Published: 26 Sep 2019

John and Winnie’s new shop was much like the old and the one before. It was the shabby fittings that distracted from its newness as they had travelled more frequently than the early settlers and had over thirty years furnished at least half a dozen shops in two towns, now showing so much wear they made the produce appear quite dull and uninviting but once stacked high with fresh produce they suited their purpose.

Although John displayed a measure of enthusiasm for his latest enterprise there was a new factor. Since his last attempt at business in Mareeba there had been changes, mainly with Jack and Newells reinventing itself from only hardware and timber to what could be considered a modern supermarket, selling fruit, vegetables and all product for the kitchen table and pantry.

Jack and Newells’ management had also become aggressive towards other establishments in the town by arranging a staff member to visit the opposition then undercut their prices. Also a branch of Brisbane Cash and Carry had opened in town but was struggling. Many considered it to be an outsider from the big end of town, or state in this instance, attempting to satisfy distant shareholders with local money.

John’s shop and Hort Street was far enough away from the main business centre to service those not wishing to walk the distance, or in need of produce forgotten in their weekly shopping and in time there would be profit enough for a living but not so to higher help, Winnie would need to work the shop as well as run the house, while John did his usual deliveries and vegetable run around the town.

A week after the shop was opened, Lewis moved into the back bedroom of the adjoining house, leaving Gladys as background noise to his past. He was happy to be gone and believed Gladys pleased he had done so, even if he departed with a smile and a somewhat curt wish to be remembered to his mother.

Factually Lewis reminded Gladys too much of his mother, whom she still had not forgiven for doing no more against her, than treading on her somewhat fragile ego and her shattered emotions, which in essence was Gladys’ own doing by announcing her fancy of John while in an intoxicated state. Also it was possible Lewis was too much like that proverbial mirror reflecting her short comings with his continuous simplicity.

A short while after returning to his mother’s home, Liz Notting, Lewis’ younger cousin accepted residence in the middle bedroom and arrived with mouth agape at the bustle of big town life and rare opportunity she would never find back west.

The Notting’s were children of his mother’s sister and the union with a much older man who spent more time with the stock then he did with his family, giving credence to the wonder how it was possible to father the six kids who called him dad.

Fred Notting was a surly man who seldom spoke but when he did his voice carried so much authority it resounded in one’s head as a bell in a bell-tower, while one glance from his stern face was enough to bring a recalcitrant kid to good behaviour.

Lewis and his mother once lived with her sister but after a short while their sisterhood began to sour, mainly because the young Lewis was considered a bad influence on the Notting children. An example of influence being both Winnie and her sister purchased for Terry Notting, a younger cousin by a matter of weeks, and Lewis, new hats. Lewis quickly threw his into the river, followed by Terry and the blame was rightly issued. Also two of the Notting boys and of course Lewis had created a game, jumping down from a wardrobe onto the Notting’s bed, breaking the springs and the supporting beneath. Again correct blame was issued and soon after Winnie returned to the tablelands and Lewis to the Hostel.

The Notting family resided in Georgetown, a small community in the gulf country of that state and seldom travelled further than the adjoining towns, thus to Liz, Mareeba appeared to be a city. There were two picture theatres, a drive-in theatre and shops of all kinds, instead of the travelling picture-show man with his projector, screen and ample supply of old black and white comedies with warn sprockets, making them jump and sound like a flock of hungry sea gulls squabbling over a morsel of food.

One should not exclude the general store, selling flour and sugar by the pound in brown paper bags, or containers which you supplied yourself. Also bolts of cloth to create a dress, or sheets, or tablecloths or all three to appear like a job lot and boiled lollies from large glass jars, scooped into white paper bags and weighed by the ounce.

To the rear of that store was a section dedicated to hardware, supplying everything from nails to bolts to hand tools but without exaggeration whatever one needed was always missing and would be up on the next mail truck, or ordered from somewhere south taking up to three weeks to arrive, if at all.

