush now, it may come back.”

They remained quietly on the bank for some time and were eventually rewarded as not one but two came to the surface. Without effort they travelled for some distance before diving once again.

“Did you know the male has a poisones spur on his rear legs.”

“Can it kill?”

“Not people but I believe it is quite painful.”

“As I said before just one more Australian creature to avoid.”

“I don’t think they will be back, they are shy creatures and probably sense someone is around.”

“Thank you Owen, that has really giving me a buz.”

The leading into the camping ground was shaded by the tallest of mountain trees, opening out to mowed grass leading towards the almost circular lake. Bringing the jeep to a cleared area they were quick in finding the best position to pitch the tent before the next rain shower arrived but for now the sun was full and strong.

With a flat area chosen, the tent was brought from the jeep and within minutes erected almost without Owen’s help. Chip explained how he had gained expertise while in the army, as for a time his life consisted of nothing but erecting and packing away tents.

“You were in the army?” Owen questions.

“For a short while before being seconded by the air force, as I had flying experience before the war.”

“With all you’ve done one would think you are thirty-one not twenty-one.”

“I had to grow up quickly, my old man was a taskmaster and a little handy with the strap and thank you, I’m twenty-two, my birthday was some time ago.”

“You should have said something we could have celebrated.”

“Maybe the next one as it was before I had the privilege of your company and I celebrated with the crew down in Cairns.”

“Do you think the war will go into forty-five?”

“Possibly even longer; we may have Hitler on the back-foot in Europe and the Japs shrinking back to their islands but fighting them on home soil is a little scary.” As Chip spoke he observed concern growing behind Owen’s eyes and with a smile Chip quickly diverted, “forget the war for a few days, we are here to enjoy ourselves.”

With the tent erected and supplies stored Chip brought two military stretchers that folded into very small packages, yet appearing of flimsy design were most sturdy, “have you slept on one of these before?”

“No we slept on the ground with a blanket, or whatever we could find and even here in what could be called winter it gets mighty chilly as in most the tablelands are quite high.”

“These will at least keep us of the damp ground.”

Owen tried one of the stretchers, “they are surprisingly comfortable,” he admits, as for the tent it was large enough to sleep at least six with an annex fly, “I wish we had a tent like this in the scouts.”

“It was the same in our BSA-scouts back home. I suppose living rough is believed to be character building. Right we’ve set up so how about a little exploring before dinner and the rain returns.”

“In my opinion it will hold off until tonight,” Owen surmised as he attempted to find a gap in the canopy to view the sky.

“Come on after all that driving I need to stretch my legs so show me around and you can share some of that talent of yours regarding the area and what it has to offer.”

“Firstly the lake was caused by a volcanic eruption around ten thousand years ago; it is 160 acres in size and two thousand five hundred feet across with an average depth of two hundred and seventeen feet and is two thousand six hundred and ninety feet above sea level.”

“You remembered all that?” Chip was most impressed.

“If you turn around it’s all on that information board behind you.”

“Ha, and here I was thinking you were smart.”

“Let’s start that walk as it’s about an hour or so to circle the lake and there are usually lots of animals but if you come across a cassowary on the path don’t approach it, as they have been known to attack and even kill people.”

“I’ve heard of them, how big do they grow?”

“About so big,” Owen holds his hand out at almost shoulder height, “you have to watch their legs and claws.”

After walking for a good twenty minutes and not yet half way around the lake Chip pointed to three seemingly flightless birds about the size of a hen, pecking their way through the leaf litter. With some interest he commenced to approach the chicks.

Owen quickly pulls Chip back.

“I was only going to take a look.”

Moments later a much larger blue-black bird came out from the undergrowth, making directly towards Chip. Owen quickly pulled him behind a large tree.

“That will be the dad; mum leaves him to rear the chicks and he is mighty protective. That on his head is called a casque. Some say it is for heat regulating and those dangling bits on his neck are wattles.”

The bird came almost to the tree where they sheltered, while with one eye measured them both but noticing his chicks were safe, he lost interest and moved on back into the thick undergrowth.

“I must admit he’s a mean looking brute.”

As Chip assessed the bird’s quality light rain returned and by the time they had finished their circumnavigating they were soaked through but surprisingly not chilled, for it was approaching monsoon season and the day held its heat and humidity.

