Desert Country

By Wayne Mansfield

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ISBN 9781611529807

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and

incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination

and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to

actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

* * * *

Desert Country

By Wayne Mansfield

Chapter 1: Arrival

Brandon Lewis peered out of the window of the Cessna

182S at the vast expanse of red earth below, but only for a few

seconds. He truly suspected his iron concentration was all that

was keeping the small aircraft in the sky. If he took his eyes off

the way ahead, in all likelihood the tiny plane would plunge from

the sky like a shot duck and that would be the end of both him

and the pilot.

“First time?” asked Pete, the tanned and sun-withered pilot.

Brandon smiled nervously, eyes riveted on the way

ahead. “Can you tell?”

“Only from the way ya fingers are leavin’ indents in the

dash,” he said before chuckling.

The plane hit a small patch of turbulence.

“Oh my…shit!” said Brandon, gasping.

The pilot reached over and slapped him on the shoulder.

“You’ll be right. A wind pocket. Get a couple more before we land.”

Brandon wished Pete would just put his hand back on the

controls of the plane—where it belonged.

“So you’re a chalkie, are ya?”

“A what?”

“A chalkie. A teacher.”

Brandon nodded. “Yeah. It’s my first year out.”

He could see Pete nodding from the corner of his eye.

“They always send you young’uns up here. No one else’ll

come.”

Brandon glanced out of the window and mumbled, “I don’t

blame them.”

They hit a second patch of turbulence and the plane

bobbed up and down, the nose of the aircraft dipping slightly

before levelling off again. Brandon thought he’d throw up. His

concentration was now split between keeping the plane in the air

by sheer willpower and stopping himself from painting the interior

with his breakfast.

When his stomach had finally settled Brandon chanced

another look out of the window and realised how beautiful the

desert was. It stretched as far as the eye could see, nothing but

bright red earth punctuated by round clumps of pale green.

“What are all those things down there?” he asked.

“Spinifex grass.”

Brandon nodded. He’d seen it perfectly represented in

Aboriginal paintings as dots, for that’s exactly what they looked like.

They flew over a dry creek bed lined on both sides by

ghost gums, a type of eucalypt with beautiful, pale grey trunks

and gracefully curving branches of dark green leaves. There was

not an animal in sight, due, no doubt, to the intense heat, which

Brandon could feel radiating through the windows despite the air

conditioning.

An hour after flying out of Newman, a major mining town

in the north of Western Australia, Brandon laid eyes on the first

signs of civilisation he’d seen since they’d been flying. It was a

small cluster of buildings, perhaps a dozen, dissected by a single

road that curved through them. Three smaller roads, barely

tracks in the desert sand, branched off them.

“Is that what they call a station?” Brandon asked, speaking

of the vast properties in this part of the country held by graziers.

Pete laughed. “Nah, mate. That’s Gunnanilla. That’s

where we’re headed.”

Brandon felt his heart wither and die. That’s Gunnanilla?

That’s where I'll be spending the next ten months?

Perhaps the plane plummeting from the sky wouldn’t have

been such a bad thing after all.

Chapter 2: The Boss

Brandon climbed out of the plane.

The intense heat hit him like a slap in the face. It almost

took his breath away. Further along the baked earth of the crude

runway a heat haze was shimmering.

“You must be Brandon.”

The man moving towards him looked to be in his late

thirties. He was reasonably attractive, apart from a slight

overbite, and had dark hair, clipped at the sides and much longer

on top so his fringe flopped down over one corner of his

forehead. He was wearing shorts and a short-sleeved, collared

business shirt. His deeply tanned arms and legs were hairy.

“Yes,” replied Brandon.

“Mark Petersen.”

Brandon smiled as he wiped away the sweat that had

already formed on his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Pleased to meet you, Mark. It sure is hot out here.”

Mark laughed. “You’d better get used to it.”

Brandon smiled weakly.

Meanwhile, Pete had unloaded Brandon’s cases, one of

which contained clothes and the other a jumbled collection of

toiletries, shoes, books and stationery.

Mark took both cases and headed towards a large, white

four-wheel drive that was parked at the entrance to the runway.

“Have fun,” said Pete as he disappeared around the other

side of his plane.

Brandon couldn’t tell whether the pilot was trying to be

funny or not.

“See you later,” he called back. “And thanks.”

Brandon turned, wiped his forehead again and trudged

down the clay track to the car.

“You’re a bit different to what we were expecting,” said

Mark as he turned the key in the ignition.

Brandon bristled. What the hell does that mean? Sure, he

wasn’t as athletically built as Mark. In fact, he was downright

skinny. He was as shapeless as a ruler. He wore his hair gelled

into place (a slight quiff at the front), and kept his sideburns

neatly shaped—each tapering to a point. He was wearing the

latest 80's fashion (baggy trousers and a primitive print collared

shirt), but then again so was everyone else he knew in the city.

Unable to think of an appropriate response, he remained

silent.

Such was the size of Gunnanilla, it only took four minutes

for them to arrive at what was clearly the school.

“We’ve got the pre-primary and Years One to Three over

there in that demountable,” Mark explained, pointing with his

whole hand. “That building across the quadrangle is where the

laundry and toilets are, but you can use the one in our house

because it bloody stinks in there. The Abos are worse than

animals.”

Brandon had gone to school with Aboriginal people, but

they’d been urban Aborigines of mixed blood. Here, on the edge

of the desert, he was going to meet full-blooded Aborigines;

something he’d been looking forward to. It came as something of

a shock to hear them spoken about in such a derogatory way.

“Over here is where we teach the rest of them—Years

Four to Seven and a couple of high school students. Hopeless,

both of them.”

Brandon followed Mark up the three wooden steps to the

main building.

“That’s the office in there.” He pointed to a small annex

before sliding the door to the classroom open.

Immediately every eye was upon Brandon. A sea of dark

faces, punctuated here and there by a brilliant white smile.

“Everybody, this is Mr Lewis, our new teacher. I hope

you’ll all show him what good students you are.”

A tall, thin woman came out of the adjoining office. She

had blue eyes, a long, narrow nose with a small hook in it and

rubicund cheeks. She wore her blonde hair short. Her lips were

thin, but her smile was friendly.

“Hello, Brandon. I’m Trina,” she said.

“Pleased to meet you, Trina.”

As they shook hands, Brandon noticed Trina’s eyes go to

his neatly styled hair, though her smile didn’t waver. He

wondered what she was thinking; whether she agreed with her

husband that he wasn’t ‘what they’d been expecting’.

“So Mr Lewis…” Even after three months practical

experience while at university, it felt strange, so official, to hear

himself addressed in such a formal manner. “…which class

would you like?”

Brandon had already made up his mind he didn’t want to

work in the main building, not under the constant supervision of

the school principal. However, he wanted to make a good

impression. He was, after all, under probation and would be for

the next two years.

“I’ll take whichever one is free,” he replied.

Mark closed his eyes for a second or two. The faintest

crease appeared between his eyebrows. “You can have any of

them. Which one would you feel most comfortable teaching?”

“The junior primary,” Brandon said. “Years One to Three.”

“And the pre-schoolers,” added Trina.