What controlled Liz’s interest in the most, were the two lady’s hairdressing salons Mareeba had to offer. In her opinion it was most intriguing women actually paid good money to have their hair piled high and sprayed with sticky, sweet smelling lacquer until as stiff as starched sheets and she immediately realised her future.

On the arrival of his cousin Lewis displaying his usual gregarious nature forwarding a generous welcome, while offering to show her the high lights of Mareeba and introduce her to his friends.

“Do you wish to know what my mother said to me before I left Georgetown?” asked Liz, abruptly cutting Lewis off amid sentence without thought for his offering of goodwill. He admitted he did not.

“Mum said I wasn’t to marry you!” Liz conveyed with an air of indifference while ignoring his suggestion to be her guide to the town’s highlights.

“What!” astounded Lewis his mouth agape and comprehension somewhat confused.

“Mum said I wasn’t to marry you,” Liz reiterated without emotion or further explanation.

Lewis remained confused and completely taken back. “Marry you!” he paused, “you’re my cousin, it isn’t legal anyway.”

Liz picked up a nail file and commenced to shape her index fingernail, chipping the edges of the prune-red polish. “Well that’s what she said!” she added without sentiment.

“Besides Liz why would I marry you?” Lewis added in a hurt tone. Whatever her reason, Liz wasn’t forthcoming, she continued with her nail shaping. Eventually her character returned to cordial and accepted his offer to be shown the local features.

“What are you’re friends like?” Liz asked softly as she inspected the damage to her painted nail. “Boys or Girls?” she added and reached for the plum red nail paint.

“Boys mostly,” Lewis paused displaying a nervous stammer, as his mind flashed back to the night he relieved Ian’s sexual tension. Fear gripped as if his guilt was transmitted from his eyes, flashing like neon lights. He quickly added, “I haven’t been back from Melbourne long enough to meet many girls but there is one at work.”

There wasn’t need for concern as Liz was much too indulged with her plum red paint and her interests in his Melbourne trip to catch his fear.

“How did you like Melbourne?” asked Liz as she applied a fresh coat of varnish to the chipped nail. Her question was two fold, when quite young she had also travelled to Melbourne and had found their mutual grandmother warm and loving. The second being, in such a large city there would be an abundance of hair dressing salons and dress shops for her to admire.

“I’m going back one day,” answered Lewis confidently, hearing his mouth admit so while his mind was confused to where he belonged. Lewis proudly told everyone he was a Melbourne boy; even so he was solidly chained to procrastination and fear of the unknown, grounding him within the security of the memories of his youth.

Liz remained consumed with her nail varnish, uttering an acknowledging sound while hearing little of her cousin’s intention.

“As I said I was back there last Christmas,” Lewis added, “only for a holiday and to visit our grandparents,” he concluded, knowing well that he had told everyone before leaving he would not be returning to Queensland but distance between his leaving and the Notting’s was great enough for Liz not to have heard of his permanent intention.

“That’s nice,” Liz again held up her hand to admire her work.

Conversation with Liz came easily, as long as she controlled the topic, of which mostly congregated around boys and of late hair-dressing. Not to say that Liz was boy crazy but opportunities to associate with the opposite sex at home in Georgetown were rare and Mareeba beckoned to her like a lidless Pandora’s Box and when it came to Melbourne she was a sponge that soaked up everything Lewis had to offer. If Mareeba was a lidless Pandora’s Box, Melbourne would be an unknown universe.

“Are there any boys about my age at your work?” Liz asked, as she replaced her nail paint back in a pink and red plastic zip-bag accompanying scissors, nail clippers and a host of other girly instruments.

“Not really only Ian the others are oldies,” Lewis answered.

“Who is Ian?” Liz inquired showing the first real glimmer of interest with the mentioning of the lad.

“He’s just a mate of mine,” Lewis replied, then steered the conversation away from his friend. Once spoken Lewis regretted mentioning Ian as Liz’s interest appeared to be building.