Back at the camp site Chip was quick in suggesting removing their wet clothes; also their boots had filled with rainwater causing a comical squelching sound with each step. “That’s another similarity with Hawaii,” Chip compares as he empties the water from his first boot.

“What is?”

“Marching in wet boots.”

“We learned about Hawaii in school, mostly about the killing of Cook when he was there – and;” Owen pauses.

“And what?”

“It is said the natives ate him.”

“Tasty.”

“It is said they only got one of his buttocks and a couple of bones back which they buried at sea.”

“Not a nice way to go. We also heard of Captain Cook but what interest was he for Australia?” Chip asks.

“Lieutenant Cook actually as he was a surveyor in the army surveying corps and not a naval captain. I guess something like you being a lieutenant but captaining an aircraft. Cook discovered the east coast of Australia and sailed along its entire length,” another pause, “discovered,” Owen singularly says with a discrediting smirk.

“You say?”

“I guess the natives did that sixty thousand years ago and in their opinion it wasn’t up for discovery.”

“Ah Cooktown;” Chip smiles with memory of the coastal village he often flew over.

“It is where he beached his ship for repairs after almost coming to grief on the outer reef and Cooktown’s Endeavour River is named after his ship.”

“Right,” Chip says and shifting away from the history lesson he removes his wet shirt and trousers. Owen follows although somewhat coyly. Then without hesitation Chip’s shorts were gone, to hang on a rope stretched under the tent’s annex.

Owen hesitates.

“What’s the matter?” Chip asks.

With a nervous throat clearing Owen remains hesitant, his hand resting on the band of his underwear.

“Are you shy Owen?”

“Somewhat I’m not accustomed to stripping in public.”

“Ah there’s the difference, if you were in the forces you would soon become accustomed to showering publicly and your ablutions done with your arse over a long log into a trench, with a dozen or more crapping beside you.”

“You do paint a vivid picture.”

“Then if you are coy leave them on, I guess body heat will soon dry them.”

“No – one in all in,” Owen removes his shorts and immediately the thought of being naked transfers from his brain to his crotch.

A broad grin from Chip.

“Stop it!”

“Stop what?”

“You looking at me.”

“Why should I?”

Owen turns away.

“That is another thing about being naked among the ranks,”

“What is that?”

“After the first few erections it no longer occurs.”

Conversation soon lowers the heat and a flaccid situation is maintained but out of respect for Owen, Chip suggests they put on a change of undershorts.

“Are there many trails through the woods,” Chip asks.

“In what way?”

“Driving trails, the jeep goes well over rough terrain and I thought we could do a little exploring.”

“There are a few, although the scrub has mostly been cleared for farming but I’m sure we can find some.”

As their first day came to a close Chip managed the evening meal with military precision and while consuming air force rations, they sat listening to the many sounds the tropical forest had to offer, as every animal conceivable, from bird to beast, found roost and shelter while declaring ownership to their part of the forest.

“Relaxing,” Chip says, “you wouldn’t even know there was a war in progress.”

“I wish it wasn’t.”

“If it wasn’t for the war we wouldn’t have met.”

“True,” Owen agrees and adds a disclaimer; “although I wouldn’t want so many dead to justify our meeting.”

“It gets dark quickly here.” Chip surmises, diverting away from their association and the war.

“The trees block a lot of the light.”

“I suppose so; have you always lived on the Tablelands?”

“Yes, mostly around Mareeba but once when my mother wasn’t well, dad sent us boys down to his brother Vince in Gordonvale and we were down there for some time.”

“Did you go to school in Gordonvale?”

“I did, Gavin was too young and Winnie went to Saint Ann’s boarding school in Herberton. Jim stayed behind to help dad.”

“Were you gone from the farm for long?”

“Six months but Winnie remained at Saint Ann’s for a couple of years and soon after we returned there was a blow up between dad and his brother.”

“What was that about?”

“That is something we never got to understand.”

“Have you thought of travelling?” Chip asks.

“Not really, I would like to be a commercial pilot after the war.” Owen admits as his thoughts became lost in dreaming of such times.

“So you said, I also thought of flying commercially but possibly by then I’ll be somewhat tied of flying, although they say once it is in your blood it is difficult to shift.” As Chip spoke there was a light thumping sound coming from some distance beyond their tent, “what was that?” Chip questions.

“Probably a wallaby,”

“Wallaby what is a wallaby?”

