Published: 12 Dec 2019
It was Wednesday afternoon before Lewis arrived back in Mareeba, as it had taken longer than anticipated to clear the tracks. At Kuranda the line had been blocked by two immense forest trees, their trunks so large two men, possibly three, couldn’t link arms around their girth. While the forests canopy shrouding the town had all but gone, allowing the usually shady streets to glimmer in the afternoon sun, while below the tall canopy the town appeared untouched.
Oddly the Barron Falls still flowed at its normal pace without influence from the cyclone’s heavy rain. The wind had come to the town, as did the rain but didn’t penetrate far into the Tablelands beyond. As for the township, except for a number of fallen trees there was little damage, as the density of the jungle protected the little village.
Once back in Mareeba Lewis quickly returned to work to explain his absence. Jack and Newells had a strict policy, if you were to be absent on any day you must call in, or have someone advise management within an hour before commencement, otherwise it could lead to dismissal, so as soon as the rail motor arrived at the station, Lewis hurried to work. To his surprised he was greeted as a returning hero and told to take off the rest of the afternoon to recuperate and on full pay. Even Stan his supervisor agreed.
Possibly it was his survival of the storm that gave compassion, or the state his clothing, appearing as if buried in wet dirt for a week and defecated on by a dozen large dogs, or he hadn’t showered since the previous Friday, stinking to such a degree it even offended himself that brought about such charity. Still whatever the reason he was appreciative of the time and hurried home but before leaving Lewis noticed a new face across his work area. This he would need to investigate come the following day.
“What would you like to eat?” Winnie’s voice came through the bathroom door above the sound of the falling water.
“Anything Mum,” he called back, “a horse,” he loudly proclaimed with a laugh, as the warm waters washed away the dirt and stiffness of the previous days. Five minutes passed, yet he still remained under the steady warm fall of water, while a second five brought his mother back to the door, “dinner’s ready Pet,” she called through the comfort of the shower but it was yet another five before Lewis reached for the taps and turned them to off.
It was then while drying and as if for the first time observing the softness of the towel across his skin, when the loss of his car struck him most strongly. What would he do without transport and how would he get down to Townsville for Ian’s wedding, while ignoring his intention not to attend.
He had not yet forgiven Ian for his lacking the balls to override Liz when it came to who was to be the best man. Nor had he forgiven his cousin for her intrusion into his privacy by reading his diary. It was the sudden loss of mobility that sent him into a downward spin. No longer could he drive to Atherton at a whim or cruise half the night wasting gallon after gallon of petrol with absolutely no idea where he was heading, or what he would do on arrival.
“Are you alright Pet?” Winnie enquired as she served his meal observing his unusual quiet disposition.
“Yea, I suppose so,” he answered wrinkling his forehead while poking at a set of sausages swimming in tomato sauce and resting on a mound of mashed potato, “you know I lost the car?” Lewis stated, stabbing at one of the defenceless sausages.
“I did wonder where it was,” Winnie said sympathetically. Up to that time she hadn’t asked about his ordeal, knowing it would come when he was ready.
“Well a bloody huge tree fell on it during the cyclone.” He paused then with a half smile continued, “squashed it to the bloody ground!” His anger was building but it dissipated as he realised he was alive and the car yards were full of cars. Then it all came forth, every gush of wind, every drop of rain and every destroyed home. His telling was dramatic yet lacking in any sign of any impairment to his wellbeing. Instead he appeared to be sucking the energy out of the experience, milking it for maximum sympathy and attention.
Over the following days Lewis became the storm and anyone who chanced to listen, or could not politely avoid him, would feel its wind. Even the loss of his vehicle was dramatic, becoming even flatter at each telling and the vat that held him safe became a fairground ride as it tossed from side to side.
“So I hear you are the storm boy?” Brian asked as he filled Lewis’ glass then gently pushed it across the bar, “but don’t think that gives you the privilege to free grog,” he added with a smirk.
“A new car would be nice!” Said Lewis
“You have one don’t be greedy,” Brian retorted humorously.
“Not anymore mate, I lost it in the storm.”
“How?” asked the barman, wrinkling his forehead resembling a confused puppy. Lewis laughed at the expression while slowly shaking his head. He had always thought it cute when Brian gave his quizzical expression, remembering Brian’s cousin Billy, when he was in a rare and pleasant mood, would do likewise.
