Published: 30 Jul 2020

Late November was upon them and the school holidays would soon commence. It was Stan Wilson who brought the fact to Lewis’ attention with a worried sigh.

“Are you thinking of taking up school again Stan?” Lewis asked taking his memory back to lesser days and a multitude of different schools he had attended.

“Donald’s coming up soon,” Stan’s voice faded as he spoke as his eyes showed signs of drifting into an unhappy past and gazed blankly into the distant dust haze.

“That’s great. I suppose you are looking forward to his visit?”

“He’ll be here for about four weeks.” Stan shook his head and hitched his trousers higher up his rotund gut as he fell back into the tattered club chair on the store verandah, his arms dangling over the sides, a pitiful sight like icing melting in the heat, drawn down towards the rough verandah boards by gravity – a deeper sigh and grimace.

Lewis waited for further clarification.

“Put it like this Lewis, he is the image of his mother, vindictive, lazy, despises me almost as much as he hates the bush and a continuing drain on my pocket. Does that answer your question?”

“Then why have Donald visit?”

“He finishes school this year and his mother thought he may like to see what station life is like; or more to the point, she’s on a cruise with her new bloke and wants Donald off her hands for a while.”

“How’s he getting here – train?” Lewis asked remembering his school holidays and the long train trip and accompanying mail truck arrivals, while holding the memories fondly believing those holidays were the most memorable of all.

“Train? Silly boy, no I will have to drive down to Proserpine to collect him, I’ll borrow the old land rover as I suppose Jack will be using the other to pick up his kids. Do you want to come for the ride? I’ll only be gone over a weekend.”

Lewis didn’t answer which Stan took to be a negative response and dropped the subject, asking instead about Lewis’ horse and when the foal was due.

“She worries me somewhat Stan, supposed to be in the New Year.”

“Why the concern?”

“Walt said she appears to be a little big for her time.”

“She seems lively enough; I haven’t seen you riding her of late?”

“Na, I’ve been riding Flea-bitten, I thought I give her a rest, besides she’s so big I would almost have to do the splits to ride her.” Lewis chuckled at his own humour. Stan lifted from the comfort of the tattered club chair and paced the timbers of the stores verandah to the far end, where he stood gazing into the dusty distance towards the tree line while shading his eyes from the afternoon’s glare. Stan thought he saw movement but it was only a shimmer of heat within the dust.

“You know for the moment then I thought I saw Jimmy dancing his way along the road.” Stan declared while retaking his seat, “did you find any sign of him down the river?”

“No not a thing and by the look of it, he hadn’t been near the place since Ian and I met him there sometime ago.” Lewis answered with projected authority.

Jimmy had taught Lewis how to read many signs in nature, how to predict coming rain, who had passed and when. Jimmy was a good teacher and when one showed interest in his ken he changed, becoming not only the bush scholar but teacher extraordinaire as well. Lewis respected the black mans ability and wished to learn more but Jimmy was transient and hard to pin down for any length of time, so Lewis’ education had to be piecemeal.

“Getting back to picking up your son, possibly you could call past Herberton and collect Ivy’s son?” Lewis mentioned realising that both boys would be visiting over the Christmas holidays.

“Love to but I won’t be returning via the Tablelands; using the south route, it may be longer but no high mountains that way and it gives me chance to call in on a brother and his family,” Stan apologised.

“Where does he live?”

“He has a property near Charters Towers, on the Townsville road but will be shifting further south in the new year.”

“Jesus Christ!” The shout came from Walter somewhere behind the store and towards the night horse paddock, sounding urgent enough to bring both Lewis and Stan from the verandah at pace.

On reaching where Walter was standing they were in time to see the tails of two gigantic snakes disappearing into a hole under the broken concrete floor of a demolished storage shed. The slab was about the size of an outhouse, having a broken back with a large crack from side to side, while the root of a long gone tree appeared through the crack.

Bob Kelly was showering away his day’s work when he heard Walter’s cry and wearing nothing but a towel approached gingerly from the shower block, his bare feet smarting from the stony ground and bindi-eye burrs as he passed.

“What’s going on?” Bob called on approach.

“Fucken’ snakes, two of the buggers and bloody big.” Walter declared his voice in a higher register than they all thought possible for him.

“Could be the one I saw at the woodpile some time back.” Lewis recollected.

“One, there were two of the flaming buggers.” Walter declared while keeping at a respectable distance as he pointed to a hole where the snakes had entered.

“Snakes, I hate snakes!” Bob confessed and gave a shiver under the hot sun, while collecting his towel from the ground, where it had fallen from his grasp on the thought of serpents in the home paddock.