Being constantly on the move during his early years, Lewis was continuously making and loosing friends and knowing Ian’s attraction towards anything in a skirt, it would be a sure bet they would be attracted to each other. He turned away feigning interest in a small pile of books Liz had stacked to the floor of her room but if nothing else Liz was determined and continued further. Lewis shrugged the conversation away and left his cousin to her solitude.

Lewis had visited Ian most nights since the accident and watched with regret as his broken bones mended. As for hand relief, there was one further incident a week after the first but soon Ian had one free hand and no more was said on the matter.

Lewis had also lowered his guard towards John Ashley and often conversed at length with him. The man was a wealth of knowledge and had travelled much, while once announcing his own radio programme in Sydney but an unfortunate late evening incident forced him to distance himself from the station or suffer a most embarrassing situation.

When asked what the incident was, Ashley would laugh and say “now that is another story for another day” then change the subject, leaving one to draw their own conclusions. As for his flamboyant outbursts, they became accepted as ‘that is just John’ and tolerated behind closed doors.

Soon after Ian’s bones mended he chanced to call on Lewis and for the first time met Liz. Within a few short sentences Liz had gleaned all that was necessary about Ian, also to her dismay his age.

Ian was a good six months younger than Liz but his handsome smile helped to promote her interest, or to point his display of a well defined rear and crotch. Not that Liz was an expert on the male anatomy, as the only male nakedness she had ever encountered was her younger brother, who being prepubescent only displayed a button upon an expanse of bare skin, nor was she devoured by hunger for the male body but with Ian as most of the youth of the sixties it was custom to have all one owned on display, bringing to mind the adage that most lad’s crotches were similar to the modern suburban house, not having any ball-room, another being the trousers were so tight you could almost see the wearer’s religion.

Liz forced her gaze away while holding Ian’s interest in small talk, making Lewis’ presence in the room somewhat redundant.

“I hear you’re from out west?” Ian asked.

“I am.”

“And you are unfortunate enough to be related to this goose,” Ian nodded towards Lewis who took umbrage but said nothing.

“Do you work with Lewis?” Liz asked.

“I do – gotta’ boyfriend?” Ian quickly fired back.

Lewis’ fear was developing knowing well Ian’s intent.

“No.”

“Then pictures on Saturday night okay?” Ian offered; his eyes permanently fixed on Liz’s ample breasts.

“Well actually – No!” Liz answered aloofly, “I already have something planned.” She wanted to say yes but the age difference placed a obstacle between Ian and her dream of the man who would one day arrive in an E-type Jaguar, maybe a Mercedes and sweep her away with his sophistication and money, while smelling of old spice aftershave lotion and dripping with Californian poppy hair oil from his slick combed black hair. His upper lip would support a pencil line moustache and twitch slightly as he spoke. He would be tall and lean and except in films, would never be found in the North of Queensland.

“Then it will be the following Saturday?” Ian quickly added, hoping to catch Liz off her guard and unable to say no. Liz was too quick for Ian and answered, “Maybe,” setting back his confidence somewhat but he was resilient and followed through with a second request receiving a little more promise than possibly.

It was then Lewis realised the existence of a certain emotion and it was overpowering him. He well understood jealousy and was fighting it but what lay beneath this disposition was confusing, being powered by Ian’s attention towards his cousin. He removed himself from their conversation pretending to find interest in a pile of old musty comics stored in one corner of his cousin’s room, surplus stock for the book exchange which John ran to supplement the meagre takings from the shop. Retrieving the first from the pile he pretended to read from it.

“I thought you were going out?” Liz asked somewhat annoyed by his lingering presence.

“Was,” Lewis answered indifferently.

“Don’t let me stop you,” Liz added wishing to have some privacy with her newly found friend.

“Liz you’re a bitch.” Lewis said in a low whisper, coming more as a sound of disproval towards the comic than a statement of displeasure towards Liz.