Shit! He’d forgotten about them. “And the pre-schoolers,”

he repeated, hearing a crack in his voice.

“I’ll keep an eye on this lot,” said Mark, addressing his

wife. “You take him over to meet Jenny.”

Jenny, Brandon was informed, was the wife of the local

police officer. In the flesh, she was a solidly built woman with

large hips. She was short in stature and had permed hair, which

gave her a little added height. She came through the door of the

classroom wearing a broad smile, which seemed more genuine

than the smiles he’d got from both Mark and Trina.

“How are you?” she said, shaking his hand with a firm grip.

“Brandon’s opted for my old class,” said Trina.

Jenny nodded, making her curls bounce. “Right,” she

said. “I’ll take him in. Introduce him to the little darlings.”

Brandon caught Trina rolling her eyes and couldn’t decide

whether he’d done a good thing in taking the principal’s wife’s

class, or a bad thing.

Once again, the second he stepped into the room, every

eye was upon him.

“Boys and girls, this is Mr Lewis, your new teacher.

Everyone say good morning.”

“Good morning, Mitta Lewis,” chorused the children.

A little girl, with fairer skin than the other pupils and sun-

bleached hair, came up and took hold of his hand. Looking up at

him she asked, “What your first name?”

Brandon looked at Jenny for a clue as to whether or not

he should tell them. Seeing no evidence it was against the rules,

Brandon replied.

“My name’s Brandon. What’s yours?”

Suddenly the class erupted. “Nabaru! Nabaru!”

A boy with a head that looked too big to be supported by

such a thin, scrawny body came rushing up to him and took his

other hand.

“Your name nabaru, Mitta. Nabaru!”

Brandon looked to Jenny for an explanation.

“Nabaru means something like…:” She began shaking her

head slowly as though the motion would shuffle a definition onto

her tongue. “…forbidden. Someone from the tribe must have

been named Brandon…”

“Ahhh! Miss! Nabaru! Nabaru!”

Jenny nudged the boy with the big head gently back in the

direction of his chair.

“That’s Daniel. Or Doonga. Anyway, when someone dies,

their name becomes nabaru and they aren’t supposed to say it.

“Ever?” asked Brandon.

Jenny shrugged. “Dunno. Anyway, I’ll let you get on with

it. What would you like me to do?”

Brandon looked around the room, his mind racing. “I’m not

sure. What do you normally do?”

“Trina gets me to look after the pre-schoolers. I can take

them out for a game if you want to get settled here.”

Brandon smiled. “Thanks. That’d be great.”

He turned and walked to the front of the class.

“Hello, everyone. Can somebody tell me what you’ve

been doing?”

A tall girl with hair like straw that stuck out at odd angles

leapt to her feet. “We been doing maths, Mitta, but we don’t

wanna do it. It’s yukky!”

“Mis-ter,” said Brandon correcting her.

The girl, suddenly self-conscious, dropped back into her chair.

“I suppose the first thing I should do is learn your names,”

said Brandon, ploughing on. “As you know, my name is…” He

picked up some chalk and began writing on the blackboard as he

spoke. “…Mi-ster Lew-is. Now, how about each of you stand up

and tell me your name and something about yourself?”

The tall girl with straw hair, having overcome her bout of

shyness, shot to her feet. “My name Leanne. I hate maths.”

Brandon smiled. “I gathered that,” he replied. “It is yukky,

but it’s important so we should learn a little bit of it.”

Leanne beamed, no doubt elated to have a teacher who

sympathised with her.

“And what’s your name?” he asked the girl sitting next to her.

“Diana,” said a pretty, chubby-cheeked girl who almost

folded in on herself with shyness as she replied.

Brandon smiled and nodded.

“I’m Raylene,” said the pale-skinned, fair-haired girl

opposite Diana as she stood up.

“Yes, we met before. How are you?”

The direct question obviously hadn’t been anticipated and

suddenly the girl’s bravado evaporated and she sank back into

her seat.

There were more students, thirty in total; thirty names to

learn and thirty little responsibilities.

That afternoon, as the hands of the classroom clock hit

three-fifteen, Mark appeared at the door.

“How did it go?” he asked as the children were putting

their chairs on the desks, out of the way, for the benefit of the

school cleaner.

“Good,” said Brandon.

Mark kept his eye on the children.

“They’ll go over to the toilet block now and take off their

uniforms and put their camp clothes back on.”

It hadn’t occurred to Brandon that the children didn’t own

their uniforms.

“We keep their uniforms so they don’t get lost or dirty.

Fancy, your aide who didn’t bother coming in to work today,

probably drunk, washes them once a week.”

Brandon nodded.

“All the kids have to shower every morning and get

changed into their uniform,” Mark continued. “If any of them

stink, more than usual, I mean, send them out to shower again.”

After the children had fled the classroom, Mark went

through some of the procedures.

“Trina has started the term programmes, but you’ll have to

finish them. Don’t break your arse, but the sooner you can get

them in to me to check, the better. She’s also done the lesson

plan for the week.”

Brandon could see the forthcoming weekend evaporating

before his eyes.

“So if you’re all right, let’s head to the pub for a drink. I’ll

introduce you around.”

Brandon felt his stomach lurch. His tendency to self-

consciousness had already reared its ugly head, now, it seemed,

it was going to be tested to its limit. However, he also knew how

small country towns worked; he’d grown up in one. A person had

to fit in, be sociable, make an effort.

“Sounds good,” he replied, not altogether convincingly. “A

quick one, though. Better get started on some of these

programmes.”

Despite the local pub being a three-minute walk from the

school, Mark drove. They pulled up at the side of the pub, where

there was an area for parking.

“I’ll introduce you to Bruno. He’s the owner of the pub.

He’ll show you to your room and you can put these away.”

He hefted the two bags from the back of his four-wheel

drive and carried them into the bleakest looking beer garden

Brandon had ever seen. The space was no more than a concrete

veranda with a couple of long tables and some faded orange,

plastic chairs.

“Here let me take one,” said Brandon as they entered the

dimly lit pub.

“Nah, I’ve got them now,” Mark replied.

Bruno was Austrian. He was tall, broad-shouldered and

sported a sizeable beer gut. He had a thick five-o’clock shadow

and drooping eyelids that made him look half-asleep.

“A city boy,” he said after Mark had introduced them. “Get

your bags. I will show you to your room.”

He spoke very carefully, as though he were making sure

every word was pronounced as correctly as possible, and if

Brandon hadn’t been so tired, he would have found it amusing.

He was led down a short hallway, past the kitchen and out

onto a grassed area. To his right there were three rows of five

portable tin rooms called dongers. To his left was a pair of larger,

portable rooms and directly in front of him, across the lawn and

bordered by a row of daisy bushes, were three units on concrete

bases.

Bruno took him to the middle unit.

It was no more than a large bedroom, with a double bed

positioned beneath an old-style air conditioner, which jutted out

of the wall, a wooden desk with an orange laminate top and to

his right, a narrow en suite bathroom. To his disgust, the

bedspread was also orange. He abhorred orange and there was

way too much of it in this small space that was to be his home for

the bulk of the forthcoming year. He also noticed that tucked

beneath the desk was a small bar fridge. He opened it

expectantly, but found it empty.