“What’s so funny?” Brian asked not seeing the humour in losing one’s car.
“It doesn’t matter and losing the car wasn’t funny and it would have been less comical if I had sheltered in it during the storm.” Once again Lewis became the oracle and during the evening regurgitated the entire experience on a number of occasions.
Trevor Davies. That was the name attached to the new face at Jack and Newells. He had been hired from local stock to replace Ralph, who couldn’t hack shop work and had been sent to University in Brisbane to complete a degree in business. His father decided Ralph could at least learn to do the books seeing he was totally useless working on the shop floor. It came to pass; he wasn’t apt at accountancy either, taking off to Europe on an all expenses paid flower child holiday, supplied by his devoted mother.
Trevor Davies was the complete opposite to Ralph and younger than Lewis by a good year but acted much older, with a well developed sense of humour, as well as an over grown sex drive. Trevor loved the girls. Big girls, short girls, fat girls, it mattered not; as he said as long as she had big tits to bury one’s face and a moist pussy he would be in.
The afternoon of their first meeting Trevor’s happy freckled face exploded into merriment, “come out sometimes and well fuck the town raw,” he suggested.
“Maybe,” Lewis had replied, while meaning no.
“Why not you’re not one of those are you?”
“Those what?”
“You know fags, shirtlifters – poofs,” Trevor appeared to delight in the use of defamatory vocabulary.”
“Of course I’m not.”
“Now I have a cousin she’s a little on the large side but a real goer and would suite you down to the ground and I know she would fancy you mate, Trevor offered, “and she fancies anything with a dick,” he concluded.
“No way, not another cousin, besides I already have a girlfriend and she happens to be a mate’s cousin.”
Lewis liked the lad and soon built a friendship around his jovial laconic disposition. Finding he could match Trevor joke by dirty joke and as time progressed their conversation was a dialogue of smut but no matter how often Trevor made suggestion to ‘root the town raw.’ Lewis refrained from socialising, except for one night when they partook of beverage at the Royal. Alas Trevor was but a bucket of talk and after four beers, was sick as a dog and had to be helped home by one of his mates, who had also come along on the pretence of getting his end in.
It was over Saturday’s lunch, when John Johns visited the shop for a little conversation with Winnie. He had recently returned from working on Gilbert Downs’ cattle station, near Georgetown in the Carpentaria Gulf.
John Johns or Jacko as he was locally known because otherwise it became much to repetitive, owned the saddlery shop next to the Graham Hotel and had been a friend of Winnie’s since she first came to Mareeba. In truth it had been Jacko who introduced her to her current partner some years earlier.
Johns was a fine Saddler and horseman but although Mareeba was considered to be the gateway to the gulf, there wasn’t enough business in the town for him to bring up his five kids, so he would go bush during the quiet seasons to supplement his earnings, leaving his oldest son to manage the business and work the leather.
“Hey Lewis you should come up and work the stations,” he suggested while rolling a thin durrie. He lit it and the flimsy paper stuck to his bottom lip as he spoke. “You can ride a horse eh?” he asked as he relit the cigarette which lacked enough tobacco to remain alight.
“I use to ride out Hughenden way, had my own horses then.” Lewis answered, remembering those happy carefree days, before school and work demanded his time.
“Then there you go mate,” exclaimed Jacko and again lit his half burnt cigarette for the third time, “Gilbert Downs’ need a good cowboy and you would fit the mould,” Jacko continued, spitting a strand of tobacco from the tip of his tongue, “you know cowboy work don’t you?” he added and rolled a second cigarette, this time a little thicker than the previous.
“Don’t encourage him John,” Winnie complained as she passed to serve Edna Drake, waiting impatiently by a stand of tomatoes.
“Are they fresh?” the woman asked giving a tomato a good squeeze.
“Freshly arrived from down south Edna,” Winnie admitted, removing the tomato the woman bruised from the display.
“And not fresh from the bush?”
“You know the weather doesn’t grow good tomatoes locally Edna.”
“Umm, give me a pound but not those on the top, they appear to be bruised.”
“Now about the cowboy job?’ John persisted once Winnie was out of hearing range.
The station’s cowboy was usually a trainee cattle hand who did the odd jobs around the homestead and looked after the stock horses, readying them for the ringers to muster stock, unlike the jackaroo who was actually a station manager in training. It was also the cowboy’s job feeding the live stock, chopping wood, setting the cook’s morning fire, along with any other work around the homestead yard, even gardening if it were required.