“Cover yourself Bob, you’re scaring the flaming crows,” Stan said shaking his head at Bob’s nudity.

“What are you going to do about the bloody snakes?” Bob asked and rewrapped his nakedness; his gaze remained on the hole where Walter was pointing.

“Leave them be Walt, they will be gone by night.” Lewis suggested not wishing to excite them further.

“Be buggered,” Walter exclaimed and collected an iron bar from the shed and Stan a shovel, returning to the scene as Jack Thompson arrived carrying a three-o-three war surplus rifle, his habit being if someone screamed there was obviously something needing to be shot.

“What’s the problem Stan?” Jack asked as he joined the group.

“Two bloody snakes just slithered under the concrete.

“What kind?” Jack quizzically asked.

“What kind, I didn’t ask them, big brown buggers, probably taipans.” Walter answered.

“More like eastern brown’s,” Stan corrected with out conviction but realising either brand could kill a man with a single bite within minutes and when provoked both could become aggressive inflicting multiple strikes.

Jack bent to check the entry hole while keeping at a healthy distance. He couldn’t see anything except blackness but could imagine two sets of beady eyes peering back at him, two forked tongues tasting danger in the space beyond their bolthole.

“Leave them and they will be gone come morning.” Lewis again offered.

“Put your hand in Jack and grab them,” Walter suggested.

“We will have to dig them out. With the kids up here we can’t have snakes so close to the house.” Jack declared ignoring Walter’s droll suggestion on grabbing the little buggers.

“Give me the bar.” Stan directed while resting his shovel against a small weedy shrub. Then with much effort he commenced to rase the slab. There was movement, a matter of inches and a glint of shiny brown skin in the late afternoon sun.

The concrete slab rose a little more and one of the two snakes made a dash for the open ground between Bob legs causing him to again drop his towel, which landed directly onto the back of the escaping serpent, making Bob bound away from both towel and snake as Stan released the bar and bolted towards safety, releasing a much out of character shriek.

Quick as a flash Walter collected the resting shovel and brought it down heavily onto the back of the snake’s head. The snake twisted in pain and although soon dead writhed around in nervous coils.

With their attention otherwise distracted the second snake poked its head out of the hole. Without warning Jack aimed the rifle and with one single shot hit it behind the head, the serpent made a half shrieking half hissing sound. A second shot at point blank range took its head clean away sending it also into nerve twitching coils as the bullet ricocheted of the concrete and whizzed past Stan’s leg hitting Walter’s shovel’s blade with a zing.

“Shit Jack, you almost killed us all,” Stan shouted as Jack gave an apologetic giggle.

Both snakes lay motionless on the baked earth while Walter and Stan debated their length, which varied between seven and nine feet, considered to be average for the breed, whatever that may be. It was then they realised that Bob Kelly, mouth agape through fright, was again standing naked before them without the courage to retrieve his towel, it fell partly covering the first snake and now smeared with its blood.

“Put some clothes on Bob or I’ll use the shovel on you.” Walter suggested pointing the shovel’s handle towards Bob’s dangling appendage and flicked the towel towards him with his foot.

“I’m not touching that!” Bob growled and retreated back to the shower block to dress.

“Nice.” Lewis said under his breath while watching Bob’s alabaster hard arse as he walked away.

The following day Jack and Elizabeth drove down to the coast to collect their children, remaining there until a fortnight before Christmas. Firstly there was the Australian Stock Breeders Managers meeting in Townsville which would take up a couple of days, then on to Jack’s parent’s home in Bundaberg where Ronald and Susan were at school, having returned to Jack’s parents care once his mother was released of hospital, but needing to find a boarding school for the following year as Jack’s parents were to advanced to remain as guardians. The children begged to once again school by correspondence but Elizabeth was adamant, she wasn’t skilled at teaching and her nerves wouldn’t survive their continual presence.

Stan’s departure was a day later, leaving Lewis in control of a well oiled machine for the duration, with the direction not to do anything unless crises occurred and even then it was only to use the telephone.

“What is it like being the boss?” Joyce Marshall asked as Lewis set Wednesday’s breakfast fire. Lewis smiled shyly without response.

“Mail day.” Lewis advised as flames roared up the flue to the sound of crackling kindling.

Mail day always came with a measure of excitement as it broke the monotony of work, giving another in the person Hal Tucker for conversation for a half hour, or hour if he stoped for tea and lunch. There was also the chance that a passenger was on board adding to the conversation and another for lunch, bringing news from the Tablelands, or further afield, while travelling towards Croydon, or from a property nearer in to catch the flight back east.