“For beer,” said Bruno nodding at the fridge. He handed

Brandon the key. “Sometimes the bloody hot water system goes

out. If it does, come and get me. If I’m not around, there are

some public showers behind your room.”

Brandon poked his head into the bathroom, which was

grey and basic. To the right there was a shower with a pale grey

plastic curtain. In front of him there was a wash basin and a mirror

with tiny black spots on it, and to his left was the toilet. For no

particular reason, he went over and lifted the lid, and discovered a

frog doing breaststroke across the surface of the water.

“Hey, there’s a frog in here,” he called out.

“Yeah, they like the water. Just flush it down.”

Brandon was horrified. He could no more do that than kill

it, which, he imagined, would amount to the same thing. Instead,

he left it where it was. If it knew how to get into the toilet bowl, it

could find its way out, and if it was still there when he had to do

his business, he would scoop it out and find somewhere safer to

put it.

“You ready?” asked Bruno, walking onto the veranda.

Brandon hurried out.

“Listen, your rent covers breakfast and dinner. Dinner is

from six to eight. You can eat in the dining room or take your

meal back to your room,” Bruno explained. “Friday is fish and

chip night.”

Brandon accompanied Bruno into the pub, where Mark

was finishing the last of a pint and chatting to the voluptuous

barmaid.

“This is Katy,” said Mark, introducing them.

Katy was pretty, nothing exceptional, just pretty. Her hair

was a mass of dark blond curls and when she smiled her chubby

cheeks became twin mounds of cherry red.

“Finally, someone civilised,” she said as she towel dried a

pint glass and placed it on the counter. “Katy,” she said, thrusting

a hand at Brandon.

Brandon shook it.

“Where did you study?” she asked.

“Claremont,” Brandon replied.

Katy shrieked. “OMG! Get out of here! I’m from

Claremont. I grew up there.”

Brandon could tell. Claremont was one of the posh areas

of the city. Most of the people he’d encountered there spoke with

a kind of faux plum in their mouths, and Katy was no exception.

“What would you like to drink? It’s on the house. A beer?”

Brandon examined the row of spirit bottles. “No, I don’t

like beer. A bourbon and Coke, thanks.”

“You don’t like beer?” asked Mark, wrapping his fingers

around a fresh glass of the amber fluid.

Brandon felt himself tense. “No,” he said defensively,

knowing it was considered by some that an Aussie man who

didn’t like beer was not a man at all.

“Got a girlfriend back in Perth?” asked Mark.

Brandon swallowed hard. “No, we broke up before I came

up here.” Which was kind of true, apart from the fact it wasn’t a

girl, but a man five years older than him.

Little white lies came easily to Brandon. He’d grown up in

the country. He knew what small minds could do to a person’s

mental state if they discovered something about you they didn’t

like.

“Now, you’re not going to tell me you don’t like footie,”

said Mark.

At last, the holy trilogy—beer, girls and football; the three

badges of Aussie manhood.

“It’s alright,” he said, remembering the time, as a small

boy, his mother had sent him into the change rooms after a

football match to retrieve his father. All the naked, hairy men

showering and smacking each other playfully on the bums with

rolled up towels had rendered him motionless. He’d certainly

enjoyed that aspect of football.

Mark looked at him for an uncomfortable moment then

took a sip of his beer.

Brandon took a great gulp of bourbon and Coke, and then

another. He could feel the alcohol warming his cheeks.

“Not quite sure about you,” Mark said, returning his

attention to Brandon.

Brandon swallowed a third mouthful of bourbon and Coke

and wondered why the hell he hadn’t turned the damned

teaching job down.

Fortunately, right at the moment Brandon was wishing

he’d wake up to discover this was all a bad dream, a trucker

walked in, wearing a blue singlet, blue shorts, beaten up work

boots and hair that looked like it was on the verge of becoming

dreadlocks.

“Katy,” he shouted from the door. “Beer me up, you sexy

thing.”

Katy rolled her eyes at Brandon and proceeded to pour

the man a beer. As the rugged truck-driver, brown and wrinkled

from too much time in the sun, sat down, she handed it to him.

“Hey Katy,” he said.

“Yes, Derek,” she replied.

“You like jewellery?”

A broad smile bloomed on Katy’s face. “Oh, I love it. Can’t

you tell?” she said holding her bejewelled fingers out.

“Then come over here and I’ll give you a pearly necklace.”

Brandon nearly choked on his bourbon. A little bit came

out of his nose.

Katy looked horrified and became flustered. “I can’t believe

you said that to me.” She flicked the man with her tea towel, while

everyone rocked with laughter. “Oh, you’re such a pig!”

Chapter 3: Frank

Brandon was sitting at the bar one afternoon, talking to

Katy and Kirk, an eighteen-year-old whose little sister was the

only Caucasian in the class Brandon taught. Kirk was dark-

haired, good-looking and quite obviously keen on Katy. However,

while Brandon was grateful for the company of people

reasonably close to his own age, he was feeling a little like the

third wheel, watching as Kirk did his best to chat up Katy, who

was smiling coquettishly at his attempts.

Brandon was just beginning to zone out when a burst of

men’s voices from the hallway leading in from the back of the

pub snatched his attention back to the present. As he turned on

his bar stool, four solid, scruffy men walked into the room.

“Bushie Creek miners,” said Kirk.

Two of the men headed straight for the men’s toilets,

located across the room from Brandon and Kirk, behind the pool

table. The other two came to the bar. Brandon’s attention was

still on the newcomers when a tall, good looking, but equally

scruffy, man entered and also made a beeline for the toilets.

“One more,” said Brandon as he turned back round.

“That’s Frank,” Kirk said. “I wouldn’t get too close to him.

He’ll fuck you up the arse.”

Brandon simultaneously felt his muscles tense and his

heart start to race. He took a sip of bourbon and Coke and tried

hard not to show how interested he suddenly was in the miners

from Bushie Creek. Or rather, one particular miner. Frank.

The two men came out of the toilet.

“Got our beers?” one called out.

The men at the bar turned and one of them gave their

mate the thumbs up. With the beer situation taken care of, the

two men sat down at a nearby table and began a boisterous

conversation.

Kirk continued chatting to Katy as she poured the beer,

giving Brandon time to think of ways he could meet Frank

without drawing attention to himself. If he went to the toilet now,

he concluded, it would look too obvious. Besides, the man in

question had now come out of the toilet and was joining his

colleagues at their table.

Brandon found it necessary to employ every ounce of

restraint he possessed not to look over at the table where Frank

sat and risk getting caught. Only when a burst of laughter caught

Kirk’s attention, drawing his attention to the table of men, did

Brandon take the opportunity to turn around, too.

Frank was even more good-looking than Brandon had first

realised. Just like everyone else, he was tanned, and there was

a slight rosiness to his cheeks. His dark hair was wavy and

needed a cut, and Brandon could see evidence of a thickly-

haired chest beneath the blue work singlet he wore. His eyes,

dark brown and ringed by jet black lashes, seemed to sparkle as

he laughed and when his eyes met Brandon’s, he stopped

laughing and smiled.

Brandon almost spun himself off the bar stool in his haste

to avert his attention.

