Sydney/Taree Australia
Part 17

By the time I'd returned to B's office, he was formatting the story he'd just written, and getting it ready to post on his site. I watched him as I replaced all the pens and pencils in the jar, then returned it to its normal place on his desk.

"Where do you get all your ideas from?"

"You."

"Apart from me."

"Your friends, Cody and his friends. Sometimes I use stuff that happened to me when I was a teen... or should have happened if I'd been like you."

"But sometimes you write stuff about me that I haven't even done yet!"

"I know you well, Daniel," he chuckled. "I know you very well."

"Better than I know myself?"

"Probably... but not always. There! The site's ready to be updated. Then I'll cook dinner."

"Do you think Bobby will call?"

"You were the one who asked him, not me. But don't be surprised if he doesn't. He hardly knows you."

"He was telling me about the mission where he lives, and some of the young guys there who get into trouble. I invited him to come visit me here at your house, and meet you, but he said he wouldn't feel comfortable in a white dude's house. And even if he did come here, the neighbors might freak."

"We're talking about two very different cultures here, Daniel. We've imposed ours on them, and forced them into submission. Now we're trying to make amends by returning some of the traditional Aboriginal and sacred lands to the rightful owners."

"Like the mission?"

"For forty or fifty thousand years, Aborigines were free to wander wherever they chose. There's nothing traditional about living at a mission. But where else can they go? Land that's not owned by the government is privately owned."

"But they're better off now 'cause they live in houses and stuff. And they've got cars and TV and all that other shit. They don't have to hunt for food anymore."

"The Aborigines can't go back to their old way of life just as we can't go back to ours. It's far too late for that, Daniel. But can you imagine if the shoe had been on the other foot? Can you imagine if people like you and me had been here first, and had been overrun by their culture? Forced to live like them? Moved out of our homes, had our land confiscated, and made to live a nomadic life as food gatherers and hunters? How would we have felt about that?"

"Totally pissed off! Big time! But if it hadn't been the British who settled here, it would have been some other country, like France or Spain or whoever."

"True. So they they would have been the assholes instead of us being the assholes. What right does any culture have of imposing itself on another? Or, for that matter, any individual imposing his ideas on another person? It's the bully mentality. Anyway, all that is hypothetical, mate. What's done is done. We can't turn back the clock. But we can try to see the situation from an Aboriginal point of view, and treat them fairly. By the same token, they have to realize that they're stuck with us - people like me who were born here - and that the only way we can resolve this issue is to work together as Australians for the good of the whole country. And that includes rehabilitating the Aboriginal culture. Those teens you were talking about at the mission - the troublemakers - wouldn't be making trouble if their culture was still intact."

"Bobby's cool."

"He's lucky. Sounds like his parents and elders are doing a fine job of raising him, just as yours are doing a fine job of raising you."

"So Bobby pisses in his uncle's pencil jar?"

Dinner was awesome! I'd never tasted chicken cacciatore before. Mmmm! So tender and tasty. Wicked! And the little bow tie pasta thingies were totally cool as well. Even Sue gobbled them up, and she wasn't a pasta fan.

It still seemed kinda weird, though, that B and I ate separately from Sue and Lindsay. They ate in the living room, while we ate in B's office.

"They watch boring soaps on TV for one thing, and I can't stand them. I can't believe that those script writers - for want of a better title - actually get paid for that crap! No wonder they use canned laughter on those shows, or music to dramatize a scene. They'd be lost without it. If they relied on words alone, without the benefit of actors and all the other showbiz tricks they use, they'd be outa business. When I was a kid..."

"Oh, jeeeeez," I moaned as I slapped my forehead, "here we go."

"Shuddup and listen. When I was a kid, I was brought up on a diet of radio serials where the screen was, in fact, your imagination. Admittedly, they used actors and sound effects, but you had to use your imagination. You participated. You became part of the show. People don't have to use their imagination anymore. They sit in front of the TV like robots being fed a diet of endless crap."

"It's not all crap."

"True. Anyway, that's why I can't sit with Sue and Lindsay. I prefer news, current affairs, docos, and shows like that. Maybe a good movie once in a while."

"So you're saying that I don't use my imagination?"

"On the contrary," he laughed, and cracked me up as well. "You use it too damn much sometimes! But you're an exception, Daniel. You're curious, adventurous, outrageous, and...." Then B trailed off.

"And?"

"Gorgeous."

"Ah! I knew you were gonna say that!"

The old dude raised his bushy eyebrows again, and tilted his head slightly. "Oh?"

"Yeah... you had that dreamy kinda wussy look in your eye. You get it everytime your mind goes blank, and you forget what you were saying. Am I really that gorgeous? Huh? How come Sue and Lindsay don't think so?"

