Sydney/Taree Australia
Part 20

Just before we left Taree, I cracked a joke about Old Bar being named after B. Yeah, right. I didn't duck quickly enough, and copped a stinging clip over the ear. "Be careful!" the old dude shouted as the Holden Ute, with its cargo of surfboads stacked in the rear tray, reversed outa the drive.

"How come old guys worry all the time?" I asked the blonde-haired hunk sitting behind the wheel as he headed for the bridge that crossed the Manning River.

"Gives 'em wrinkles," he smiled, "and old guys don't look right without wrinkles."

It was a good thing that both side windows were down, letting a rush of fresh air into the cabin, 'cause I was squeezed in between Col and Jeff, and it was a fucking hot day... in more ways than one. Woohoo!

After we'd passed the second roundabout, on the way to Old Bar, I asked Col where Purfleet was. "I met an Aboriginal guy who lives there."

"We just passed it. Not much to see. It's a mission."

"I was thinking about going there."

"Don't."

"Why not?"

"Hey, mate, even the fucking taxi drivers won't go there. Too many robberies. If you catch a taxi to Purfleet, the driver parks outside the mission. That's as far as he'll go."

"Can't be that bad."

"You'd better believe it, mate. Some of those young guys are bad. Real bad. A couple of Swiss tourists stopped there a few weeks back to ask directions. They were robbed right there on the spot. Some of those young abos from the mission are assholes."

"Abos?"

"Short for Aborigines. It's not politically correct to call 'em abos. But it's OK to call me an Aussie or a kangaroo a roo or a politician a pollie or whatever. Doesn't make sense. The whole political correctness thing has gone too fucking far. Y'know what I'm saying? All this lamo crap about salesperson instead of salesman or spokesperson instead of spokesman. And then you've got the media using polite expressions like 'erectile dysfunction', which basically means a bloke can't get a fucking hardon. And nobody's short anymore. They're height challenged. Nobody's blind anymore. They're visually impaired. You've seen graffiti sprayed on walls. When was the last time you saw 'sexual intercourse' sprayed on a wall instead of 'fuck'?"

"Jeez," Jeff added, "can you imagine somebody telling you to urine off? Or to get intercoursed? Or to stick it up your sphincter?"

We all cracked up something serious for a few mintues, then I kinda got serious again. "I guess it's like calling someone a faggot. Faggot is politically incorrect too."

"So what?" Col responded. "Are six letters gonna kill someone? Faggot schmaggot. Fags call themselves fags. What's the biggie? Bin Laden thinks I'm an infidel. So what am I supposed to do? Burst into fucking tears 'cause of what that fuckwit thinks?"

"Sticks and stones," Jeff laughed as he interrupted the convo, "will break my bones, but names will never hurt me."

"Are you a faggot," I asked.

"I'm whatever you think I am, Daniel." Then the young, dark-haired dude grinned at me. "What would you call me?"

"An awesome faggot."

"Woohoo! Coolio! That'll do."

Most of the countryside between Taree and Old Bar was forest, with an occasional farm dotted here and there. Some of the timber homesteads looked like they'd been standing on their stone foundations for a hundred years or more. Others had been modernized. When we arrived at the township - about a 15 minute drive from B's house - it was bigger than I'd expected. About 3,000 people according to Col. And it had a real lazy, carefree atmos about it. Most of the townsfolk were dressed in light clothing and casual footwear. Some didn't bother with shoes or sandals at all. And one young guy I saw riding a bicycle was wearing nothing but shorts, and showing a bit of ass crack. My kinda dude.

"It's getting expensive now, though, at least by Taree standards. Lots of new houses being built. Old Bar is popular with retirees, and there's a lotta young families who wanna raise their kids away from city crap."

"I live in Tampa! That's a city!"

"That explains everything." Col's smartass remark caused us all to crack up again 'til the cabin of the Ute was reverberating with teenage laughter as it negotiated the town's streets.

Old Bar Road formed a U shape as it neared the beach. There was a large public grassed area, which led to the surf. To our left was a tourist trailer park, and to our right was the surf lifesaving club. Between the two was a fast-food restaurant with outdoor tables and seats. "How come you guys call them lifesavers instead of lifeguards?"

"'Cause that's what they do."

In the center of the grassed area was a skateboard ramp, where some young kids were practicing their skills. Yeah, this was one neat little town, I thought, far, far away from the problems of the world.

To get to the beach, we had to carry our boards along a narrow sandy walkway, which twisted this way and that. Col explained that it was designed to prevent people from trampling the native grasses and bush, and to preserve the natural environment. "We don't want this to become another Bondi or a Gold Coast."

One unusual thing I noticed was a lotta stones on the beach. "River stones," Col explained. "They get washed down by the Manning River." They were all kinds of cool colors... reds, browns, greens, whites, blue/grays... and being wetted by the wash of the spent waves scampering up the beach, they were shiny and beautiful. I collected a couple and studied them up close.

"Are they precious?"

"Depends on your point of view. What do you think?"

"I think they're totally wicked!"

This particular part of the beach was littered with river stones, but further south I could see miles of white sandy beach. It seemed to go forever! And why wouldn't it? I was standing on the east coast of the biggest island in the world! I couldn't see very far north, though. There was a headland blocking the view. But up there to the north were places like Port Macquarie and Coffs Harbor.