“C-c-can I have another one?”

“You’ll turn into an alcoholic, Mr Lewis,” Katy said as she

poured a measure of bourbon into a fresh glass.

“Er, I’m, ah, I’m just going to have another one and then

I’d better get back to my room and do some work.”

“But it’s the weekend,” said Kirk.

“Yeah,” said Brandon, “and it’s the only time I’ve got to

finish my programmes.”

Brandon could tell by the look on Kirk’s face that he didn’t

really understand what the hell Brandon was talking about. He

wished he’d never heard of programmes, although he only had

an hour or two more to spend on them before he could submit

them to Mark for approval. There were a few reasons why it was

important for him to make sure they were as good as they could

be. One was that he was under probation. His paperwork was

being assessed along with his actual teaching. The second was

the fact that the better his programmes, the easier his lessons

would be to organise. The third, and best reason, was that he

could use them again the following year.

“In fact,” he said, swallowing down his drink. “I should get

going right away.”

He put the glass on the counter, turned around and in

doing so noticed that Frank was no longer at the table. He didn’t

think much of it. What point was there, anyway, of busting a gut

to meet a man he’d probably never see again? And even if they

did meet, how could he do anything about getting to know Frank

better without being tarred with the same homophobic brush.

He walked down the short hallway, past the kitchen,

where it smelled as if chips were being deep fried. He crossed

the grassed area and waved hello to Julie, the long-haired hippy

girl whose job it was to clean the rooms and look after the small

shop attached to the pub.

“What are you up to?” she called out.

“Got work to do,” Brandon replied with a groan.

Then he did something he’d never done before. Instead of

accessing the veranda via the three steps directly in front of his

door, he walked to the end of the veranda and went that way

instead. He had no idea why he’d done it and shrugged it off as

just one of those things. The first door he came to was ajar and

lying on the bed reading a newspaper was Frank.

Brandon’s heart began to race. He felt weak.

Embarrassed at his reaction, he pretended he hadn’t seen the

man and hurried by.

“Hello.”

In a split second Brandon wondered whether he’d really

heard Frank call out, or if it had simply been a noise that

sounded like a greeting. Having had time to digest the fact Frank

was in the room next to his, Brandon swallowed hard and

returned to the open door.

“Sorry, did you say something?”

Frank was beaming. He’d taken off his singlet and was

lying on his bed wearing nothing more than a pair of very short

shorts. His chest, slim and toned, was a carpet of thick, dark hair.

“I said hello.”

Brandon smiled back. “Okay. I thought so. Hello.”

He took a step in the direction of his room.

“Whereabouts are you?” asked Frank.

Brandon pointed as he replied. “Next door.”

“So we’re neighbours.”

Brandon nodded. The air of expectation that something

was going to happen between them was having a physical effect

on him. He could feel a stirring in his loins. He glanced down and

saw that already there was a noticeable bulge in his pants. When

he looked up again he caught Frank sneaking a peek, and

suddenly he didn’t know what to do.

“Anyway, I’ll see you later,” he said hurrying away, but not

before he heard Frank reply, “I hope so.”

As he’d done from day one, the first thing Brandon did

when he entered his room was turn the air conditioner on. He got

out his books and pens, setting them out neatly on the desk, and

then decided a quick shower was needed. He undressed, turned

the tap on and stepped under the soothing spray of cool water.

He sighed and stood there, leaning forwards with his arms

straight out in front of him, bracing himself, as the water

cascaded over his body. He closed his eyes and pictured Frank,

lying on the bed. So hairy. So masculine. And damned good

looking. A real man.

Only when he started to shiver did he turn the tap off. He

dried himself and pulled on a fresh pair of shorts. Refreshed and

rejuvenated, he sat down at the desk and looked at his Maths

programme. He sighed. He’d never liked maths. Hated it, in fact.

He was in complete agreement with Leanne, the outspoken

student who’d told him it was ‘yukky’. Secretly, one of the

reasons he’d chosen the junior primary class was because he

knew he could do the maths. The same could not be said of the

higher grades where they tackled introductory algebra. Ugh!

He was still in the process of motivating himself when

there was a knock at the door. He got up, opened it and found

Frank standing there with a six-pack of beer.

“Hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said, flashing a killer smile.

“No,” said Brandon, lying. “Nope. Not disturbing me.”

There was a five-second pause.

Frank raised the hand holding the six-pack. “Can I come in?”

Brandon stepped aside, pulling the door open wider. “Of

course. Shit. Sorry. Come in.”

Frank twisted two cans of beer from their plastic rings and,

without asking, put the remaining four cans in the empty bar fridge.

“So what’s all this?” he asked.

Brandon went over and shuffled the various pieces of paper

into a small, untidy pile. “Nothing. Nothing. Just some work I have

to finish.” He turned to face Frank. “But not today. Not now.”

Frank laughed, his chocolate brown eyes sparkling, even

in the dim light.

“So tell me about yourself,” said Frank, taking the liberty

of sitting on Brandon’s bed, since the only chair in the room was

at Brandon’s desk.

Brandon tore the rip-pull off his can and started to drink. It

took all his willpower not to pull a face. He’d never liked beer. It

tasted like sweaty socks. Bad body odour. He’d only ever drunk

it when he was too drunk to be able to taste it.

“Not much to tell,” said Brandon, with a little shiver as his

first mouthful of beer traced a bitter line down his throat. “I’ve just

got back from a two-month trip to Europe. Came back because

of this job, actually, though if I’d known I was going to have to

spend my first year teaching in a place like this, I would’ve

stayed in Europe a bit longer.”

“This your first year out?” asked Frank, who unlike

Brandon was chugging his beer down.

“Yes, and probably my last.” Brandon laughed. “Especially

if they make me stay here another year. You know, we have to

do two years’ country service to get permanency. That means

you’re guaranteed a job because you’ve proved yourself. But two

years in a shithole like this is not the same as two years in a nice

country town down south, by the ocean.”

“How old are you?”

Brandon stopped smiling. “Twenty-one. How old are you?”

“Forty.”

“Forty!” gasped Brandon. There were no wrinkles on

Frank’s face, perhaps a couple of very light ones around his

eyes, but he definitely didn’t look forty. “I thought you were like

thirty-four or something.”

Frank grabbed Brandon’s leg and squeezed it. “Gee!

Thanks for that.”

“It’s true,” said Brandon, tensing a little under Frank’s

touch. “Would you like another drink?”

Frank put the can to his mouth and tipped his head back.

Brandon watched Frank’s Adam’s apple rise and fall as he

swallowed down the last of his beer. When he’d finished he

thrust the empty can at Brandon and replied in the affirmative.

“Do you work out?” asked Brandon as he bent down to

retrieve a second can of beer for his guest.

“Not in a gym. We’ve got one out at Bushie Creek, but I

reckon working on the mine site gives me a good-enough workout.”

Brandon handed Frank another can. “Feel this. Rock hard.”

Brandon poked Frank’s leg, which was, as he had said, as

hard as rock.

“No, grab it like this.” Frank grabbed Brandon’s hand and

pressed it down against his large thigh muscle. “Feel it?”

“That’s solid, alright.”