While collecting the eggs and feeding the chooks Lewis thought of his responsibilities but felt little different. If it weren’t for the fact that he was custodian of the mail key nothing else had changed. Even the ribbing he received from Bob and Walter at breakfast didn’t increase his feeling of importance, or the meeting with Hal Tucker and the mail.

“Hey Hal where’s that new truck of yours?” Lewis enquired as Tucker manoeuvred his bad leg down from the truck, while as usual grumbling from the pain.

“Coming Lewis.”

“When?”

“It’s still on a fucken’ ship out of Japan is my estimation.” Hal threw the locked bag to Lewis and dragged three wooden boxes of groceries to the back of the truck, which Lewis took control of and placed on the store verandah.

“Where’s Stan?” Hal asked noticing his absence from the verandah office.

“Gone to Proserpine to collect his son, he should be back on Monday.”

“I didn’t know he had a son.”

“Donald, he lives with his mother.”

“I’ve often herd about her, where’s the boss?” Hal asked.

“He’s also away, down at Bundaberg for a couple of weeks, he’ll be bringing his two back for the Christmas holidays.”

“The noisy ones,”

“That’s them,”

“So who is in charge?” Hal added scratching at his head from under his broad sweat stained hat.

“Suppose at a pinch I am,” Lewis answered sheepishly.

“Well I’ll be buggered,” Hal roared with laughter. “Then boss, I suppose I better be on my way.” Hal climbed back into his truck and with a crunch of gears and tappet noise its motor sprung into life.

“Don’t you want smoko?” Lewis asked.

“Not this time lad, no time to eat I’m running late and have to pick up a bloke from Tom Thumb station to catch the Croydon flight. See ya’ in a fortnight boss.”

It was mail delivery time and for once there was more staff correspondence that station mail. Three for Ivy, one obviously in Wayne’s hand and two for Joyce Marshall, the first from her son Eric while the other and the first ever contact from her daughter Julia, also two for himself and one for Bob Kelly, not denying the number from Stan’s wife in the form of redirected accounts, obviously the woman wasn’t brave enough to give them to him on his arrival to collect Donald.

Leaving the station mail in the office, Lewis commenced his delivery round. He found Ivy in the washhouse and the cook having a quiet smoke, while waiting for the bread dough to rise. Lewis delivered the mail and waited as Joyce read her correspondence aloud. It was the second that gave her the most joy as she realised it to be from her daughter and her first contact with Julia. Then it was on to Bob Kelly and his single letter. Bob was attending to the horses in the night horse paddock and hand feeding Horse with oats, while brushing her broadening belly with the palm of his hand.

“Do you like the pregnant ladies?” Lewis asked coming up from behind Bob, causing him to jump.

“Shit Lewis, sneaking up on a bloke like that,” he growled.

“I’ve a letter for you Bob,” Lewis offered his work mate the envelope which Bob folded into his pocket without reading who it was from.

“Aren’t you going to read it?”

“Later,”

“Joyce had word from both her son and daughter.” Lewis related.

“That’s nice,”

“And there’s a stack of bills for Stan from his missus.”

“He will enjoy those.” Bob said with a smirk.

After the dispatching of the two snakes their lengthy bodies were hung over the night horse paddock fence for the crows to enjoy, while in detriment to the horses who gave them a wide berth.

“Snakes don’t die until after sundown,” Lewis vaguely suggested, more to make conversation rather than share a fact.

“Who told you that shit,” Bob growled.

“Jimmy,”

“And you believe him,” Bob gave a boorish laugh.

“I didn’t say I believe it, I was only making small talk.”

“Small alright,”

“Is everything alright mate, you’ve been as broody as Horse of late.”

“Sure,”

Lewis commenced to move away but feeling a measure of concern he faltered; “do you want to come down for a drink tonight?” he offered.

“I can’t see why not.”

It was a cooler night than usual. A slight breeze came from the northwest picking up the moisture of the distant gulf. It would soon be the wet season and the monsoon would arrive from that direction bringing welcome relief to the drying country and miracle as red baked earth turned to green carpet in a matter of days.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Lewis asked of Bob as they sat beside the lagoon with their bare feet submerged in the tepid water. Bob shrugged his shoulders, then suggested he probably would go home to his parents in Croydon, or maybe stay a while with his brother who was now working on the prawn boats out of Karumba.

“How’s your brother’s marriage going?” Lewis asked thinking that obtaining conversation from his friend was as painful as extracting teeth.