The idea of station work did appeal to Lewis but to actually gather courage to take up such a position was lacking, besides he still retained the idea of returning to Melbourne, so changing work at this time was out of the question.
“I don’t think so Mr. Johns, I’m happy enough here, besides I have a girl friend down the coast,” Lewis politely declined.
Winnie returned; “you’re not still attempting to sell Lewis that station job are you?”
“Trying to Win but I’m not having much luck.”
“Good.”
Jacko then came from a different angle, “I guess there is the Mareeba races; with your size you would make a fine Jockey and Lenny Peters is always looking for riders.” he suggested from a continual problem with his cigarette “and a narrow gutted bloke like you would do just dandy,” the man paused and laughed; “you know what they say about skinny blokes, all cock and ribs.”
“John!” Winnie scalded while remaining tuned to the conversation.
“It’s true Win, look at him, don’t you feed him?”
Lewis didn’t reply and Jacko soon diverted his conversation away from finding new employment for the lad, to the problem of his dwindling business.
“You know I blame rock and roll music for the decline,” he said as he drew deeply from his smoke. “Yep that’s the problem, rock and roll and the motor car and bloody radio. Jacko paused “and that bloody new gismo they have down south,” another pause while he lifted his wide brimmed hat and scratched at the long greasy strands of thinning hair there under, “Television, that’s it,” he continued, “bloody Television and radio and rock and roll and the bloody motor vehicle.”
“You have a car John,” Winnie advised with a kindly smirk.
“Yes but I don’t drive it except in emergencies,” the Saddler replied, “besides when I was Lewis’ age, all I wanted was a horse,” Jacko paused and looking directly at Lewis he jovially continued, “I’d say young fellow, London to a brick all you want is a car eh?”
“Well another one Jacko, I lost mine in the cyclone,” Lewis grumbled.
“There you go,” the Saddler responded quietly.
“You can’t ride a horse to Townsville for the weekend,” Lewis declared.
“So that is where this little filly of yours lives eh?” answered the Saddler dryly, releasing a shit eating smirk that more than suggested Lewis was well and truly at it.
“Lewis isn’t that sort of boy John,” Winnie assured.
“At his age they all are if given the chance. Take Noel my eldest, like a tomcat he is, out all hours and sleeping in until midday, true Lewis?”
“Jacko!”
“Sorry Win, I’ll be on my way, have a business to run, that son of mine would send me broke if I don’t keep an eye on him.” As the saddler departed he again approached Lewis, “you think about the cowboy job, it would be perfect for a lad like you.”
“I will do that,” Lewis called after.
“I hope you won’t,” Winnie sternly rebuffed once Jacko had departed company.
“No mum I won’t but it would be nice being back with horses.”
Lewis hadn’t visited Ashley since the cyclone and on the Sunday evening he called in to regurgitate his cyclonic experience, only to find Brian ensconced on the couch drinking copious amounts of beer, while watching a travelogue on California.
On answering the door Ashley frowned and pressed a finger to his lips to create secrecy, as if Lewis was likely to say anything out of place. It was bad enough others knowing he sometimes visited the radio announcer, never mind on the occasion, allowing him to rumble through his most prized possessions.
“Herbie, come in,” Ashley greeted in the deepest masculine voice he could muster, “shhh Brian has come about renting the bungalow,” Ashley whispered while gently closing the door. They advance along the passage.
“I should go,” Lewis faltered half way along the passage.
“You’re here now should at least say hello.”
Lewis again faltered but continued. “Hi Brian,” Lewis greeted as if it were an every day occurrence to find him squatted on Ashley’s couch. Brian nodded gently and returned to the travelogue, his attention adhered firmly to the Californian surf and the surfer chicks, with their scanty bikini swimwear and copious amounts of naked flesh.
Being in the same room with Brian and Ashley found Lewis’ comfort zone in tatters, his voice grew artificially deeper and his conversation erratic circling masculinity and all its benefits, which instead of blending into the situation drew attention to his anxiety. Then realising his dilemma he concluded it wise to leave.
“Hey you have company, I’ll come back another time,” Lewis said commencing towards the hall.
“Ok Herbie,” Ashley replied and followed Lewis to the door, once there they moved outside, Ashley gently closed it behind them as he spoke, “don’t say anything to Brian,” he whispered.