“And my arms. Feel this.” Frank brought his arm up and

tensed his bicep muscle so it formed a potato-shaped lump in his

arm. “Go on. Feel how hard that is.”

Brandon, loosened up by a can of beer, on top of what

he’d already had at the pub, gripped Frank’s bicep, which was

easily as hard, if not harder, than his thigh muscle.

“It’s like iron,” he said.

“And my butt muscles, too,” said Frank, standing up. “Feel

them.”

Brandon hadn’t drunk enough to be able to reach out and

squeeze another man’s buttocks. Not in a place like this. Not

now. Had they been in the anonymity of a city apartment, he

might have, but country town walls had eyes. However, the

decision was never really his to make. Frank reached around

and grabbed Brandon’s hand once again. He pressed it to the

mound of firm flesh beneath his shorts, holding it there for longer

than he needed to.

“Feel that?” he asked.

Brandon tried to remove his hand, but was unable to. “It’s

hard alright,” he said. “And you don’t work out at all?”

Frank released his hand and turned around. Brandon

couldn’t help but notice the large protrusion straining against the

fabric of Frank’s shorts.

“I do some pushups and squats, occasionally.” He did a

single squat as if to prove the fact. “The trick is to come down at

a steady, measured rate. Hurts like hell after a while, but that’s

how you get the muscle. Come on, do one with me.”

Brandon smiled nervously and shook his head. “Nah, I’m

too tiddly.”

Frank took the empty beer can from Brandon’s hand and

placed it on the floor by the bed. “Don’t be a pussy. Just follow

me. Arms out in front. And down. Slow-ly.”

Brandon took care to go down at the same rate as Frank

and then come up with him just as carefully.

“Five more. Come on.”

Brandon groaned. “Really? I hate exercise like I hate

having a tooth drilled.”

Frank laughed. “And it shows. Come on. You’ve got nice

broad shoulders. You could easily build your body up.”

“I used to swim competitively,” said Brandon.

“Ah, so you don’t hate exercise completely?”

Brandon held his arms out in front, ready to do his second

squat. “Just this sort of exercise.”

Frank placed one hand on Brandon’s shoulder and placed

the palm of his other hand in the small of Brandon’s back. “And

down. 3-4-5. And up again.”

Brandon could really feel the burn in the back of his legs.

“Number three,” said Frank, pushing down with his hand.

Brandon lowered himself, slowly, under Frank’s masterful

assistance.

“Feet flat on the floor. Back straight. And up again.”

Brandon felt his legs quiver a little as he started to come

up. How he was going to do five of these bloody things, he didn’t

know. Too much smoking and drinking during university had

rendered his body just a scrap heap of parts, and he had no

desire for rehabilitation.

“And down. 3-4-5,” said Frank, whose hand was now

cupping his buttocks.

As Brandon went down he felt Frank’s fingers press into

his flesh. One of them was right on his anus and due to the thin

fabric of his shorts he could feel it almost penetrate him. As he

squatted down for the fifth and final time, he felt the finger press

even harder against his sphincter and when Frank finally

removed his hand the fabric of his shorts remained stuck in the

cleft between his arse cheeks.

He was also sporting a full erection.

He did his best to hide it, mostly by not turning completely

around. But he still managed to notice Frank’s erection had

increased in size. And Frank, despite his best efforts, had

noticed his.

“Exercise certainly gets the blood pumping, doesn’t it?”

said Frank nodding at the bulge in the front of Brandon’s shorts.

“Another beer?” said Brandon, hoping to change the

subject.

“You get one. I haven’t finished the one I’ve got,” Frank

replied. “Besides, how would you like to come for a drive?”

“Now?” asked Brandon.

“Yeah. We can watch the sun go down over the desert.

Ever seen it before?”

Brandon shook his head.

“It’s stunning. All the colours. Like the sky’s on fire. Then,

when the stars come out, it’s just wonderful. Come on. Grab

another beer and get some music.”

Chapter 4: The Desert

Frank drove a dark red Toyota Land Cruiser.

“This is my home,” he said. “Why buy a house? I’ve got

everything I need here. Bed in the back. Portable stove. I’ve

already paid it off so every cent I earn goes into the bank. And

the best part is I can just pack up and leave whenever I feel like

it. I can drive and drive until I find a place I like, settle there for a

bit and piss off when I want. With the sun roof, I can sleep under

the stars every night and feel the sun on my face every day.”

It sounded like an ideal existence. Some might say

romantic. Especially the way Frank described it. But Brandon

preferred a base of mortar and bricks. Something more solid.

More permanent.

They’d been driving for twenty minutes when Frank drove

off the dirt track and into the spinifex-covered desert. The sun

was now low on the horizon and already the sky was ablaze in a

fire of reds, pinks, yellows, and purples. Frank parked the car so

they were facing the spectacular display.

“Put your seat back,” said Frank as he lowered the back

of his seat. “See? Isn’t that a fantastic view?”

“It sure is,” said Brandon.

They’d finished their beers on the drive out and Brandon’s

whole body was buzzing from the effect of the alcohol. He rested

his hand on the compartment separating their two seats, slowly

inching it towards Frank’s hand. From the corner of his eye he

noticed Frank inching his hand towards him.

It took an agonizingly long time for them to make contact,

but the moment their hands touched there was an explosion of

activity. Frank pulled Brandon towards him. Brandon’s arms

were immediately around Frank’s torso as their lips came

together in a prolonged, passionate kiss. Their hands were

gripping, holding, pulling the other man closer. Brandon could

feel Frank’s heartbeat pounding against his chest. Tongues, firm

and moist, slipped from one mouth into the other, tasting of beer

and desire.

Frank manoeuvred both of them across the centre

compartment, over the gear stick, until he was on top of Brandon.

Brandon spread his legs wide to accommodate Frank’s

firm, muscular body. He could feel Frank’s erection pressing into

him through their clothing and wanted nothing more than to feel it

pressing against his naked flesh.

As though psychically attuned, Frank broke away from the

embrace and, leaning back, peeled his shorts off. Brandon, with

some difficulty, followed suit. Frank then bent down and felt

about for something under the seat. Suddenly there was a clunk

and Brandon felt the seat slide back.

“That’s better,” Frank remarked.

It was difficult to see in the twilight, but Brandon’s fingers

managed to find Frank’s cock, which felt massive in the palm of

his hand. He gave it a squeeze then released it. He reached up

and pulled Frank back on top of him, their cocks pressing

together as they kissed. He could feel the wet, stickiness of

Frank’s pre-cum basting his erection, heightening the sensation

of the two organs grinding together.

Within minutes Brandon had his feet on the dashboard,

which had the added advantage of elevating his arsehole. Now,

instead of feeling Frank’s lubricated cock rubbing against his

own, it was rubbing against the sensitive skin of his anus.

Frank started kissing the skin below Brandon’s ear. The

gentle touch of his lips and the slight scratching of his whiskers

against the sensitive skin sent tremors of ecstasy through his

whole being.

“You want me inside you?” whispered Frank as he

nuzzled Brandon’s ear.

“I do,” said Brandon, “but I think you’re too big.”