“Still the same, she’s still being poked by the best man and both have bolted to Cairns and now she’s pregnant again and doesn’t know which one is the father – where’s the boongs gone?” Bob added straining to hear sound from their usual encampment at the far end of the lagoon.

“Into town but I guess they’ll be back, have unfinished corroboree, they aren’t too pleased about fencing off the west side of the lagoon and allowing that dead bullock to remain in the mud close to where they camp.” Lewis smiled.

“You like the boongs?” Bob half enquired half accused.

“I don’t dislike them. I consider them as just people like anyone else.”

“You hung around Jimmy a lot.”

“Jimmy is a very interesting person when you bother to listen to him.”

“What about all that ghost shit?” Bob said while accepting an opened long neck from Lewis’ cooling supply and laughing at the string attachment, “the lagoon keeps them good and cool,” Bob added.

“I don’t know about Jimmy and his ghosts. I don’t believe in all that but Jimmy seems to know things about my past I haven’t told anyone.” Lewis admitted.

“You do have a shit load of secrets,” Bob suggested.

“Actually Bob there isn’t a lot to tell.”

“There are things about me that no one knows as well.” Bob admitted and it was only his second drink. Lewis ignored the comment and after excusing himself headed back to the house, returning minutes later with a four ounce bottle of scotch.

“You like your scotch Bob,” he declared and threw Bob the bottle. Bob caught the bottle, perused the label and placed it between his legs, sticking up from his crotch like a glass erection. Lewis laughed.

“What?”

“Where you put the bottle;”

“That’s not funny.”

“I guess not,”

Bob unscrewed the cap and took a short swig, “Lewis have you ever made a decision?” he asked.

“I guess dozens every day, why?”

“I don’t mean what shirt to wear or what you would like to eat. I mean real decisions, life changing decisions, something you have to ponder over for a period.”

Lewis gave Bob’s a question some thought; “good question,” he answered.

“Well?”

“I suppose I did make a decision four years ago when I turned eighteen to go back to Melbourne.”

“That’s the kind I mean.”

“It didn’t work and here I am.”

“Yet you did make a decision, I’ve never made one in my life.” Bob gave a sigh.

“What about working here?”

“No my uncle is a friend of a friend of Jack, he got me the job.”

“Who was the letter from?” Lewis asked while filling his glass.

“Why do you drink out of a glass?” Bob asked shaking his head in discord.

Lewis lifted the glass, “the beer tastes better from a glass.”

“That one looks a bit fancy, what’s printed on it?”

“Frogs fucking,” Lewis laughed.

“Frogs eh,”

“A mate in Mareeba gave it to me, I think he got it somewhere in Sydney, or possibly when travelling overseas.”

“You can get a lot of things in Sydney,” Bob suggested.

“Like what Bob,”

“Mostly things you don’t need.”

“I guess so, I didn’t much like Sydney,” Lewis admitted.

“You do know only sheilas and poofs drink outa’ glasses,” Bob released an accusing laugh.

“How do you know poofs drink out of glasses Bob?”

“I don’t but seeing they act like sheilas they must drink like them,” he answered.

“Who was the letter from Bob?” Lewis asked again.

“My Ex,” he answered abruptly.

“What’s she up to?”

“You ask a lot of questions Lewis.”

“Just showing interest in my work mates and seeing I’m the boss until Monday; I need to know how my staff are travelling.” “Bosses arsehole,” Bob sneered, “but for the sake of the scotch, I’ll call ya’ the boss,” he added.

“Go for it; now what is she up too?” Lewis persisted as Bob once again unscrewed the cap and glugged down about five nips in one set.

“She wants me back,” Bob answered and recapped the bottle, then offered it back to Lewis.

“Na I don’t mix my drinks, are you going to take her back?”

“No way!”

“I know you said you would rather horses than women but what went wrong?”

“It’s like picking ticks from a mangy dog,” Bob growled.

“What is?”

“Your bloody questions, I’ll tell you why, she’s a bloody boong that’s why.”

“I’ve only seen pictures but she didn’t look dark to me,” Lewis declared.

“No she’s whiter than I am but her grandmother was a half cast and my family won’t have anything to do with boongs.” Bob was becoming annoyed with Lewis’ persistence but Lewis had more questions that needed answering. The first on his list was what secrets Bob kept from the outside world but Lewis decided that Bob wasn’t drunk enough to ask such a question. “She’s not marring the family,”

“You don’t know my family, they would disown me.” Bob concluded and reopened the scotch bottle, “do you mind?” he asked but didn’t wait for the answer, this time doubling his intake.

