Published: 5 May 2025

With the meal over and a background of soft music, Neil appears to be deep in contemplation. Then as the track changes to a more upbeat tempo he takes a deep breath and stretches. “Well he says.”

“Well,” Kevin repeats.

“It’s getting late; I suppose I should be making tracks. Would you like me to help with the dishes before I go?”

“The dishwasher will do that.”

“I have to be up by ten, as I have an eleven thirty lecture.”

“Up early Neil?” Kevin comically questions.

“For me that is early. Did I say I’m going to take a sabbatical in the New Year?”

“No.”

“I have been offered a twelve month contract as a Jackaroo on a cattle station west of Rockhampton in Queensland.”

“In my days a Jackaroo was a trainee station manager and there wasn’t any mention of a Jillaroo, possibly most believed women didn’t have the strength to manage cattle and stockmen.”

“But they do and the station I will be working on is owned and run by a woman.”

“I agree, what is the name of the property?”

“Bindii Downs, I believe it is near the town of Emerald, Is it anywhere near where you were living as a boy?”

“I’m afraid not, it is half a country away but similar I would think.”

“I am much looking forward to the change and made the decision while listening to your life’s story. I only hope some of your telling has rubbed off onto me.”

“Then you have gleaned enough out of me?” Kevin laughs.

“I have more than enjoyed our talks and yes you have been more than helpful.”

“You are welcome and I hope you will keep in contact and let me know how you enjoy station life.”

“I would like that.”

“What does your family think of you taking on station work?”

“Mum thinks I should stick to my uni studies but the old man said, and I quote his words, good it just might make a man out of you, instead of wasting time with your layabout mates at university.”

“That wasn’t very supportive.”

“But it was expected.”

“Often parents don’t understand the damage they do to their kids,” Kevin issues with a soft sight, remembering some of the stories Wayne had shared about his family and his parent’s eventual divorce.

“No damage, it simply rolls off me like raindrops on window glass, although I don’t like having to be closeted with my lifestyle.”

“Could you share it with you mother?”

“Mum is supportive and although she doesn’t say much, I believe even mum has a spark of homophobia. It is best to simply keep it to myself.

“What about your friend Patrick, what did he say about you accepting the offer?”

“I haven’t told him yet. You spoke of Wayne’s parents divorcing, did they know about Wayne?”

“His father knew so did his stepmother and I expect his mother also, they have both passed on now as has my mother,” Kevin gives a gentle laugh, “I suppose that makes us both orphans.”

“Would you consider marrying Wayne?”

“There is a large part of me that doesn’t believe in gay marriage even if I voted for it in the plebiscite.”

“What is your reasoning?”

Kevin wrinkles his brow, “In the most I think you could call it conditioning. For most of my life being gay was considered to be a disease, something to be jeered at or worse, so to actually admit being gay to a straight person was to be avoided, I have never admitted my sexuality to any straight person, so by marriage it would be as if I’m telling the world, hey look at me I’m gay. Something like having personalised vehicle number plates.”

“How so?”

“My theory on personalised number plates is as if to say, look at me I exist.”

“You could secretly marry and no one would even know,” Neil suggests.

Kevin laughs loudly, “I believe Wayne and I are far beyond that by now. What about you Neil, would you marry?”

“If I thought I was with the right person then yes.”

“What about your friend Patrick, would you marry Patrick?”

“We are at uni together although I would say he isn’t the marrying kind.”

“Then what kind would Patrick be?”

“He is doing a veterinary degree and wants to work with animals in Africa.”

“It would be relationship by skype and email.”

“It will have to be skype while I’m in Queensland. So you use skype?” Neil’s tone is somewhat surprising.

“Not everyone at my age is computer illiterate Neil.”

“Sorry nothing meant.”

“Apology accepted; have your parents met Patrick?”

“Not likely, although my younger brother has. He caught us together in the city during last year’s AFL football grand final parade and I had my arm around Patrick’s shoulders.”

“Many mates do that?”

“I think at the time we were being a little more amorous that mates.”

“Did he make comment?”

“He simply gave a smile and said that is one the old man won’t hear about.”

“So your brother knows about you?”

“I’d say so but nothing is spoken. It’s better that way.”

Kevin reaches for a large folio nestled beside him on the coffee table, “I almost forgot,” he admits.