It was true. At twenty-one he hadn’t had much experience

of being penetrated. He could blame that on the fact he’d grown

up in a small country town, and between the time he’d left home

and the time he’d graduated from university, most of his free time

had been taken up with studying.

“Can I try?” asked Frank before returning his lips to

Brandon’s.

“Yes,” Brandon replied, wanting more than anything for

Frank to penetrate him. “Just be careful.”

Frank, who was already on his knees, leaned back and

began rubbing the head of his cock against Brandon’s arsehole.

With the amount of pre-cum Frank produced, it didn’t take long

for Brandon’s hole to be slick with it.

“Ready?” Frank asked.

“Ready.”

Frank leaned forward and began kissing Brandon—

tender, lingering kisses. With one hand Frank reached up to cup

Brandon’s head and with the other he guided the head of his

cock to the puckered ring of Brandon’s arsehole.

Brandon closed his eyes and released a small gasp as

Frank’s swollen cock-head pushed through the tight band of

muscle. He reached around to cup the twin mounds of Frank’s

muscular, lightly-haired buttocks and as Frank began to ease the

rest of his thick shaft into him, Brandon dug his fingers into the

taut flesh and groaned. Frank shushed him, softly and tenderly,

while sliding his erection further in. The steady shushing

worked—for a few seconds. So tense was Brandon from the

expectation of pain, his muscles had contracted, making it even

more difficult for Frank to gain full penetration.

“Just relax,” Frank said quietly. “Just relax and enjoy

yourself. I won’t hurt you.”

Brandon took a deep breath and let it out in one long,

controlled exhalation.

“That’s it,” said Frank.

Brandon focused on relaxing his muscles. He thought

about how wonderful it would feel to have Frank all the way

inside him, penetrating him completely. He concentrated on how

much he wanted to experience such an intimate connection. And

slowly his body gave way to Frank’s advances.

He felt Frank’s hips press forward. Frank began to shush

him again and again he tightened his grip on Frank’s buttocks,

grimacing as the head of Frank’s cock pushed its way deeper

inside. It felt as though his whole body was being slowly split in

half, but he didn’t resist. He continued to focus on relaxing

himself, to think about how wonderful it would be to feel joined to

this man. Subconsciously his fingers began to clench then relax,

clench then relax, on Frank’s buttocks.

Frank’s lips found Brandon’s. At first they remained there,

static. Frank was breathing directly into his mouth as he inched

his cock ever deeper in. Then Frank began kissing him. Brandon

felt a light and gentle suck on his bottom lip, a light and gentle

suck on his top lip before their kisses erupted into something

more passionate. Frank pushed his tongue into Brandon’s mouth

while at the same time thrusting his hips against Brandon’s groin,

a bit too vigorously.

Brandon yelped. His hands flew from Frank’s buttocks to

his hips, pushing him away. His arsehole felt as though it were

on fire, and that fire was burning a path up his spine.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?” said Frank, genuinely concerned.

For a moment Brandon couldn’t speak.

“I’m okay,” he said before finally being able to exhale.

“I’m sorry,” said Frank. “Would you like to fuck me?”

Brandon reached down and slowly massaged his

arsehole, an action that only had a minimal effect on the painful

throbbing.

“Sure,” he replied. “Just give me a minute.”

Frank spat into his hand and used the saliva to coat

Brandon’s cock.

“You don’t pre-cum much, do you?” he said.

“I don’t pre-cum at all,” Brandon replied.

“Really?” said Frank. “I thought all men did.”

“Not me.”

Frank slid into the seat beside Brandon and turned on his

side, pressing Brandon against the door. With a small degree of

discomfort, Brandon was able to find the door handle and open

it, giving himself room to manoeuvre. He reached down and

pressed his cock against Frank’s arsehole. It slipped in with little

difficulty and once he was all the way inside, he wrapped his

arms around Frank’s torso as best he could and began thrusting.

It didn’t take him long to climax. Frank twisted his head

around so their lips could meet. They’d barely started kissing

when Brandon felt himself explode inside the warm, moist

confines of Frank’s arse. Even after he’d cum, after every last

drop of seed had spilled from his cock, he stayed inside while

Frank masturbated.

“I’m gonna cum,” Frank announced, breathlessly, pulling

himself free of Brandon’s cock and turning in the seat so his warm

load landed in large splatters across Brandon’s naked belly.

For many minutes afterwards they lay holding each other

in a tight embrace. It was now completely dark outside. Through

the windows, Brandon could see a spray of stars, dazzling like

diamonds, across an inky black sky. The heat of the day had

dissipated and there was a slight chill in the desert air. He could

feel Frank’s breath on his face and knew Frank could feel his.

They could have been the only two people on the planet, but

they were happy in each other’s arms.

“I’m glad I met you,” said Frank.

Brandon snuggled in closer and kissed Frank on the nose,

although he had been aiming for Frank’s lips.

“Me, too,” he said and for an indeterminate amount of

time, they lay together in Frank’s car, in the middle of the desert,

in silence.

Chapter 5: A Knock on the Door

One evening, after the sun had gone down, Brandon

arrived back at his room after a dinner of roast vegetables and

chips smothered in gravy. He wasn’t a strict vegetarian because

he ate chicken, fish, and seafood. However, he couldn’t stomach

red meat or pork. It had been the same his entire life. In fact, so

fussy was he as a boy that whenever he’d asked his mother

what was for dinner she’d simply answer, “Food!”

As usual he turned on the television to watch whatever

was on through the static before lying down on the bed to let his

dinner digest. He’d just got settled when there was a knock at

the door.

“Hello,” he said as he opened it.

“Mitta Lewis, I didn’t get a feed.”

It was Doonga. His little black face was looking up at

Brandon with a pleading look in his big, brown eyes.

“What do you mean?” asked Brandon.

“I didn’t get any tucker.”

Tucker was Aussie slang for food.

At first Brandon didn’t know what to do or if, in fact, he

could do anything. The school provided the Aboriginal students

with lunch, usually a stew consisting of kangaroo meat and potato

since both occurred naturally in the wild and constituted a large

part of their traditional diet. According to Mark, the school had

tried adding various other vegetables, such as a little carrot and

some peas, but the children picked them out, refusing to eat them.

So the question was how could he, as a non-red meat eater, go

over to the kitchen and load up a plate with meat and potato?

But Brandon was filled with a determined sense of duty,

and while he wasn’t responsible for the welfare of his students

after hours, he couldn’t stand by and let a child go hungry.

“All right. Go inside and sit down,” he said, closing the

door behind him as he set off for the kitchen.

He strode across the lawn full of purpose, priming himself

to confront any enquiries.

“Back for more,” said Sandy, the overweight and

thoroughly loveable middle-aged cook.

“Sure am,” he said loading his plate up with slices of roast

beef and roasted potatoes.

“That for you?” Sandy asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yep,” Brandon replied as he continued to test the

boundaries of the plastic plate’s capabilities.

“Thought you didn’t eat meat,” said Sandy.

Brandon almost needed two hands to stop the plate from

upending onto the cracked linoleum floor.

“I like to surprise every now and again. Bye,” he said,

disappearing as fast as he could into the hallway.

