Published: 23 Dec 2024

Kevin’s hesitance towards the question on his first gay experience makes Neil retreat, “possibly you aren’t ready to be that intimate. Neil suggests while his finger hovers above the play button on his tape recorder.

“It is okay go ahead,” Kevin agrees.

“Are you sure?”

Kevin nods as Neil presses play, “that isn’t my reason for hesitating. I was more contemplating if my first experience could be considered gay and in retrospect I would say not.”

“Would you like me to pause the recording?”

“No it doesn’t matter, although what I am about to disclose may be considered abhorrent, as my first experience was with a seven year old boy.”

“What!”

“You appear shocked and under different circumstances I would expect anyone to be appalled, I would also feel that way but I was also six at the time and as I said it couldn’t really be considered a gay experience, not even a sexual experience.”

“That was young, I wouldn’t think at six there would be any sexual attraction, or ability to physically respond.”

“We were simply playing a game. A week earlier my mare Roany had foaled and we decided to play at being horses.”

“You say we.”

“Yes me and a kid who I can only recall as Jones from a neighbouring property. He came over and he suggested the game.”

“What was the game called?”

“Jones called it let’s play horses.”

“I don’t know that one,” Neil admits.

“I don’t think anyone has heard of such a game, well not the way we played at it.”

It is towards the end of the shearing season and the Dunluce Station woolshed is piled high with bales of wool all tagged and ready from transporting. It is a clear sunny day without a single white tuff on the broad horizon and Kevin is visiting his horse Roany with her new foal. He wished to ride Roany but the Manager Mr. Lewis suggested too give her rest after the birth.

A young rider approaches the property gate, it is the kid Jones from Lucy Downs, coming over to view Roany’s new foal. On approach Jones dismounts his docile grey mare Fleabitten, apply named as she had pinhead size blue spots across her hide, appearing like the bites of fleas or some other bloodsucking insect.

“Hey!” the kid Jones calls as he uses the fence rails to dismount from Fleabitten’s great height.

“Hey,” Kevin answers and joins the lad at the gate. “What are you up to?”

“I’ve come over to see Roany’s new foal, what colour is it?”

“He is sorta’ bay.”

“What is he called?”

“Kicker.”

“Why Kicker?”

“He kicked me in the belly.”

“You shouldn’t stand behind him.”

The boys advance to the yard holding Roany and her foal; they climb to the top rail and watch as the foal suckles. Kicker’s small fluffy tail is waging about with happiness like a windscreen wiper.

“He’s a real bute,” Jones admits while appearing intrigued with the suckling. “Do you want to play a game?” Jones suggests.

“What game?”

“Let’s play horses.”

The boys had played horses many times in the past by tying a rope around the belly and making the sort of noise a horse would like to make, while taking turns at being the rider or the horse.

Kevin doesn’t answer but appears interested and at Jones’ invitation he follows towards the woolshed.

It is nothing new for Jones to take the initiative and in the past had led Kevin into all kinds of mischief, such as taking a number of fowls to the station’s butcher shop then attempting to behead them with a small axe. Fortunately for the chooks ”(fowls)” they were much to animate for the boys and their commotion soon brought Taffy to investigate.

A second folly was riding their horses across the property dam. As neither boy could swim they held tightly to their saddles while their horses crossed the small distance. That little caper did bring strife because Kevin’s saddle was all but ruined and had to be opened, dried out and restuffed. If not quickly attended to the humidity would have set it to mould in a matter of days.

Once amongst the wool bales and well secreted, Jones again takes the initiative repeating his earlier suggestion to play horses.

Kevin remains unresponsive but his friend’s unrelenting character would always win the day, besides playing or riding horses in any manner was his favourite leisure time.

“You will be Roany and I’ll be Kicker.” Jones removes his shorts and shirt.

“Come on you as well.”

Again Kevin is led and soon both boys are as naked as their day of their birth.

“You are Roany so get down on your elbows and knees.

Kevin obeys without question, then without further, Jones’ head is in the gap between Kevin’s knees and elbows and his lips are suckling. Kevin flinches as he feels the moist lips about his privates but it was a fair game and if nothing else he liked being close to his friend.

After a matter of seconds Jones rises, “now it is your turn to be Kicker.”

As Kevin’s lips drew in the imaginary teat nestled between his friend’s legs the game comes to a loud and sudden conclusion.

“Hey you two, what in hell do you think you are playing at!”

The interruption to their so thought innocent game arrived from the station’s youngest stockman Jim Hayward who had spied the boys entering into the woolshed while he was carrying scraps for the pigs. What concerns the young man being snakes often found the wool bales a good warm place to hide and if bitten the boys would have little to no chance of survival.

“We are playing horses,” Kevin innocently answers as both scurry to dress.

The Kid Jones is less forthcoming and remains quiet.

“Both of you get your clothes on,” Jim then turns on Jones, “as for you kid, get on your horse and I don’t want to see you around here again.”

Jones is gone in an instance as Jim marches Kevin to the kitchen and Ivy his mother.