“About what?” asked Lewis somewhat innocently?
“You know what I mean,” snapped Ashley growing tired of Lewis and his coy attitude.
“I’m not likely to do so, am I,” Lewis growled.
“Fine, come around Saturday night.”
“Are you going to let Brian have the bungalow?” Lewis asked diverting from his overpowering display of masculinity.
“No, I don’t want any trouble with his Cousin Billy if he returns.” Ashley said shaking his head while wrinkling his brow into many lineal ploughed lines.
“I wouldn’t worry about those two, they hate each other,” Lewis assured.
“Hate is one thing, family is another. I just don’t want trouble.” Ashley concluded as he closed the door and disappeared back down the hallway, leaving Lewis in a quandary to what occurred between Ashley and Billy, to bring about Ashley’s fear and mistrust. He had heard Billy had been somewhat light fingered in his youth and that Ashley was once burgled, so being of sound reasoning he placed the two incidents in the one conclusion and moved on.
“Did Ashley rent you the bungalow?” Lewis asked Brian as he accepted his beer while trying not to appear too interested in the affairs of the Barman or Ashley.
“No he said he had a friend coming from down south in a couple of weeks and would need the space.” Brian paused and continued with a sigh, “I suppose it doesn’t really matter, I’ve put up with home for all this time, so I guess a while longer won’t hurt me.” He wiped a beer spill from the bar and continued, “Ashley’s a bit strange eh?” he added, leaving Lewis the necessity to distance himself from the man.
“Dunno, I only know him through Ian renting the bungalow, and helping him move a few things,” he paused realising his visit while Brian was there was somewhat in contradiction to his statement, so he quickly added “and being on the radio, I thought he may be interested in hearing about my cyclone experience.”
“I don’t listen to his radio programme,” Brian admitted displaying disinterest in either Ashley or his programme.
“Neither do I, it’s for old buggers.” Lewis agreed and they both laughed then moved the conversation away from Ashley and his strangeness.
“I’ve a cousin who has an old Holden utility he wants to sell if you’re interested,” Brian suggested, returning to Lewis after serving a group of Dutch and Italian Tobacco farmers at the far end of the bar. There muffled conversation came strangely to one’s ears, part English, part Dutch and part Italian but all understanding one another to the extent that the crop was down and the price had ‘gone to buggery.’ Philip Morris and Rothmans weren’t interested in the local crop, preferring the Virginia from America but were forced to take a percentage of Mareeba tobacco by the Australian Government, while never purchasing enough to create a true industry within the district, although there wasn’t anything wrong with what was on offer.
“Not another bloody cousin.” Lewis grunted at Brian’s offer and shook his head in disbelief, “this town is full of cousins with something they want to offload.”
“I was only trying to help mate,” Brian interjected indignantly, “want another?” he asked taking Lewis’ now empty glass and collection a fresh one from the drying tray.
“No thanks, I’ve had enough. Sorry about the cousin bit but the bloke at work offered me his cousin to fuck the other day.” Lewis stated while dismounting the bar stool, “and everyone seems to be related to either Billy McKee or Ian Warwick.”
“Well the only cousin I would offer you to fuck would be Billy.” Brian responded with a sneer “And I don’t believe either of you would be happy with that arrangement.”
It was on the approach to Loves Building on his way home when Brian’s words returned to Lewis. That was the second time that day Billy had entered the conversation. He looked up to the faint light in the second room and passed under the verandah that was once his bedroom. He chuckled in memory of his holidays from Herberton spent on that same verandah, where one hot summer’s day he realised his dick had an added function other than pissing, which brought an entire refreshing addition to entertainment and how with much excitement he had broadcasted the fact on returning to the Hostel. Alas, they on and all had already discovered his bent and hissed it down.
Lewis also recalled an encounter with Billy McKee some years earlier when Billy squirrel gripped him by the nuts, threatening to rip them off, also the naked Billy in Atherton with the cheeky grin as Billy’s member saluted his and Liz’s arrival and the horrified embarrassment on the girls face as she hid naked behind the door. “Why does the conversation appear to always return to Billy?” he said softly as he turned the Graham Hotel corner, “I can’t get away from the bugger even with him gone from town,” Lewis added, as he searched his emotions for some disdain for Billy but there wasn’t any. In reality Billy was a carefree fun loving bloke, who said his mind and enjoyed life to the full although often at other’s expense, while the only violence he dictated was verbal. Now it was Billy’s naked stance in the Atherton hall that came to Lewis’ mind’s eye and remained there until sleep took him away from the warm Mareeba night.