When he got back to his room he opened the door and

was surprised to find that Doonga had been joined by Raylene,

Diana, and Leanne. They were sitting cross legged on the floor

by his bed in a small circle, and not one of them looked guilty as

they spied the plate of food in Brandon’s hands.

“Just as well I piled the plate up,” he said, placing it in the

centre of their little circle. “Any more of you?”

But the children were too busy eating to answer, polishing

off the meat first before starting on the potato. While they were

eating, Brandon filled the two glasses he had in his room with

water.

“Here you go,” he said, offering them the water.

Leanne drank a whole glass by herself so Brandon, feeling

a little like a waiter, refilled it, so the others didn’t miss out.

When they’d finished, they stood up and only then did

they decide to become sheepish.

Without looking Brandon in the eye, Doonga said, “Thank

you, Mitta Lewis.”

“Thank you, Mitta Lewis,” said Leanne as she followed

Doonga out into the night.

“Thank you, Mitta Lewis,” said Raylene, quickly.

“Thank you, Mitta …” Diana’s voice trailed off as she

hurried out of the room to catch up to her friends.

Brandon chuckled as he closed the door and cleaned up

after the children.

The next day at school, Fancy, his Aboriginal aide,

explained in her quietly-spoken manner that the senior members

of the tribe ate first, then the men, followed by the women, the

older children and finally, the younger children.

“I see,” said Brandon getting up from the student desk

he’d been sitting on.

He’d only taken a single step when Fancy reached out

and patted his arm to get his attention.

“Thank you,” she said, before blushing and casting her

eyes to the carpeted floor.

Chapter 6: Mouth Wash

As part of Brandon’s ongoing assessment, it was Mark’s

duty as principal to observe Brandon teaching. Thankfully, he

kept these classroom visits to a minimum and usually conducted

them from the classroom door. He never stayed longer than five

minutes, but was able to give surprisingly detailed feedback.

“Your class is too noisy,” he said after one visit.

“But it’s busy noise,” Brandon replied. “They’re talking

about their work. Helping each other.”

“Some of them. I saw one student hit another…”

“But they do that all the time,” interrupted Brandon.

“It’s your job to punish the little buggers.”

Brandon decided to quit while he was ahead. The children

were always slapping each other and he did tell them off when

he caught them, but his eyes couldn’t be everywhere at once.

So the following day, before they began working, Brandon

talked to the class.

“Today is ‘No-hitting’ day,” he informed them. “Let’s see if

we can last a whole day without hitting each other, and if we can

go the whole day, that includes playtime and lunchtime, without

hitting each other, I’ll give you all a prize.”

“What the prize?” asked Leanne, raising her hand as she

asked the question thereby making the action redundant.

“Something very nice,” said Brandon, who hadn’t yet

settled on what the prize would be.

“Everyone get one?” asked Raylene.

“Yes, everyone gets a prize if you don’t hit each other.”

Raylene jumped up and down and clapped her hands

together with glee. She turned to Doonga, who sat next to her,

and put her hands on his shoulders while continuing to jump.

Doonga pushed her away.

“Uh-uh! A push is almost hitting,” Brandon warned.

He’d barely finished the sentence before Raylene hauled

back and slapped Doonga on the arm, resulting in a howl that

Mark probably heard across the quadrangle.

Brandon looked at Jenny, who shrugged and rolled her eyes.

Fancy, who’d obviously seen the whole thing, escorted

Doonga outside.

“Okay, so no prize today,” said Brandon. “We’ll have to

start again tomorrow.”

It was the following Wednesday before the class could go

a whole day without any slapping or hitting, so on Thursday

Brandon bought each of the students a Funny Face, which was

basically a tube of plastic with a monster face printed on the

outside and filled with flavoured crushed ice. The children loved

them, which was perfect. At about twenty cents each, they were

the perfect prize.

The following day there was only one slap and eventually

the class learned to restrain their desire for physical retaliation,

though Brandon was never able to eradicate it completely.

A week later, Brandon was teaching an art lesson. The

children were painting pictures to accompany a story they’d

written together. When the paintings had dried, Brandon was

going to get each child to write one part of the story on their

painting. He would then staple the whole lot together and the

children would have a book they’d written and illustrated

themselves to read.

Raylene, who wanted to make the stars in her night sky

more realistic, was carrying a small jar of glitter towards her desk

when another student, leaping out of the way of a slap, knocked

into her, causing her to drop the jar and spill the contents all over

the carpet and over many of the surrounding desks. Upon seeing

the scale of the mess, Raylene set upon the girl, punching her

and then grabbing a handful of hair and violently shaking the

poor girl’s head.

“Raylene!” Brandon snapped. “Clean up that mess and

then I think you can go outside and cool off.”

“Dumb bastard!” she snapped, throwing Brandon the

dirtiest look he’d ever seen.

“Outside!” said Brandon. “We’ll save that mess for you to

clean up later!”

Brandon knew he had to punish Raylene, but he didn’t

know how. It wasn’t something they taught at university.

Nevertheless, she had to learn she couldn’t speak to a teacher,

or anyone else, like that, while at the same time showing the

other students that swearing was a big no-no.

The playtime bell rang and the children hurried out of the

classroom.

“Raylene, come in here,” Brandon said in his sternest voice.

Raylene had been crying. It was obvious she knew she

was in trouble.

“I want you to clean up that mess and when you’ve

finished, I want you to write down what you did wrong and why it

was wrong. Do you understand?”

Raylene nodded.

“What do you have to do?”

“Write down what I did wrong.”

“That’s right. After you’ve cleaned up the mess.”

Resigned to her punishment, Raylene walked across to

the cupboard where the dustpan and broom were kept and

returned to the scene of her misdemeanour.

In the Petersen’s kitchen, helping Trina make coffee,

Brandon told both her and Mark what had happened.

“Wash her mouth out with soap,” said Mark.

Brandon laughed. “I should, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes,” said Mark. “And you’re going to.”

The dark expression on Mark’s face disintegrated

Brandon’s smile.

“It’s okay,” he said, forcing a smile. “She’s cleaning up the

mess and I’ve got her writing me a letter of apology. I think she’s

learned…”

“I don’t care about any of that. I want you to wash her

mouth out with soap. I want you to take her over to the laundry

and do it right after playtime.”

Brandon felt sick. He looked to Trina for help, but she was

deliberately not making eye contact. He drank his coffee as fast

as he could and excused himself.

“I’ll talk to her later,” Mark added as Brandon was leaving.

Brandon returned to the school yard, dazed. It had

crossed his mind to just tell Mark he’d done it. Lie. Unfortunately,

the same thought had occurred to Mark, which is why he’d

thrown in that final comment.

He glanced at his watch. There was five minutes of

playtime remaining. He had to do it now, before the other

children returned to class. Besides, what was the point of

Raylene writing a letter of apology when it would do her no

good? If he hadn’t been under probation, he would have refused

point blank to do it. Was this even legal?

A hundred thoughts appeared and disappeared on the

short walk back to the classroom.

“Raylene.”

The girl was sitting at her desk. She turned to look at him,

but didn’t speak. She’d been crying again.

Brandon felt sick.

“Raylene, come with me, please.”

Raylene obediently got out of her seat and walked over to

Brandon.