“What do you think you were playing at boy?” Jim questions during their short journey to the kitchen.

“Nothing we were only playing horses.”

Kevin remained innocent without understanding towards doing wrong and the irony was if not discovered Jones’ little game would be long forgotten, instead Jim had made issue and that issue would remain as curiosity forever.

“Did he tell your mother?” Neil asks.

“Yes and he made quite an issue of it.”

“What did your mother say?”

“Oddly very little only repeating Jim’s warning about snakes and causing damage to the wool bales.”

“What about the other boy?”

“I don’t remember seeing him again but Jones did awaken me to the existence of my little noodle used for peeing, if nothing more than giving me interest in seeing what other boys had.”

“So there were other instances?”

“Not for many years although a mysterious sensation remained deep in the pit of my gut, a feeling there was something else. I didn’t relate it to sex, as I still had no understanding of the act of copulation. Yes I had often seen animals during the act, even the station dogs and the most humorous of all were pigs.”

“Why do you mention pigs?”

“It was their oinking and carrying on and as the boar mounts the sow it is akin to sinking a corkscrew into a cork but as for people, possibly my brain thought people were too suffocated to associate with the act of having intercourse.

Neil laughs; “storks bringing babies.”

“Not at all, from an early age I understood babies came from bellies but riding and horses were more important than the facts of life, therefore Jones and his little game had been put aside. Even so that feeling in the pit of my gut remained and I remember one time while naked and cooling off in a pond that was an overflow of the bore drain close to the house yard, I again had the feeling. Many times since I have attempted to analysis the sensation but without success, now I understand it was probable the beginning of being gay.”

“What is a bore drain?”

“It is a channel bringing water from the artesian bore head for the cattle and sheep. Usually the water is close to boiling as it comes from the ground but cools before reaching the watering troughs. I remember occasionally the drains would silt up and need ploughing, bringing up lots of fish and crayfish.”

“Lobsters?” Neil questions.

“No they are freshwater crayfish, or yabbies if you prefer, same genus I suppose but a different family branch. Crayfish down here, lobsters in America and Europe, although I once heard the difference is in their pincers and claws. When cleaning the channels someone would walk behind the plough and return them back to the drain. The bigger crays would end up with my mother and cooked. I remember the squeal they made as they were tipped live into a large pot of boiling salted water,” Kevin pauses with a smile, “I can almost taste them now.”

“That could be considered a little cruel.”

“It would be so quick they wouldn’t even feel it,” As he speaks Kevin appears to be drifting, “when it comes to what mum had to cook, I have a further story.”

The station not only ran sheep but a small herd of cattle and once bull caves were of age it would be castration time. The sheep were simply banded, so after a few days their dead nuts fell away. With the young bulls it was a quick flick of the wrist with the castration blade and tossed to the dogs for their lunch.

It was nothing new to find young Kevin around the castration without the slightest empathy towards the animal or its stressed bellow as its balls came away, besides soon after the animal was up and about appearing oblivious towards its change of gender.

This day the stockmen seemed to be in fine spirit and as the dogs hadn’t come down for their usual feed, the castrated testicles were dumped aside while Kevin poked at them with a long stick.

“Do you know what they are Kevin?” Mal Larson questions with a cheeky titter, his oversized Akubra hat pulled down so low over his face that only his bristled chin and smile are visible.

Kevin knew what they were but wasn’t forthcoming, he stoped his pocking at the fleshy orbs and listened.

“They are bigger than yours eh kid,” Ray Simmons adds to the banter mixture.

“Bigger than yours Simmo’ Mal offers.

“Keep it nice Mal.”

“Remember there’s a kid present,” another suggests.

The banter continued for a time then another, Barry Saddler, had a bright idea. Collecting a number of severed testicles he placed them on a tin plate and after removing the twigs and leaf matter, he offers them to Kevin, “hey kid take these up to your mother for the stew pot, they will be a change from mutton.”

The suggestion is twofold, firstly to get Kevin away from their work, the second for a little innocent fun to be had at Ivy’s expense.

At the age of five, Kevin was much too naive to understand the humour in Saddler’s offer but he knew enough that if the dogs were given the testicles they wouldn’t be wanted for the stewing pot but he liked Barry often hanging around him during the stockman’s downtime, even spying on him in the shower being fascinated with the thick bush of black hair like the nest of a bird at the man’s crotch, giving wonder if he would someday develop hair in those strange places.

Ivy was busy making the daily bread and sweating over the black monster they called a wood stove. Her hair sprinkled with self rising flour, her face streaked where the flour met with perspiration. She spies Kevin carrying the tin plate, “what have you there love?” she asks.

“Barry sent them up for the stew.”

“Did he?”

“He said they would be a change from mutton.”

Ivy takes the plate and puts it aside, “haven’t I told you not to bother the men when they are working?”

“Sorry, I was only looking, I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Off you go now before Mrs. Lewis sees you in the kitchen, I have made some scones and you can have one when they cool.”