“Steady on mate, you can drink the bottle if you like but don’t forget work tomorrow and I guess I’m responsible for your wellbeing,” Lewis advised.

“Responsible, arsehole,” Bob laughed.

“I guess even for that,” Lewis jest.

“Yea I bet. And there lays the problem.”

“I don’t get you?” Lewis admitted.

“Decisions, I don’t even make the decision who I can marry.”

“I’ve already given you my opinion, marry her and damn the consequences.”

“I should eh,”

There was quiet across the lagoon, not a ripple and with the earlier breeze gone there was not a breath of air to take away the stickiness of the night. It was early for monsoon climate but one could feel its approach by the rise in humidity, which appeared worse at night. Being outside did bring a little relief but once inside, the walls of the house appeared to capture the heat and amplify it.

Often Lewis would drag his bed onto the front verandah but there the mosquitoes, although they seldom attacked, kept him awake with their constant high pitched buzzing and there wasn’t any place to hang the mosquito netting on the verandah, which at lease kept their noise at distance. He thought an eight inch nail into one of the beams under the verandah roofing would do the trick but that would involve finding a suitable nail, then the hammer and a ladder to reach. By that time it all appeared much too energetic and he thus moved on from the thought.

Bob’s third swallow brought about an inner and outer glow as well as the same grin he had when Lewis put him to bed on dance night. “It’s fucking hot in the bunkhouse,” he declared while once more offering Lewis the scotch bottle. Lewis again declined.

“Don’t the mozzies bother you,” Lewis asked, remembering when he used the bunkhouse, with its unguarded window and cracks in the wall you could put a fist through, they appeared worse than by the lagoon. Also in the bunkhouse he often discover large spiders roaming across the ceiling being chassed by gecko lizards, also insects of every size and persuasion found their way into the bedding, crawling about while looking for escape, instead finding their way into underwear and spiking into tender parts with their hard horny shells and pinching mandibles.

As for spiders, Lewis remembered once a big black hairy bugger fell onto the bed in the early morning. There was a still moment before it began to scamper across the sheet, bringing him out of bed quick smart, with a torch in one hand and a shoe in the other. He had soon put it to heal but for the rest of the night he remained awake waiting for a second plop, while wondering if spiders mated for life and lived together in arachnid harmony. He had his doubts as chance had never viewed two of the little fellers on a single web or cuddled in some dark obscure hole.

“They do but the netting keeps most of them away, it’s the swamp near the night horse paddock you know. They breed there all year around.” Bob answered in relation to Lewis’ mozzie question.

“Mozzies don’t usually bite me but the noise keeps me awake,” Lewis confessed

“I should move down here there’s plenty of room.” Bob suggested.

“You snore Bob.”

“It was just a thought.”

“Well if you really want to, as you said, there is plenty of room. In fact plenty of rooms.” Lewis begrudgingly offered.

“Na I wouldn’t want to see your bare arse pouncing around the house.”

“Nor I yours Bob and after the snake incident it appears you don’t mind displaying what you’ve got.

“When was your last fuck?” Bob asked of Lewis. His question came from a silent period when Lewis’ thoughts were mingling with crickets and frog calls and the occasional night cry of the murdering woman owl.

Bob’s question came as a bird swooped over their heads, invisible but for the sound of a whoosh as it passed. Bob instinctively ducked.

“That is someone’s soul.” Lewis said remembering Jimmy’s interpretation of death but went without comment from Bob as he had planted his question on Lewis’ sexual activity and wasn’t going to divert. It was then Lewis was tempted to declare his hand and shock Bob with tales of Sydney debauchery and of his love for Will but remained wise enough to hold back.

“What about yourself Bob?” Lewis reversed the question.

“I asked you first.”

“Not since I’ve been working here,” Lewis answered almost truthfully, as he didn’t count his encounter in Sydney as it was mostly hand relief and what was considered by Peter as nothing but three-D porn.

“You must be ready to explode?” Bob threw both arms skywards and made a whooshing sound, followed by his distinctive laugh.

“You’re drunk Bob,” Lewis protested.

“Not that drunk yet,” Bob retorted.

“What about yourself? It’s been months since you finished with Barbara.”

“Months? She didn’t let me touch her, not until we married. If I heard that once I herd it a thousand times but I did try.” He giggled and continued, “I did get to play with her tits.” He paused, “she did have nice tits. Firm and crowned by great big brown nipples.” He paused once more, “fucking almost black nipples.”

“So you do like girls?” Lewis asked realising it to be the first time Bob had actually uttered more than one positive sentence about the fairer sex while in his company.