“Don’t you like that one Lewis?” Liz asked sarcastically as he threw the comic back to the pile. It missed and toppled part of the stack to the floor, giving him enough distraction to evade her question while defusing his anger. He grunted and moved away, then without further he left the room and the toppled comics.

“What’s wrong with him?” Ian asked.

“Who knows?” Liz answered; “and yes for the following Saturday,” she concluded.

Alone in his room and with the door shut against the world, Lewis remained in sullen mood with jealously building while disregarding his need to contain his feelings towards Ian.

“How dare she!” he barked from the singleness of his bed towards the flaking cream paint on the ceiling.

“The bitch!” he added with potency, as once again the immanent exodus of friendship devour his passion and like many before, Ian’s amity was dissolving. His throat choked as he attempted to control his self pity.

“Are you in there Lewis?” It was Ian, followed by a faint knocking upon the thick panelling of the closed door. Lewis quickly disassembled his depression and opened a magazine he had discarded earlier. “Sure come in.” He called towards the now opening door.

“What’s up?” Ian asked.

“Nothing – Just Liz, she sometimes gives me the shits!” Lewis said with a laugh to camouflage his annoyance.

“Want to do something?” Ian suggested without acknowledging his friends complaint.

“Like what?”

“I dunno’ maybe go down to the Tip-top café and look-see if there are any chicks around.”

“I thought you were going somewhere with Liz.”

“Na not to day she’s busy.”

“Oh.”

“What’s wrong Lewis, don’t you like me talking to your cousin.” Ian asked.

“Not my business mate, alright let’s get going.”

John Ashley thought the knock to his front door appeared somewhat timid as he transcended the short passage to answer. He knew it would not be Ian once again forgetting his key, as he was away for the weekend. Nor could it be work as he had just completed conversation with his manager at the station. He hoped it wasn’t Fay Robbins from number sixteen again complaining because he squirted her cat with the garden hose for spraying piss across his doormat.

Ashley answered the door and was surprised to see Lewis, his head lowered while displaying the attitude of a stray dog.

“Hello Herbie!” Ashley called everyone Herbie, “Ian’s away for the weekend,” he declared to the stray on his door step.

“I know but I was in the area so I thought I would give you a visit.”

“Come in,” Ashley invited, leading Lewis to the lounge room offering him the couch. “Want a beer?” he asked and without receiving an answer opened a gold-top brew, he handed it to Lewis, who accepted the beverage without hesitation.

“Tar, got a glass?”

“I do.”

“Beer tastes better out of a glass.”

Ashley passed Lewis a glass, this time it had a row of frogs fornicating etched around its parameter. Ashley smiled as Lewis realised the design.

“They are frogs.” Lewis admitted.

“They are.”

“There fucking,” Lewis laughed, “where did you get it, definitely not from this town.”

“Sydney.”

With his many visits to Ian, Lewis had become more relaxed in Ashley’s company, becoming accustomed to his strange disposition, even growing to like the ‘old poof’, as they often referred to him behind his back. During visits Lewis remained coy towards the man’s verbal advances but there had never been any physical threat so his guard was lowered. Sometimes Lewis wondered if Ashley had taken advantage of Ian, assuring this could not be so. Ian was much too attracted to girls to be swayed by Ashley. As for Lewis he also liked girls. Even so he seldom fantasised about sex with girls, while tending to become unhealthily close to his male friends.

Bonding that is what he called it. It had to be, the media declared it so and women often stated that their husbands, or boyfriends, were out bonding with their mates. So be it, problem solved and Lewis cold place that emotion in the proven file and moved on to the next in his unsolved pile.

Another practice of the lad was incessantly psychoanalysing his habits and reaching the wrong resolve. So it mattered not if he added just one more incorrect resolution to the ever increasing self profile but no matter how hard he tried, what words he used, his sexuality remained a hidden curse.

“Herbie, why didn’t you go with Ian?” Ashley asked and handed Lewis a second beer. Lewis remained amused with the fornicating frogs.