With the dinner gong sounded the men line into the dining room, leaving their battered sweat stained hats to one side they take their usual place at the dinner table.

Barry is the first to speak, “You look right beat Ivy,” he comments.

“Busy times with you all in for the yarding,” Ivy says.

“Shearing time soon,” Mal says diverting from the days work, not wishing to share the nutting of the young bulls with a woman.

It mattered not, Ivy was a worldly woman, as were any living on remote properties.

Once the men are seated Ivy places a large black pot of stew on the table and passed Barry a serving ladle, “seeing it was your suggestion Barry I think it proper that you should do the serving.”

Barry’s face turns pale as the serving spoon hovers over the steaming pot, he peers into the stew, he can see onions, potatoes and carrots he can also see chunks of meat.

Instantly the others realize Barry’s quandary. “You didn’t!” Barry gushes.

“Isn’t that what you wanted, you did tell Kevin they would be a change from mutton and as you know it is my duty to please.”

“Did she actually cook the severed balls?” Neil asks.

“No mum binned them as I left the kitchen and after she had her little fun with the men she told them but it was a cautious meal, as you could never be sure with Ivy if she is telling the truth or not. If I remember correctly the men did linger to check the scrap bucket on their way out.”

“You mentioned spying on one of the men while he was showering. Did he know you were watching him?”

“I believe he did.”

“Can you remember what you felt at the time?”

“I would say if anything it would have been intrigue as he was quite bushy down there and on his chest. I came to the conclusion because he smoked and loved his beer that is what made him hairy,” Kevin releases an awkward chortle, “although I did disgrace myself.”

“How did you do that?”

“While Barry was drying his toes, I reached from behind and touched his dick with an outstretched finger.”

“What did Barry do?”

“I’ve never seen a man jump so quickly. He wrapped the towel about his waist then laughed saying Kevin you shouldn’t do that, it isn’t proper.”

“Like Jim the young stockman, did Barry tell your mother?”

“I don’t think so as mum never mentioned anything but not long after Barry found work with the railways and moved into Hughenden. I heard of him some years later and he had never married.”

“Do you think he may have been gay?”

“There is an old adage; statistics say that one out of three men is that way inclined.”

“And?”

Kevin laughs; “if true and you have two mates and they are straight, then you’re it.”

“Witty but that didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m sorry but I couldn’t help myself. Most stockmen kept their thoughts well guarded, if you went by their actions you could be forgiven to think many had tendency but I can’t remember anything that would suggest otherwise, although by the law of averages there must have been a few,” Kevin grins, “it wasn’t all Brokeback Mountain you know.”

“I was a little young when Brokeback hit the big screen but I sneaked a peek some years later when a cousin borrowed the video and left it about while I was staying over for the Christmas Holidays.”

“Was he a gay cousin Neil?’

“No a girl cousin who had the hots for Heath Ledger.”

“Who didn’t fancy Heath?”

“My old man is from Western Australia and knew Heath’s family although after Brokeback he denied any knowledge and if Heath’s name was ever mentioned he would loudly exclaim – that poofter.”

“Do you read much?” Kevin asked.

“These days I mostly read text books.”

“I have just finished reading a book titled ”The Part” that is about an actor who plays a gay part and is disowned by his father. I could lend it if you like.”

“I’d love to Kevin but I have all my reading time cut out for the next two years, so it is best I give it a miss. You said you are in a relationship Kevin, is Wayne your first love?”

“I once read with the gay male love is an optional extra, often like a light switch, easy to turn on, as easy to turn off. I was only asking myself that very question the other day and I came up with a divided answer. I would say I have been in love on four different occasions and infatuated at least three times, although except for two accounts I never did anything about it.”

“Is Wayne one of your four?”

“I would say number three of the four but the longest.”

“Can you relate the first?”

“Vividly.”

“What age were you then?”

“I was sixteen and he was seventeen. Firstly would you like a coffee top up?”

“Yes that would be nice.”

Kevin flicks the power switch. He appears deep in thought, “love,” he quietly says, “are you in love Neil?”

“With my uni course I don’t have time for love,” Neil laughs, “love making yes; I love – love making.”

“Therefore you have never been in love?”

“Not as yet but there’s plenty of time.”

“What about with your current fellow?” Kevin asks.

“Who Patrick?”

“Is that his name?”

“Most call him Paddy.”

“Is he Irish?”

“No he is from New Zealand.”

Kevin calls back from the boiling jug, “what most do you like about Patrick?”

Neil laughs.

“Come on fair is fair.”

“He’s well endowed, but I would rather hear your experience.”

“There is a word for that,” Kevin says.

“What is it?”

“Size queen.”

“Not really although I must agree it does add to the entertainment.”

The kettle boils, “what else do you like about Patrick?”

“He is discrete not like some who can’t stop flapping their arms about and speaking anything that comes to mind.”

“I have often wondered.”

“Wondered about what?” Neil asks.

“The voice some gay men have; where does it come from?”

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

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