“There are two letters for you my Pet.” Winnie said, handing the envelopes to Lewis, commenting how so often they arrived on the same day as if they gathered at the post office to be delivered in company. One envelope was soft blue in colour smelling of chemist shop perfume, the other, embossed and larger than letter size. Lewis opened the embossed envelope and silently read before placing it down indifferently as he opened the second.
“It looks like an invitation?” Winnie said inquisitively.
“It is and an invite to Liz’s and Ian’s wedding, Lewis answered and passed the invitation to his mother, as the pungent fragrance from the second letter overpowered his senses. It was from Sarah, full of apology and explanation. She felt guilt for leading him into the cyclone but gave defence that she had attempted to advise she would not be travelling to Cairns that weekend. Sarah also declared her love, while advising of a new date for her to attend the interview for the hospitality course.
“The invitation has Lewis and partner.”
“It does.”
“Will you be going to the wedding?” Winnie asked while gently passing it back to Lewis.
“Suppose so.”
“You don’t sound too enthusiastic.”
“I’m not sure I would be given extra time from work and I can’t afford a new suit to wear.” At last an excuse he could work on to avoid attending.
“You could rent the suit.”
“That is true.”
“They will be expecting you to go.” Winnie added, realising her son’s lack of interest.
“I said I was going!”
“How will you get to Townsville?” Winnie paused, “Train?”
“It’s some time off as yet so I’ll work that out when the time comes.” Lewis lied as he had already made up his mind to be excused from attending, as he remained smarting by Ian’s choice of best man and his friend’s weakness in allowing Liz to dictate who would be given the honour.
“What did Sarah have to say?” Winnie asked as Lewis placed her letter in his back pocket.
“She’s coming back to Cairns in a while and I will go down to see her then.”
“Again you don’t seem enthusiastic; I thought you were going places with Sarah.”
“Don’t know mum, I don’t like this friendship by mail, besides her letters don’t sound enthusiastic either.” Lewis sighed, giving his mother a rare insight into his thoughts. “We’ll see how things go,” he concluded.
Trevor Davies had success in arranging another night out, although Lewis had postponed it on a number of occasions but had eventually exhausted his litany of excuses.
“Meet you at the Dunlop around eight.” Lewis advised as they returned from lunch, suggesting the Dunlop to avoid any repeat of Trevor’s previous drunken episode at the Royal, not wanting to become embarrassed at his favourite watering hole after Trevor threw his lunch, beer and whatever else was lurking in his gut over the bar floor.
“The black-fella’s Pub.” Trevor protested knowing the Dunlop barman often overlooked drinking regulations as long as they behaved.
“Don’t you like the blacks?” Lewis asked.
“They don’t worry me mate, a root’s a root, black or white,” Trevor declared with his usual indiscriminative humour.
“So you’re a gin jockey Trev?” Lewis accused displaying a dash of sarcasm mixed with his humour.
“Not yet but when I run out of white pussy then I’ll have to go to the dark side I guess.”
“You’re impossible; you should have more respect for women either black or white.”
“I should think you’ve had a turn sniffing around up at the camp.”
“What are you getting at?” Lewis temperature commenced to rise.
“You have!”
“Fuck you Trevor, everything with you comes down to sex.”
“Settle down mate, it was only a joke – alright I’ll meet you at the Dunlop.”
It was almost knock-off time and both Trevor and Lewis were helping on the shop floor when a woman’s voice rose in argument above that of the cashier. Stan Cook soon intervened and the women calmed, while Stan helped carry her bags to her vehicle. Reaching the shop door bother were chatting as if old friends.
“That’s Val Crosley,” Trevor whispered to Lewis.
“I don’t know her.”
“She’s a high school teacher here in Mareeba,” Trevor gave a wide grin; “I’d give her one,” he admitted hopefully.
“I still can’t place her,” Lewis admitted.
“She’s having an affair with one of the jokers from her senior year.”
“Lucky bloke.”
“Lucky arsehole, I’ve been watching her.”
“Why would you do that Trevor?”