“What is it?”

“Some photographs of when I was a kid back on Dunluce station.”

“Analogue,” Neil laughs towards the size of the folio.

“I have them in the computer and backed up on an external hard drive as well but I like the feel of, as you say analogue they are more real to the moment than something on a computer screen.” Kevin opens the folio to a set of photographs taken on a friend’s farm in Victoria.

“That doesn’t appear to be Queensland and you are much older.”

“True it was snapped near Fumina up in Gippsland when I was in my twenties.”

“And handsome as well.”

“Do you think so?”

“I do – you are now older for sure but after seeing your likeness when you were a young man I could still pick you out in a crowd.”

After a short while sharing the mostly black and white pics, even one rare coloured photograph with the kid Jones on Dunluce, “do you remember the story about playing horses?”

“In the wool bales,” Neil laughs.

“That’s the one and this is a photo of me and Jones.”

“Which one are you?”

“I’m the one on the left.”

Neil laughs, “cute and with your dacks (pants) up around your tits, very fashionable.”

“There wasn’t any need for fashion.”

“How old did you say you were?”

“Five possibly.”

“The other kid appears a couple of year older.”

“He is wearing a scout belt. I often wondered how he got it, as there weren’t any scout groups out that way, although I believe you could send away for one, like the Phantom’s skull ring.”

“Who was the Phantom?”

“Comic book; he was the ghost who Walks.”

“I was never into comics,” Neil admits.

“Anyway you could send away for a Phantom skull ring, it was made of tin metal and one size fitted all as it was opened ringed and clipped around your finger.”

Kevin closes the album; “that is the most of them as few had cameras and film was expensive; sometimes you would have to wait days or longer to have them developed only to find most were blurred or double exposed when you forgot to wind on the film.”

“Not like these days as the ether is congested with photos of breakfast and selfies with silly faces, or your tackle. The future will hold no record as they aren’t saved analogue and we will no longer have the programmes to view them,” Neil remarks while making obvious signs he is ready to depart.

“Would you like a coffee before you leave?”

Neil takes a deep breath and holds it for a moment, “No thank you I’ll give it a miss, if I can’t help you with the dishes I’ll make tracks.” He stands and offers his hand, “I’ll keep in touch; there are a thousand stories in your head I’d like to hear.” Neil collects his carry bag and heads towards the door with Kevin close behind.

“When your thesis is finished I’d like to read it.”

“Certainly although it isn’t due for some time, especially now I’m about to take my sabbatical but when it is done I’ll print off a copy for you,” he laughs, “an analogue copy.”

As Kevin gives farewell at the front door, Smudge the cat return’s through the rear wanting his dinner.

The cat rubs on Kevin’s leg while releasing a soft demand.

“You’re all friendly when you want something.”

“Come on – prawns (shrimps) tonight.”

The cat appears to understand and sits in front of the refrigerator door.

“You are not only a snob but have expensive tastes.”

Kevin feeds Smudge and retires with a beer to the rear sitting room.

It is a quiet night. Sometimes the sound of trams on the main road come as a low rumble or the goods trains on the Frankston line add to the tram’s rumble but to hear the trains the wind would need to be from the east. If the atmosphere is favourable then foghorns from the bay may give a forlorn addition to the mood.

‘I think I would like to travel again.’

‘It isn’t that I can’t afford to.’

‘But where to?’

‘Most of the sites I would love to see are too dangerous these days.’

‘Oh well, it’s a thought anyway.’

Kevin turns on the exterior lighting and spies a small ringtail possum manoeuvring its way towards one of Wayne’s many bonsai trees. The previous season the little buggers defoliated every one of the bonsai trees, so this year Wayne gave strict instructions to cover what was considered the most appetising each night. The lights ignition sends the possum into retreat and can be heard scurrying across the metal roof towards the power line at the front. Soon it would be across the street and into the neighbour’s lemon tree.

Kevin sinks back into a comfortable couch and once the prawn dish is empty, Smudge joins him.

“Happy now?” he asks.

The cat commences with its laundry, firstly on its arse.

“Tasty?” Kevin asks.

The cat ignores him and commences chewing on a paw.

Kevin laughs with a memory of a joke he once heard;

–Two drunks are leaving a bar and spy a large brown dog licking at its balls.

I wish I could go that; says the first drunk.