“It is a type of small kangaroo,”

“I thought they were all kangaroos?”

“No there are many sorts, even one that climbs trees and another no larger than a mouse called a tropical antechinus. If you look hard and long enough you may spot a tree kangaroo here at the lake but even I haven’t seen an antechinus.”

“And this antechinus does it also have a pouch?”

“It is a marsupial so I guess it does but not a complete pouch. That is according to what Gavin says, as he had to do a school project on the antechinus. He also read that the males once of age, run about fucking crazily for a couple of week and then they all drop dead but he didn’t put that in his project.”

“A strange country is this; you have the world’s most deadly snakes, spiders that can kill and now kangaroos that climb trees.”

“Also you have to watch for drop bears,” Owen warns with a broadening grin.

“What is a drop bear?”

“They fall out of trees onto you.”

“Really?”

Owen laughs.

“You’re having me?”

“Yes I am; it is something we say to frighten the tourists.”

“Drop bears you had me going for a moment. I like your country Owen and I think I could live here.”

“Wouldn’t you miss the mid-west?”

“Somewhat but my family has always been transient, my great-grandparents on both sides immigrated from Europe long ago and my parents left home in upper New York state to the mid-west, as soon as they were of age. Dad’s father made his money in oil and that is how my father started his ranch.”

“Are your parents wealthy?”

“Moderately but they aren’t Rockefellers.”

“I think I would like to travel to America,” Owen admits while gazing through the tent’s opening into the developing darkness beyond, as the form of the trees commenced to melt into the night to become as one.

“You may find America somewhat crowded, especially New York City as it has about the same population as Australia.”

“I find Cairns crowded and it is said to have only fifteen thousand, or did before many left because of the war. What is Hawaii like?”

“Again somewhat crowded, there were a lot of Japanese living there before the war but many have been interned in camps back on the mainland.”

“It’s the same here with those from Italy and Germany but we have hardly any Asians.”

“Yes your white Australian policy, I’ve heard of that.”

“There were a lot of Chinese around Cooktown during the gold rush days.”

“You don’t see many around these days. What happened to them?”

“The natives probably ate them?”

“What?”

“It is said the natives up that way were partial to a little human flesh but preferred Chinese, saying the white man stank. It’s suggested because the Asians mostly ate rice, making them plump and sweet.” Owen laughs.

“You’re kidding me?”

“No, it is supposed to have happened but way back.”

“As I said, it’s a strange country.”

“Mum’s parents were from somewhere in Northern Europe but dad’s family is spread all over Queensland and I don’t know much about their beginnings. It is believed that way back they could have been convicts and came out here at England’s pleasure but that is only rumor.”

“I should think it is one rumor anyone would prefer to remain that way,” Chip suggests.

“Not at all, these days it has become fashionable to have the title Pome, placed before your name.”

“Pome?”

“It translates to Prisoner of Mother England and in society circles it is worn with pride. Some trawl through the archives to discover stains on past family.”

“What about you Owen?”

“I guess I’m too busy on the farm to worry about that sort of nonsense.”

“Then you wouldn’t appreciate the society that my parents acclaim to.”

“What about you Chip?”

“Like you I just get on with it but I once read England sent about fifty thousand of their convicts State Side and after our independence they had to find elsewhere.”

“Yea’ out here.”

Without twilight darkness comes quickly to the high tropical tablelands and in the light of the lamp, their shadows danced about the canvas walls of the tent in exaggerated form, “how are you enjoying our little trip far?” Chip asks.

“I haven’t had a break since school scouts, except for the flight to Moresby and I’m really enjoying it,” he gives a gently sigh, “I’ve always loved it here at the lakes, it is easy to believe the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

“You said there is a second lake.”

“Yes, Barrine, it is quite close by and a little larger than Eacham, both are the result of a volcanic eruption.”

Chip releases a long relaxed breath, “it’s nice to be away from the base as usually when you get a chance, it is boozy nights with the crew and conversations about their sexual conquests, or to point lack of.”

“Speaking of your crew, Winnie says Hank is married?”

“He is and has a baby boy – why?”

Owen hesitates but feels he must share his sister’s confidence with someone, “I hear he has been going out with Winnie.”

“I knew he was seeing someone, although I didn’t know he was seeing Winnie. What seems to be the problem? Do your parents object to their association? Winnie is a grown woman but I must admit Hank is known to be somewhat irresponsible?”