“I wasn’t invited, besides I had to work Saturday morning.” The beverage was cold and passed down his throat like menthol, cooling the passage from mouth to gut.

After the second Lewis found he was becoming freer with his conversation while the third beverage took his head for a gentle spin. The fourth found the sensibility portion of his brain had left for the afternoon and the, I feel good – who cares – became apparent taking him for its joy-ride.

“Herbie how would you like to see a film?” Ashley suggested and without waiting for an answer heaved his portly frame from the couch, pulling down a silver screen attached to the far wall.

“What sort of film?” Lewis asked curiously, knowing Ashley was heavily into musicals and dance. As for Lewis he didn’t appreciate artistic flair of any kind, being but one more reason to forgo his bent towards painting. Westerns and action were his un-relented ken without exception and if there were Romans putting the masses to the sword, even better.

“You’ll see,” Ashley answered, his tone melodically pitched as he placed a reel of film on an ancient projector that held pride of place upon a stand behind the couch. The silver screen burst into brightness, while the sound of whirring and clicking filled the room as the film wound its way through the apparatus. Soon numbers and letters danced on the silver screen while Ashley downed the Holland blinds, sending the room into near darkness. Lewis remained disinterested expecting some musical or art driven entertainment but for the sake of amity he would sit it out.

Within seconds a set of naked breasts devoured the screen and as quickly were gone, to be replaced by the full female apparatus in living colour, if not slightly blurred but up close and most personal.

Lewis became captivated, he had never before seen pornography, or so much of the female anatomy at the same time. He had chanced to see a breast on its own and once both but never the entire naked body in living colour, even one as gross as was displayed upon the screen before him.

“I had this one sent out from Sweden,” Ashley stated from his advantage behind Lewis and the couch. Lewis didn’t answer as he was much too involved with the image before him, as she giggled while rubbing herself into pleasure. With the next scene as the celluloid flickered, jumped its sprockets and returned to progress came the figure of a man, his dick dangled for an instant then with the help of a well placed mouth hardened to the challenge.

Lewis’ mouth fell open and his eyes widened to take in the full image and with out realising, his gaze became fixed on the male figure almost forgetting the woman existed.

“What do you think of that Herbie?” Ashley chuckled, his voice close to Lewis’ ear while leaning upon the back of the couch to check his prey’s reaction. Again Lewis didn’t answer. He could not there was a dryness in his throat that grew with each second of film.

Ashley didn’t repeat his question as steady movement beneath the thin material of Lewis’ shorts spoke more that words could. Lewis realising he was becoming excited strategically placed his hands in his lap to cover his embarrassment but alas the weight of his hands had an adverse effect and it was now he wished he were wearing underpants or at least loose fitting jeans and not flimsy shorts, the weight of his hands forced his dick to travel outwards until its head was protruding past the extent of his shorts. He was exposed.

With the film clicking its way frame by erotic frame, Ashley silently moved to the couch inside Lewis’ personal zone, his knee slightly grazing that of Lewis. Lewis felt the contact and as receiving an electrical shock he jumped, causing the full length of his dick to escape from his shorts, to stand to proud attention from his crotch then like a bird drawn to the movement of an earth worm Ashley was upon it.

“You’ve a nice big dick there Lewis; I bet all the girls love it?” Ashley chuckled.

“Hey cut that out!” Lewis protested, attempting to escape sideways but was halted by the bolster of the couch. Ashley wasn’t listening and without invitation he lowered his head towards the lad’s lap and quickly the exposed appendage disappeared down the eager throat of the man. Lewis issued a weak protest but didn’t move. Instead he folded his arms while continuing to watch the flicking naked forms before him.

‘Had Ashley done this with Ian?’ he thought and became jealous. He imagined Ian being in his position, with himself in that of Ashley, ‘No Ian isn’t a poof!’ he disclaimed silently between short erratic breaths. – ‘Nor am I,’ he concluded and attempted to push Ashley from his prize but it was too late and with a wave of ecstasy he was spent, almost before he had time to savour the experience.

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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