If you ask him nicely, he may let you; the second responds.

“Umm, I could have licked Neil’s balls,” Kevin whispers into the quiet of the room.

He peers about as if afraid of being overheard but there was only Smudge that continued doing his own licking. Smudge’s tongue picks up a number of hairs and has trouble dislodging them.

“Come here,” Kevin takes control of Smudge’s head and removes the rogue hairs, “Better?”

The cat shakes away Kevin’s touch.

Kevin allows his thoughts to meander. There had been many more memories he could have shared with Neil. Some possible too embarrassing to mention, others didn’t come to mind at the time, such as life’s many hardships. Possibly he didn’t dwell on his lack of luxuries as the youthful Kevin didn’t wish for much and now he could afford luxuries there wasn’t anything he wished for. Besides if he won the lottery what would he do with his winnings? Would he simply bank it and watch the interest grow, or give most of it away. Anyway he couldn’t win a prize as he hadn’t bought a ticket for at least twenty years.

When he and Wayne first met Kevin would buy a lottery ticket weekly, using the same numbers each time. On the very day they moved into the house he won second division, paying the giddy sum of two hundred and nineteen dollars and sixty cents. His numbers were only one away from first prize but that week there were a number of first division winners, proving how common his choice of numbers had been. Even so the small winning was enough to purchase a new gas water heater.

‘Common,’ Kevin thinks.

‘Average.’

‘My entire life was average but I’m still here even without a lottery win.’

For many years after the second prize winning Kevin did take a ticket, eventually giving it away without even a fifth division prize of a few dollars. If I was the only person in a hotel chicken lottery, the chicken would win, he would often declare, while remembering what his grandfather would aspire, that being it isn’t money that is the problem but the lack of it. Then it must be said Kevin’s grandparents did live through many years of hard times coming from Devon England in twenty-three after a long and difficult war, only to find a new country in the midst of a lingering depression but fortunate enough to have employment and a cottage on a market garden.

‘I suppose money does give you a better plot in the cemetery.’

‘Not that you get to enjoy the view.’

‘Home is where a man is prepared to die,’ Kevin recalls the lyrics of a Graeme Connors tune.

“Where am I prepared to die?” Kevin softly declares.

“Mareeba?”

“Dunno.”

“I’ll leave that to chance.”

Kevin laughs.

“I was never good at decision making,” he quietly utters.

Kevin’s lacking wasn’t because of procrastination but in general because he was satisfied with whatever eventuated; besides most in life is outside one’s control.

“As long as he had a big dick,” he chuckles.

‘Was I really that bad?’

‘Was I so hedonistic?’

‘Maybe.’

‘I digress no. I only shared myself and never took advantage, or forced intention on anyone. Everyone became a friend. “Huh,” ‘that was until HIV came along.’

‘Was I lucky not to get the virus?’

‘Possibly it was because both I and Wayne weren’t arse bandits.’

‘What was it Wayne would say? I remember – the arse is an outlet not an intake.’

‘What did we call buggery at the hostel?’

‘I remember it was called bum-jumping.’

‘Yet I don’t think anyone was doing it. Most of what went on could be considered nothing more than three-d porn. Watching each other lap the lizard, pull the pudding; tug the sausage, sometimes a quick and mutual hand-job. Spurry or spoof – that is what we called ejaculation but at that early age I don’t think many were actually releasing body fluids, well not of that kind.’

Kevin gives a secret smile of memory, ‘yes Les Pearce, the handyman from Forest Home called it lapping the lizard and I boldly denied doing so.’

‘What was Les’ answer?’

‘I remember; anyone who does is a dirty bugger and anyone who says they don’t is a bloody liar.’

‘Do you lap the lizard Les? I had asked.’

‘I never did get an answer but then Les was a married man although by statistics even married men do the hand trolley on the occasion.’

Kevin softly chuckles, “I would have lapped Les’ lizard with half a chance, more so John Miller the station cowboy. I was incorrigible but most of it was in my head, nothing much on the canvass.”

‘Well not in those early days but I sure made up time later.’

‘I wonder what life would have been if I grew up in an extended family?’

That wasn’t the first time Kevin had such a thought. He even went as far as an attempt to write a story on what could have been if he remained north and in a family situation. He had called his story the Stay behind Kid but it became just that, a story, his imagination didn’t stretch as far as what-if.