"They probably do, but they're not used to expressing those kinda thoughts."

"It's getting late," I said as I glanced at my watch. "Looks like Bobby's not gonna call."

"What's he gonna say if he does? That he thinks you're awesome..."

"Which I am."

"Stop interrupting! ...That he thinks you're awesome, and that he wants to blow you or something?"

"That'd be a cool start," I cracked. "Nah, I guess you're right. We hardly know each other. Hey! Maybe I should phone Col and Jeff. I've got their Taree number here somewhere."

I phoned my Aussie buds and chatted about a bunch of stuff for a while. Y'know, like how I was enjoying Taree and shit like that. Then they asked me what I was doing the next day.

"Got no plans."

"Wanna see the sights? We're going surfing tomorrow. We can give you a lift."

"I don't have a board."

"We'll bring a spare. It's got a few dings... doesn't look too flash, but it works OK."

"Uh... I can't ride a board."

"You'll learn," Col laughed, "and with any luck, you'll get home in one piece."

After I'd replaced the phone, B was going on and on about my being careful and shit like that. Jeez! He was worse than my mom for Christ sake!

"Hey, B, I can take care of myself. It'll be cool."

"I worry about you, that's all."

"Worry never did anybody any good, B. It's a waste of time and energy. Worrying doesn't change anything. Anyway, you want me to help you with the dishes?"

"That's Lindsay's job. I shop and cook, he cleans up."

"So what are we gonna do? Watch TV?" I went into the living room, said hi to Lindsay and Sue who were both glued to the tube, hardly noticing my presence, then I returned to B's room with the TV guide. "Hey, B, there's a doco at 9:30 about whales and dolphins and other neat stuff."

"Ah! Cody's friends. He often tells me about seeing whales and dolphins when he's surfing. He loves them."

"You wanna watch the doco then?"

I took two beers from the fridge, gave one to B, ditched my shorts, grabbed a folding camp chair from the spare room, and told the old dude he could sit on his easy chair.

Every now and then, during the doco, I would point at a whale or a bunch of dolphins on the screen doing their thing, and bust B gawking at my lazy five-inch schlong. "B! You're missing the show!"

"Which show?"

"Watch the damn TV or I'll have to put my shorts on. You can gawk later."

"Bossy bugger."

That was one of the cool things about me and B. I'd boss him around, and he'd boss me around. But only in fun. It was the kinda relationship that most guys my age wouldn't or couldn't have understood. B and I were equals, and treated each other as equals. Sure, we'd poke fun at each other and call each other names, but not out of disrespect. We were just like regular buddies despite the huge difference in our ages. Was that due to something about B? Or something about me? I wasn't sure.

But while I was pondering those questions, I noticed how whales and dolphins didn't seem to have a generation gap. They were all happily playing and swimming together as one big happy group.

"Hey, B? Is there such a thing as teenage dolphins?"

"Those with zits."

"Dammit, B! I'm being serious here! How come they all get along so well?"

"Because noisy stereos and teenage music don't work underwater."

"How come you say such dumb stuff sometimes?"

"Whales are whales and dolphins are dolphins. They don't live in upper or lower class neighborhoods, they don't drive fancy cars, they don't wear the latest fashions, they're not climbing over each other to reach the top of the corporate ladder. In other words, they don't have the same problems we do, and that's why they all get along. Everybody's equal."

"So why can't we be like that?"

"Good question."

"You and I are."

"You and I don't compete. We're complementary, like cheese and tomato."

"Old cheese," I grinned, then ducked before B's hand could clip my ear. "Speaking of cheese and tomato, I'll make us a snack before we hit the hay. You got any crackers?"

"I am crackers."

After the doco had finished, I whizzed into the kitchen, found the crackers, which were called Sao, slapped a bit of cheese, tomato, pickled onion, and gherkin on them, put them on a plate, and returned to B's office.

"There ya go," I announced as I moved his keyboard to one side, and placed the plate of crackers on his comp desk. "I made two each. How come Saos are so big?"

"I don't know. They used to be made by the Salvation Army during the war years. That's where the SA comes from, but I can't remember what the O stands for. Then a company called Arnotts took over."

I waited 'til B's teeth were just about to bite into the cracker, when I said, "Tell me if you can taste my cum."

The only things that moved on B's face, as it became paler by the second, were his eyes as they studied mine. The rest of him remained motionless. After a few moments, his mouth moved. "Your what?"

"Yeah, well I figured I'd kinda pep them up a bit," I shrugged, "so I blew on them. You can't see my juice, though. Sorta became lost in the pickles and cheese."

"You can't be serious!"

"I wanted to do something special."

B took a while to study the cracker, turning it this way and that so that it would catch the light. "I don't believe you, Daniel. You're just teasing me again. Correct?"

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