“I like sex but all I get these days is a hand trolley and have nearly worn the fucken’ skin off it,” he sighed with a gentle head shake, while making masturbation motions in the air with his free hand.

“Same here,” Lewis laughed and gave Bob a push, sending him sideways to the ground. Bob righted himself, while giving a dirty grin and asking for more scotch.

“Want to go for a swim?” Lewis asked.

“Why fucken’ not,” Bob declared and commenced to wade into the red water.

“Hey your clothes?” Lewis called pulling him back.

“Shit!”

Both stripped clumsily as although Lewis wasn’t nearly as drunk as his friend he was well on the way. Lewis was first to undress and watched with humour as Bob fiddled with his belt buckle, then the buttons on his trousers, trying to descend an imaginary zip, until Lewis took control and released them all with one action.

They were naked and standing looking vacantly at each other, then out of silence they both began to laugh.

“You’ve got a big dick,” Lewis said in a giggle. The declaration slipped out unintentionally and was regretted, taking him back to Ian and his broken arms and the night when he offered his mate hand relief. He had then uttered the same sentence to Ian who had asked how he judged size. Now he half expected Bob to also give wonder but there wasn’t any reply only the stumble passage to the water’s edge and a splash as Bob bellyflopped into the muddy solution. It was cooling and brought Bob partly back from his intoxication. Squatting in the shallow water he beckoned Lewis to join him and once again commenced laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Lewis asked as he gingerly waded into the shallow lagoon.

“I wouldn’t come too close, I’m pissing.”

“You dirty bugger,” Lewis paused his entry.

“You probably do the same thing,” Bob protested.

“Yes but I wouldn’t brag about it.”

“There you go, I’ve finished but it’s going your way so enjoy.”

Both squatted close and neck deep without talking. A group of kangaroos approached from the far bank and once all appeared clear commenced to drink. As they did Bob jumped upwards out of the water shouting at the roos. They quickly bounded away.

“What did you do that for?” Lewis asked displaying disapproval with Bob’s action as Bob stood laughing before quickly plunging back into the water up to his neck.

“Cos’ I can.”

Although it was dark and Bob’s stand was only for a second Lewis thought Bob was erect.

‘Na’ you’re imagining things,’ Lewis contradicted his thought.

‘It did seem to be standing straight up.’

‘Maybe he was playing with himself?’

Lewis’ interest in if Bob had an erection or not became overpowering. His position was less than arms length from Bob and it would be so easy to reach out and take hold of him. How would his friend react? Would he scream poofter and never speak again or would he allow such an advance and fake drunkenness with the morning, or submit to the advance which Lewis would regret.

It is one thing to play around on someone else’s patch but not on your own. There was a saying and that was ‘never get you meat where you get your dough’ It came from Ashley and Lewis believed the proverb to be well sounded. Still there was an urge to do what he knew to be wrong and instead of taking hold of Bob he decided to innocently let his hand float with the slow current and if possible gently graze his friend’s crotch.

Lewis positioned side on to Bob so it may appear he misjudged their closeness, then lying on his back allowed his arms to drift. Closer his hand drew towards Bob, both remained silent. Closer his hand came, so close Lewis imagined he could feel Bob’s body heat even through the tepid water; then touch as the tip of a finger grazed Bob’s dick. Bob didn’t flinch but Lewis quickly moved away without comment while lifting to his knees a short distance from where he had made contact.

Bob wasn’t erect.

Now Lewis was erect and somewhat excited but knew he had to douse his furnace before leaving the water.

“I’ve had enough and need another drink,” Bob decided and left the water without showing the slightest sign of an erection but Lewis was still hard and had to wait. As Bob left the water and turned his back to collect his clothes, Lewis made a dash for the bank, quickly pulling his moleskins over his naked frame.

It was past midnight before the two decided to call their session to an end and after Bob finished his drinking and Lewis the last of the long necks they departed to the house. In his condition there wasn’t any way Bob could stagger back to the bunkhouse, truthfully they only managed the back stairs of the house and then only after much fuss and humour.

“Shhh, you’ll wake Stan,” Bob hushed.

“He’s not home,”

“Oh I forgot he’s away – then you’ll wake the birds or something.” Bob again released his gatling laugh.

“That laugh of yours it would wake the dead;”

“What’s wrong with it?” Bob complained.

“Come on I’ll pour you into the spare bed.”

Lewis had two single beds in his room, while the other rooms lacked furniture of any kind, only a collection of cardboard boxes filled with pump parts and rusting equipment no longer used but providence kept in case of some future need. Also beside the door and stacked against the wall a large pile of paperback western novels left by a previous head stockman.