Smudge stretches and jumps down from the couch and is standing near the closed door. He turns towards Kevin and releases a soft demand.

“You know where your cat-flap is.”

Smudge takes a step closer to the door while keeping his glare towards Kevin.

“Okay you win.” Kevin laughs as recently he had read a book, How to Win an Argument with a Cat, the answer being you don’t.

Kevin opens the door and returns to the couch. The cat sits for a moment outside the open door then in true feline spirit changes its mind and returns to the couch.

“So you don’t want to be out?”

“Obviously not, simply waste my energy with the door.”

‘Now where was I?’

‘Wondering what else I could have told Neil for his thesis.’

‘In a way I miss those simple days but could I return to them. In retrospect I didn’t have a difficult life. True in the early years there was little extended family and most of what I called family were kids of equal liking, many at distance from their homes, others from broken or disturbed families. It is no wonder I had difficulty relating to adults in my adolescent years, as seven years at the hostel didn’t lay down a stable social foundation and children don’t make good role models, while those given charge of our developing minds were more concerned with law and order and punishment than developing youthful minds.’

Kevin releases a tutting sound, “Huh punishment.”

‘There was plenty of that, although in the most it was the withdrawal of privileges, if one misbehaved than all were punished and in the early years under the Reverend Mr. Thomas there was the Cat.’

‘I copped it twice in those early years.’

‘The first time was when I was seven and did it sting.’

It was the girl’s turn at the hostel’s tuckshop. The tuckshop was opened nightly in a room adjoining the boy’s study block and as the girls were in a different building they would need to come across for anything they may need in the form of pens or school exercise books. Not forgetting the weekly allowance of a packet of biscuits booked to your parent’s account.

This night there was the usual line of girls waiting for the shop to open, mind you more orderly than when the boys had their turn shouting in unison bags’ (hold) me a position in the line. Kevin had been walking past the line and in true spirit of a young lad he began teasing the girls by lifting their long skirts and laughing. What he expected to find underneath wasn’t part of the game; it was more the teasing and hearing the girls shriek out their disapproval, besides at seven years old anything to do with the female apparatus was only hearsay.

With the game over Kevin soon forgot the folly but someone had reported him to Reverend Thomas the hostel manager. Kevin was soon called to Thomas’ room for interrogation and punishment in that order. Kevin could not recall what was said only how it ended. Thomas brought from a drawer something known to the lads as The Cat which was similar to a large leather paintbrush that instead of bristles had long lengths of leather, fortunately unlike the naval cat from other years it didn’t have additions to its tails. Immediately Kevin knew what was coming and fear gripped as the Reverend took control of his small body spinning him about before lowering his short pants to his ankles. Kevin’s tender behind was now exposed while he protested it was but a game.

“You don’t play games with girls,” Thomas’s tone is heavy and unforgiving as the leather throngs descended across the lad’s flesh, the ends finding the gap between his buttocks and undeveloped scrotum causing it to burn and shrink away from the attack. Kevin felt the sting on his member and the fire across his buttocks.

First lash with the Reverend is breathing heavily, he even sounded excited while spraying spittle with each laboured breath.

Second lash and Kevin is crying with pain.

Third lash and Kevin’s tender buttocks are now welted and bleeding.

Was there further strokes, possibly but time has taken away the most of it but not the unjust punishment.

It should be said it didn’t cure the lad from teasing girls.

Nor did it excite him to discover more about girl’s bits, nor did the thrashing scar him physically or mentally. When it came to trauma Kevin’s character was akin to a stone skipped across the flat surface of a pond. At each kiss to the water there was grief but soon the stone would sink and the ripples of stress lessen and dissipate.

The landline chirps bringing Kevin into the present.

Kevin is slow in answering.

“Hello.”

“Tomorrow?”

“How is Peter?”

“What flight?”

“Would you like me to pick you up at the airport?”

“I’ll have dinner ready for you.”

“Okay, you take a taxi and have something at the airport.”

“Neil has gone but said he would like to meet you.”

“Alright, I’ll arrange a dinner date with him.”

“Righto I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Kevin replaces the hand piece.

He deeply sighs and speaks to the cat, “Well Smudge me’ boy I guess that’s the end of our little holiday.”

THE END

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

6,639 views