"How come you guys put a 'u' in harbor?"

"We didn't put it in. You guys took it out."

"And how come you pronounce it 'haah-ba'?"

"How come you guys don't?"

"Where do Aussies get their weird sense of humor from? And I've noticed a 'u' in humor as well."

"Think about it, mate. We're upside down, and we've got short-armed 'roos that bounce around on springs. Welcome to the down-under land of weirdness."

We stopped just short of the wash while Col and Jeff checked out the waves. The wind was blowing onshore, according to them, which meant the waves had no shape. But the guys had shape. Woohoo! I couldn't help noticing their bods - broad shoulders and muscular backs, narrowing to slim hips, cute buns, and strong legs. Mmmm! Mmmm!

"Surf's crappy," Col announced, "but we can teach you paddling technique. Can't ride waves if you can't paddle out to the back line, mate."

About an hour later, I was totally stuffed. My arms felt like lead weights, and my legs could hardly move me through the swirling wash back to the beach. I dropped the board on the sand, then collapsed on my ass. "Fucking hell! You call this fun? It's fucking torture!"

"No pain, no gain," Col laughed as he towered above me, looking like a blonde god with his wet, golden chest heaving as he breathed. "Anyway, you did OK for an amateur."

"Ammacha? What's an ammacha?"

"Don't be a pain in the ass with the pronunciation thingy, Daniel. Speaking of a pain in the ass, you've got an awesome butt, dude. You ever been fucked?"

"Once or twice."

"On what day was that?" he cracked, and sent the corners of his sexy mouth rushing toward his small ears, while his brilliant white teeth gleamed in the sunlight.

"OK... yeah..." I admitted as my cheeks turned crimson. "I've done it a few... uh... plenty of times with my buds."

"You wanna make it one more?"

The tall blonde had to be kidding. Right? "You mean like here? On the beach?"

Col put his hand inside his boardies and played with his boner, which was tenting his shorts big time. Then I noticed Jeff doing the same thing. Hello? Was I gonna be raped? Did I have a choice here? "Hey, guys, why don't we cool it. Maybe some other time."

But Col wasn't in the mood to take no for an answer, so he dropped his boardies and let his huge throbber stab the warm sea air. The damn thing was thick and hard, and had a huge swollen cut knob at the head. "You'll be missing out on this, Daniel," he smiled as he stroked its awesome length. And I had to admit that it was one totally cool looking dick. Within a few seconds, I was also looking at Jeff stroking his own throbber. Hmmm, pretty tempting. But I still wasn't sure whether these guys just wanted to get their rocks off, or whether they genuinely liked me. Being fucked was cool, but being fucked on my own terms was the way it had to be. Either that or nothing.

"Listen up, guys," I said as I got to my feet, "just 'cause I've fooled around a whole bunch with my buds doesn't mean I'm some kinda fucking whore. OK? If you wanna fuck me, cool, but you've gotta earn it, and you haven't earned it yet."

"Hey, man, no need to get your knickers in a fucking knot. So what do you want us to do? Say please?"

"Yeah. Please would be cool."

"OK, can we please fuck you?"

For maybe ten or fifteen seconds, we stared bug-eyed at one another, not really believing what was happening. Then we all collapsed onto the sand, laughing our tits off, and holding our sore bellies.

"You're probably right," Col said at last, still sitting on the sand, with tears of laughter in his eyes. "We probably should get to know each other better. But you're not gonna be here long, Daniel. A week or so? Besides that, you're a hottie. Do you have the slightest fucking idea how horny you look?"

"What about you and Jeff? You guys aren't exactly ugly y'know."

"So what's the prob?"

"I dunno. I guess it's cause I'm usually the one who gets things happening. It's kinda weird when other dudes take the lead. The only time that happened was in Cape Town with Kyle, and again when he visited Florida with his buddy Steve. Kyle is one awesome dude. Fucking hell, you'd better believe it. He's got wicked power, and I was totally fucking paranoid that he'd think I was a wuss or something."

"Were you?"

"He made me go like jelly... y'know... like I wanted to be his slave or whatever. He'd look at me with those awesome hazel eyes of his and totally fucking melt me. So I had to fight back... I had to prove that I was what he thought I was..." Then I trailed off to gaze at the waves, and thought of Kyle with his stick, riding those damn walls of rushing water like he was their master.

"Which was?"

"The man." I paused a moment to draw a circle in the wet sand with my finger. "I'm his hero, and heroes don't fucking faint and get carried off in some dude's arms like some shrieking damsel being harassed by a dragon. Kyle wants me to be his hero, even though he's my hero. But it's not easy being a hero when the dude who puts you on a pedestal is a hero himself."

"This Kyle dude must be a pretty awesome guy."

"He is. He rocks big time."

"Sounds like you love him."

"Yeah... but I love a lotta guys. Hey, I even love B for fuck sake! but not in the same way. Kyle's like that. He loves a stack of people. He's got tons of room in his heart for everybody. His heart is as big as Table Mountain. And you know something? He's like you guys... he wanted to fuck me. But he waited. He didn't hassle me. He wanted me to know that it would be something special. And it was. I'll never forget it. Never, never, never."

"I'm sorry, Daniel."

"Me, too," Jeff agreed.

Thanks, Code. I couldn't have finished this chapter without your help. MrB

Copyright © 2001 All rights reserved. mrbstories