Lewis dumped Bob onto the spare bed and commenced to remove his pants. Bob groaned as his hand descended in prevention.

“What are you doing?” Bob garbled.

“I’m putting you to bed.”

“Gotta’ go back;”

“Not in your condition.”

Bob released his grip on his belt allowing his trousers to descend.

“You’re not a bad bloke for -,” the statement remained unquantified.

“For what Bob,”

“For a mate, that’s it a fucken’ good mate.”

“This is becoming a habit, you shouldn’t drink so much.” Lewis warned.

“You gave me the scotch,” Then Bob nodded away and his snoring commenced.

“True, I should have had more sense but I didn’t expect you to finish the bottle in one sitting.”

What time it was Lewis had no idea but it was quite dark outside although a gentle stream of moonlight poured like weak milk through the window above his bed. What woke him? Possibly it was the night’s silence as even the frogs had lost their voice. He didn’t feel drunk or hungover nor was he tired. Laying back and staring into the darkness of the room he realised he could no longer hear Bob’s snoring. He peered further into the darkness but could not see Bob’s form on the bed. Straining his sight further he spied his friend’s outline through the open door. Bob was pissing from the front verandah.

Lewis kept his silence as he watched Bob relieve himself. Then Bob farted, which almost set Lewis giggling. Moments later Bob returned to the room but instead of returning to his bed he crossed the floor and stood over Lewis. Lewis pretended to sleeping and keeping his eyes almost closed could just make out his friends outline. Minutes seemed to pass and still Bob remained without speaking or action. Lewis lay uncovered by his bedding and feeling somewhat exposed to Bob’s fascination.

What Bob found interesting Lewis knew not, what he did know, his friend’s actions were sensuous and he was becoming erect. Then as his erection strengthened and the underwear could no longer contain, it broke free from the waistband and within the weak moonlight in view. Lewis felt embarrassed and was about to roll to one side when he felt Bob’s fingers touch his member and apply the lightest of pressure, enough to bring Lewis to the brink of ejaculation. He kept his quiet and fort the building pressure. Bob then withdrew his gentle touch and returned to his bed.

‘Fuck!’ Lewis screamed in his mind.

‘You cunt what a thing to do to a fellow.’

Rolling to one side Lewis in a matter of seconds brought himself on allowing his underwear to soak up his relief.

While laying there spent Lewis thought he heard Bob release a volley of soft gasping breaths, after a short interval Bob’s snoring once again commenced and he was asleep. Lewis was now awake and somewhat confused, was it the alcohol that controlled Bob’s interest or nothing but curiosity.

Lewis felt fine and was awake before his alarm sounded without even a sign of a hangover, looking across to Bob’s bed it was empty, so was the house, Bob had risen much earlier, thrown up over the veranda, then returned to the bunkhouse and the shower block to wash away the previous evening. It worked to a degree but Bob’s head ached and the sunlight stabbed at his eyes at every turn.

Bob arrived late for breakfast and moody, remaining so for most of the morning and without suggestion why he had returned to the bunkhouse before the sun.

“What time is Stan due back?” Walter enquired while helping himself to more bacon.

“Late this afternoon I think,” Lewis recollected.

“Lovely bacon this,” Walter mentioned bringing a colourful expression to Bob’s face, who had forgone breakfast for a large mug of Joyce’s instant coffee, bitter as it may have been it was all his stomach would accept in its delicate state.

“Have you been drinking Bob?” Walter questioned, noting Bob’s usual lack of breakfast banter.

“I only had a couple with Lewis last night, why?”

“You’re eyes look like two piss holes in the snow.”

“I’m alright a bit of a gut that’s all, what’s up for the day.”

“A mob of cattle have broken through the north fence and creating a nuisance along the road, it’s that flaming prize bull again, has a nack of finding a weakness. I suppose we better fix the break and move them back.”

As the three rose from breakfast Joyce came in to collect the dishes.

“Roast beef for dinner tonight,” She said.

“Spuds?” Walter asked.

“Yes if I can get enough from the store verandah, most are soft or sprouting and the new order isn’t due until next Wednesday.”

“I’ll get them for you anything else?” Lewis offered.

“Some onions and a couple of canned beans from the store.”

“Righto,” Lewis collected his hat to leave as Walter returned to the conversation.

“I’ll fix the fence if you two can send back the bullocks, Bob do you think your gut will hold out for the job?”

“I’ll be alright; I’ll go get the horses saddled.” Bob mumbled and collected his hat. Walter gave an expression of interest towards Lewis, who returned it with one that represented let it be. Bob departed with a grumble.