“They don’t know.”

“Owen, by your tone there appears to be a twist to this story.”

“I’m afraid there is.”

“That sounds ominous.”

Owen is hesitant, realising he had broken Winnie’s confidence while deciding if he should continue but it was obvious Chip would not allow him to retreat.

“Is there something I should know Owen?”

“I shouldn’t say but Winnie thinks she is pregnant.”

Chip’s tone lowers towards concern, “I’m guessing it is to Hank; am I correct in believing so?”

Owen again falters.

“Owen?” Chip insists.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Oh; now that could be a problem for both of them, does Hank know?”

“No, Winnie has only told me and she would clout me if she knew I was talking to you about it.”

“What does Winnie wish to do?”

“She wants to get rid of it.”

“Is she sure that is what she wants?”

“It would kill dad if anyone found out. We have already had one mishap in the family with Cousin Violet and although a number of years back it still draws negative conversation.”

“Is Winnie religious?” Chip asks.

“None of the family is and in most church is for births, deaths and marriages. Why do you ask?”

“It is more to do with Winnie’s state of mind; termination can bring about all kinds of mental problems later in life.”

“Winnie isn’t obviously religious.”

“I don’t think any of the churches would in this instance be happy with the birth aspect.”

“True as the stain of being born a bastard is still strong in the community, even without religion.”

“It’s the same back home. Although I must say we take our religion a little more serious than you Aussies. In comparison you are a godless lot.”

“I promised Winnie I would think of something but I haven’t a clue what I can do.”

“Possibly I could suggest something for Winnie.”

“You don’t appear shocked.”

“It isn’t the first time it has happened in the services, although some become war brides and go back stateside.”

“With Hank already married and with a kid, I don’t think that is likely to be an option.”

“Leave it with me, I’m sure I have enough contacts to arrange something,” Chip suggests.

“Sorry I have spoken out of turn.”

“It is as well you did, in many ways I feel responsible for my crew.”

“You won’t say anything to Hank?”

“No, it would only cause stress and that is something I don’t need while flying into a war zone.”

“Thank you but I still feel guilty breaking Winnie’s confidence.”

“Don’t be, go to the back of the jeep and you will find a box of Budweiser I promised.”

Owen returns with the beer.

“Now enough of the world’s problems – it is drinking time,” Chip laughs and opens the first two bottles. He passes one to Owen.

Owen takes a swig while Chip waits for his response.

Owen doesn’t comment.

“Well?” Chip says.

“Well what?”

“What do you think?” Chip asks.

“It tastes like beer,” Is Owen’s cheeky response.

“Get out with ya’.”

The evening was fast becoming morning and as the beer and conversation dried away it was time for rest. The lamp burned low and both were feeling the effects from the alcohol.

During a lull in conversation Owen notices Chip watching him.

“What?” Owen curiously says.

“I was thinking how embarrassed you were being naked.”

“Not so much embarrassed but more unused to being so in public.” Owen was settling into Chip’s bluntness and with the effects of the alcohol would at that moment agree to most things.

“I’m hardly public.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m about to embarrass you further,” Chip admits.

“Go on, although I don’t think you can.”

“I like watching you naked.”

“I think I’m drunk,” Owen admits, disregarding Chip’s confession.

“Then I’ll say no more.”

“No being so has given me courage, as I also liked seeing you naked.”

“Want to get naked again?” Chip laughs.

“Why not – you first,” Owen quickly answers.

Both release a nervous titter and as they were wearing nothing but their undershorts it only took a moment for Chip to undress. “You now,”

Owen strips.

“I thought you didn’t have effect being naked around men,” Owen recollects.

“It is different with you as my brain has told my dick to expect a little action and it appears your brain has sent the same message to yours.”

“Seems so.”

“Come here.”

Chip wraps his arms around Owen who fits well within the embrace and could feel the heat from Chip against his body. He began to shiver with excitement.

“Are you feeling cold?” Chip asked.

“More apprehensive and I’m about to say something you may have heard many times before.”

“Go on.”

“I haven’t done anything like this before.”

“That is obvious but I’m not all that experienced either, I’ll take it slowly not to frighten you off.” Chip whispers and leads Owen to one of the stretchers.

Gary’s stories are about life for gay men in Australia’s past and present. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Conder 333 at Hotmail dot Com

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