“It’s Graeme Pine she’s fucking and I can’t stand him, mark my words I’ll get them both.”
“Are you jealous?”
“That’s nothing to do with it; revenge is revenge and I’ll get him and if it also means bringing her down all the better – the smug bitch.”
Lewis allowed the conversation to end as the woman left the store. It was then he realised there was a vicious side to his newly found friend and he would need to watch what he said in company of Trevor.
As they departed from the store Trevor kept at distance while watching as Stan Cook placed the bags into the women’s car boot. He sneered as Val’s slender fingers lightly touched the back of Stan’s hand and his hand gently rested upon her shoulder as she closed the boot. Pleasant words were passed and Stan returned to the store.
“As I said, I’ll get them both,” Trevor growled.
“Hey you two, it isn’t five-thirty yet,” Stan barked.
“Five-twenty nine and twenty seconds,” Trevor corrected, Stan checked his watch and passed by without further comment.
“Cunt,” Trevor growled once along the footpath.
“Who do you like Trevor?”
“Any women with big tits and a moist pussy.”
“Don’t you ever think of anything except sex?”
“Don’t you!”
Lewis refrained from reply. True sex was often in his thoughts but it was a confusion of girls, boys and masturbation, or where he could secretly do so and often in the work toilet during his lunch break. As for sex with a girl, when he imagined penetration it was his entry that pictured in his mind and not who he was entering being turned on by his own deed. That was a concern but he believed with future experience the gaps in his imagination would be filled.
“Anyway, see you at the Dunlop,” Trevor turned and headed for home, his eyes on Val Crosley as she drove away.
Lewis arrived early and noticed that the Dunlop was unusually quiet. There was a scattering of farmers and faces he wasn’t accustomed to but none he could call regulars. After ordering a beer he took a stool at the end of the bar in similar position to that he dedicated at the Royal and as he sat Trevor arrived escorting a well developed girl. She wasn’t fat but could be considered ample, with curves in all the correct places while her long ginger hair, obviously from the dye bottle, complemented the scattering of freckles crossing the bridge of her nose, she did have big breasts, which fitted Trevor’s mould in total.
“Hey!” Trevor called as he spied Lewis across the barroom, gently guiding his charge in that direction.
“Hay-ya’ back,” Lewis called and captured the Barman’s attention.”
“Beer mate.” Trevor ordered before reaching the bar.
“And what would your girlfriend like?” Lewis asked, casting his eyes over her ample breasts, which at any moment threatened to break free from their constraints.
“White wine.” Brian said, “and she isn’t my girlfriend, meet Jody, she’s my Cousin.”
“Another Cousin!” Lewis exclaimed, trying to retain his displeasure. It appeared that Trevor had applied his will on the introduction against Lewis’ inclination. Now he would have to fake his pleasure, which never came easy. “So you’re Jody, Trevor has spoken of you,” Lewis declared half offering his hand then retracting it to pass the tall glass of white wine to Jody.
“Nothing too torrid I hope?” Jody answered; “shall we sit?” she suggested while guiding towards the closest table and away from the growing hum of conversation from the bar.
“Where are you from?” Lewis nervously asked.
“My work’s done, I’ll be going,” Trevor commenced to leave.
“Hey,” Lewis called.
“What?”
“About this night out?”
“You’re having it, I have places to be, fillies to see and you know the rest,” once spoken Trevor departed to the bar.
“Have you known Trevor long?” Jody asked.
“A couple of months too long.”
“He can be a little abrasive,” Jody apologised for her cousin.
“A little that would be the misquotation of the year.” Lewis attempted to mask his disquiet for being left to entertain someone he had never met before.
“I was attempting to show him some undeserved courtesy,” Jody admitted.
“Anyway enough of Trevor, where are you from Jody?” Lewis repeated nervously, attempting to break the tense frosting upon his lips.
“Brisbane.” Jody answered singularly.
“I’m from Melbourne,” Lewis added proudly, as he watched Trevor apply his skills on the Dunlop’s barmaid, who was obviously hired for her pulling power rather than intelligence. There was an old world existence about the girl, giving her work the opinion of a serving wench from a bygone time. Her bawdy laugh matched her melon breasts which like the fruits of summer burst from their restraints, while her short skirt tempted unknown generosity, inviting greedy eyes to continue from a well turned calf to naked thigh and ever further as she bent to collect glasses from tables.