“What’s his problem?” Walter asked Lewis in whisper.

“As he said Walt a crook gut;”

“Umm, “Walter followed as he knew the signs of a hangover well as he had been there often enough.

The station had a third vehicle an old Holden utility that was used as a paddock runabout. Its suspension was shot and was missing the windscreen and both side windows but its motor was sound and perfect for carrying fencing material or the like around the paddocks. Walter threw a roll of wire, some star pickets and the necessary tools into the back of the utility as Lewis and Bob saddled their mounts to round up the strays. Walter passed them by making as much noise as possible to annoy Bob’s suspected hangover.

“You’re a cunt!” Bob shouted after Walter and brought his hands to head moaning with agony.

“Still suffering Bob?” Lewis asked.

“What do you think?”

“You shouldn’t mix your drinks,” Lewis warned.

“You shouldn’t have supplied it, what were you doing trying to get me drunk?”

“You don’t need my help for that Bob.”

“I guess not, but I did enjoy the night.”

“I did notice you chucked up over the verandah,” Lewis admitted.

“Did you hear me?” Bob asked cautiously.

“No I saw it this morning,”

“Just as well,” Bob said his voice lending a curious tone.

“Why so Bob?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Bob answered as a large sand goanna crossed in front and darted up the closest tree, giving his mount such a start it almost dislodged Bob from his saddle, “Shit, did you see that?”

“I did and you were almost in the dirt.”

“Wasn’t concentrating,” Bob rode over to the tree as the goanna hid from sight behind the trunk, its tail poking to the front. Bob reached out and gave the tail a pull sending the reptile further into the branches. Bob commenced to laugh but his head hurt. He grimaced and fell silent.

“You wouldn’t be laughing if it jumped down onto you.” Lewis said.

“Wouldn’t – anyway come on best we get these beasties behind wire, Walt’s looking impatient.” As Bob spoke Walter waved his impatience as he waited close by the break in the fence.

With the cattle back on the move the two fell in behind allowing them to make their own time. Bob was still suffering and quiet but there were questions Lewis needed to service. One of which was regarding Bob’s actions the previous night and what dark secrets he admitted he was hiding.

“Do you dream Bob?” Lewis asked as the last of the cattle made their way across the home paddock towards the break in the fence.

“Suppose so, I never thought much about it,” Bob answered without displaying interest in Lewis’ conversation.

“I had a strange dream last night,” Lewis said fishing for insight into Bob’s actions but there wasn’t anything in the offering. “You left early this morning?”

“I needed to shower.”

“Do you still want to move into the house?”

“Did I ask to? I don’t remember.”

“You did,”

“Maybe, if you don’t mind,”

“I don’t mind but you did mention not wishing to see my bare arse parading around the house.”

“Huh, did I say that?”

“Something as such, you can if you want to.”

“What see your flaming bare arse?” Bob questioned while releasing a disagreeing chuckle.

Lewis shook his head, “no you goose, move in.”

“Maybe, we’ll see.”

“It’s your decision.”

“It’s a long way to walk to work,”

“What all of five minutes?”

So it was to be an, I was so drunk I don’t remember anything kind of situation. Still being drunk doesn’t change one’s character only lowers inhibitions, so was Bob’s fondling but simple interest or from a deep desire. Whatever Bob’s reason it was obvious he was going to keep it to himself and with the cattle again behind a mended fence Lewis questioned no more but on their returning the horses to the paddock Bob appeared to be in thought.

“What’s got you thinking?” Lewis asked.

“Why don’t you move up to the bunkhouse?” he suggested, as Horse trotted up to where they released the two they had been riding but instead of greeting the returning horses she came directly up to Bob and nudged at his pocket. “Nothing today,” Bob spoke softly and patted her muzzle. Realising there wasn’t an offering she turned and trotted back to the others.

“Firstly as in your words, too hot, besides I like my own company.” Lewis gave reason.

“So why would you want me to move in?” Bob asked.

“I didn’t say I wanted you to, it was your suggestion.”

Bob laughed somewhat ironically “why would I want to live down at the lagoon?”

“As I said it was your request Bob, now you’re pissing me off with this merry-go-round conversation. We are back where we started.”

“I’ll stay at the bunkhouse, less arguing.” Bob concluded.

Lewis was about to comment further but decided doing so wouldn’t prove anything, besides Bob appeared to be enjoying his game of words.

Gary’s stories are all about what life in Australia was like for a homosexual man (mostly, before we used the term, “gay”). Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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