“How long have you been in Mareeba?” Lewis asked from the daze of miniskirt and melons while barmaid appeared to be finding everything Trevor was telling her to be humorous.
“I was born here,” Jody answered without the same degree of pride Lewis had shown in his own birthright. Lewis escaped from the melons and returned to the conversation with Jody.
“How come I’ve never seen you around town?” Lewis asked.
“I’ve been in Brisbane a couple of years but other than that I was always around Mareeba, maybe you didn’t have your eyes open,” she suggested in a somewhat sarcastic tone, drawing Lewis’ attention away from Trevor.
“I was mostly at the hostel in Herberton and only came to Mareeba during the holidays,” Lewis made excuse.
“I had a Girlfriend who went to the hostel, possibly you knew her?” Jody said showing a little more animation, Mary Douglas? She added.
“Sexy Mary!” Lewis exclaimed with a perverted degree of excitement, “Everyone knew sexy Mary Douglas!” he laughed, then realising he may have overstepped politeness he attempted to retract, “well that is what some of the boys called her,” he corrected in an attempt to climb down from his derogatory remark, only to dig the hole deeper with each word.
“You would never have called her that?” Jody said as she slowly shook her head while faking displeasure.
“Me? Never!” he answered, “but she was sexy.”
“So are you Lewis,” Jody said in the same tone one may use in saying, put out the cat or the weather’s somewhat wet. The words worked on Lewis like turning on the power switch. They entered his ears, were interpreted in his brain, retranslated and directed with much force to his crotch, making him move close to the table to hide the effect.
“I have a girlfriend,” he nervously protested.
“So, I have a boyfriend but he’s down in Brisbane,” Jody declared and now it was love all, leaving Lewis with service but finding himself without the balls to continue. He stuttered; “well I;” he was now lost for words and sweating. ‘Shit,’ he thought, ‘where to now,’
“Don’t worry Lewis I’m not going to jump you.” Jody laughed, “even if I would like to.” Jody’s words did little to convince Lewis and only the return of Trevor brought him relief from his mounting discomfort.
“Trev,” Lewis spoke loudly.
“That’s me.”
“I see you have introduced yourself to the new barmaid?”
“Wendy.”
“Is that her name,” Lewis was making small talk to back away from his mounting situation with Jody.
“I see you two are getting to know each other?” he said, placing his hands on the shoulders of his cousin while gently massaging. Jody pretended to purr under his touch, “I’ve a date so if you don’t mind I’ll leave you two to chat.” Trevor released his hold on Jody’s shoulders and nodded towards Lewis and winked, “you’ll be okay for the night mate?” he asked and left without concern, leaving Lewis with a rising temperature and sweaty palms and clueless to where the introduction to Jody was heading.
“Listen Jody I’ve an early start, its best I head for home.” Lewis said as he downed the dregs of his glass. The beer was flat and warm. His throat ordered a refill but his brain declined and turned to flight.
“My parents are away would you like to come around for a while?” Jody suggested as Lewis stood to leave.
“Maybe another time.” Lewis paused and searched for courage, “look Jody I think you a great girl and would love to,” he paused and took a deep breath, “but it’s all a little fast for me,” he then laughed and made jest, “I’m only a simple country boy you know.”
Tuesday – 4th. Feb 1968Met up with Trevor at the Dunlop and he introduced me to his cousin. She’s a right goer and wants my dick. I’m not happy with Trevor as I told him I had a girl friend and not to bother. Although I sometimes think I don’t have a girlfriend at all. I can’t do it by letter, besides Sarah won’t come across anyway. Maybe I could have a bit of fun with Jody, lest it doesn’t work out with Sarah.
Lewis hadn’t visited his diary to any extent since Liz had violated its pages and when he did, he was now even more cautious not to divulge anything that may be misinterpreted, as for the box, he had since purchased a new metal container with a much stronger lock.
Before rewrapping his diary with the jocks he had stolen from Ian, he once again lifted them to his nose and deeply inhaled, finding he could no longer smell the scent of his friend and for the first time noticed a small stain to the crotch of the garment. He smiled and rewrapped his diary carefully locking the container. Then in the darkness of that night his thoughts turned to Ian and fond memories of broken arms and relief performed in friendship, giving him the desire to perform his own relief.
Gary’s stories are all about what life in Australia was like for a homosexual man (mostly, long 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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