“Now, you know that swearing is naughty, don’t you?”

“But Mitter, I cleaned it up.”

Brandon nodded. “I know, Raylene, and it looks like

you’ve done a very good job. But I’m not talking about that. That

was an accident. I’m talking about you calling me a bad name.”

The little girl with the sun-bleached hair went quiet.

“Come with me.”

They arrived at the laundry and went inside. Brandon’s

heart was pounding. He could hardly swallow and as he reached

for the bar of soap he realised he was trembling.

“I don’t want to do this, but I have to,” he said. “Stick out

your tongue.”

Naturally, the little girl refused.

Brandon felt his eyes water.

“Stick out your tongue, please, Raylene,” he said, more

forcefully, though there was a crack in his voice.

A movement at the door caught his attention.

“Give it to me,” said Mark.

He snatched the bar of soap from Brandon’s hand, and

ran it under some water.

“Stick your tongue out, Raylene!” he said, his voice deep

and angry.

Raylene began whimpering, but refused to poke her

tongue out.

Mark held her head steady under his arm and began

rubbing the wet soap over her lips.

“This is how you do it,” he said as a light foam began to

form on the girl’s lips.

Brandon backed out of the laundry and did his best not to

cry. Half a dozen tears managed to escape before he got them

under control. He was still shaking when he got back to the

classroom.

“Mitta, where Raylene?” asked one of the children.

“She’s with Mr Petersen. Now, take out your reading books.”

Jenny, who’d been sitting in the pre-primary alcove,

watching over her three charges as they coloured in pictures of

the Little Princess, walked across to Brandon.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Brandon nodded. Jenny and her husband socialised with

Mark and Trina. It would be stupid to complain about or condemn

what he’d just witnessed. Jenny would eventually tell them and

then they’d think he’d been whinging about them. Damn, this

bloody probation!

At that very moment something dawned on him. A seed of

doubt had been planted. Perhaps teaching wasn’t for him after all.

Chapter 7: The Waterhole

On Friday afternoon, after a particularly busy week of

marking tests and writing end of term reports, Brandon walked

back to the pub and was both surprised and excited to see

Frank’s red Toyota Land Cruiser parked under the tree near his

room. He opened his front door, wearing a radiant, expectant

smile, only to find the room empty. ‘He’s over at the pub,’

Brandon concluded as he put down the programmes he was

going to work on over the two-week school break.

He had a quick shower and changed into a loose T-shirt

and shorts. Since arriving in Gunnanilla his style of dress had

relaxed considerably. Drastically. He’d even taken to free-balling.

The combination of constant, intense heat and underpants had

made his crotch sweaty, which in turn had made it itchy. With so

much constant scratching it appeared to the casual observer as

though he had crabs. Free-balling was the only solution.

He grabbed his wallet, pulled the door open, and promptly

recoiled with a massive gasp.

“You scared the shit out of me!”

Frank laughed. “That’ll make it easier to fuck you then,

won’t it?”

“Shhh,” said Brandon, pulling Frank inside before

checking that no one was around to have heard Frank’s

dangerous comment.

The minute their lips touched they were both hard.

Brandon could feel Frank’s massive cock pressing into him and

his own, squashed against the steel hard muscle of Frank’s thigh.

“Miss me?” Frank asked.

“Sure did,” Brandon replied.

Frank reached behind and turned the key in the lock then

pulled Brandon down onto the bed with him.

“So you missed me, did you?”

Their lips met for a quick kiss.

“A little bit,” said Brandon.

Frank leaned back in mock horror. “Just a little bit?”

“Hardly at all, actually,” Brandon added, with a smirk he

was incapable of suppressing.

They laughed for a moment before their arms tightened

around each other. Once again they kissed, beginning with

tender, lingering kisses which soon became more passionate.

Frank manoeuvred himself onto Brandon, who enjoyed feeling

Frank’s slender, toned body on top of him. It made him feel

dominated. Protected.

All of a sudden Frank sat back on his heels and pulled his

T-shirt off. Brandon did likewise and as Frank deftly removed his

shorts, going from one knee to the other, Brandon similarly

removed his shorts. Without a word they came together once

more. Their warm bodies pressed against each other; the wiry

hair of Frank’s thickly-haired chest feeling rough and prickly

against Brandon’s smooth skin.

Their lips connected and they held each other as though

they were lovers about to be parted. Brandon knew he could

remain with Frank, like this, forever and never grow tired of it.

Frank’s lips, though pressed firmly against his own, were so soft

and silky smooth. His breath was warm and neither tainted nor

minty fresh from toothpaste. He hated the taste of toothpaste

when he kissed.

Frank planted a series of tiny kisses down his neck while

Brandon, ticklish Brandon, did his utmost to keep himself from

bursting into laughter. His whole body had become super-

sensitive to Frank’s slightest touch. He arched his back and

writhed beneath Frank’s lustful attention. He moaned out loud as

Frank sucked a nipple into his mouth and flicked it with the tip of

his tongue. Had anyone heard? For the moment it didn’t matter.

Brandon closed his eyes, the fingers of his left hand

closing around a handful of Frank’s dark curls as Frank kissed a

line from Brandon’s navel to the topmost edge of his pubic hair.

Although, rather than go directly to Brandon’s erection, Frank

kissed a trail around the perimeter of Brandon’s pubic bush,

taking his lips down the tender flesh of Brandon’s inner thigh,

across Brandon’s tightening scrotum and up over the other thigh.

By the time he sucked Brandon’s cock-head into his mouth,

Brandon was on the threshold of climaxing.

“I’m getting close,” said Brandon, breathlessly.

Frank stopped. “Not yet, love,” he said as he began to rub

the engorged head of his own cock against Brandon’s arsehole.

Brandon could feel the muscles of his anal sphincter

puckering against the swollen red organ, kissing it as it prepared

to gain access.

“You ready?” asked Frank.

“Go slowly,” said Brandon, feeling his body tense as

Frank pushed his legs up and back.

“Beautiful,” said Frank, leaning down to kiss the ring of pink

flesh, no doubt glistening with his pre-cum. “Take a deep breath.”

Brandon inhaled continuously as Frank eased the head of

his cock in.

“Now let it out slowly,” said Frank.

Brandon did as he was asked and felt Frank push another

couple of centimetres into him.

The discomfort was enough to make Brandon lose his

erection. He was clenching his teeth and realised he’d also

balled his hands into fists. As Frank eased another centimetre or

two in, Brandon clenched his eyes shut.

“Is it hurting?” asked Frank.

Brandon nodded, unable to speak.

Slowly Frank withdrew.

“I’m sorry,” said Brandon, feeling an overwhelming sense

of inadequacy.

“No need to apologise,” said Frank, smiling. “Sex should

be fun. It shouldn’t be uncomfortable. I wouldn’t want you to do

anything that didn’t feel good.”

“But you want to fuck me, make love to me properly, and

I’m too tight.” Brandon couldn’t look Frank in the eye. “I really do

want you to fuck me, believe me.”

Frank kissed Brandon on the lips. “I know you do,” he

said. “And we’ll get there. Just not tonight.”

Instead, they lay side by side and masturbated, craning

their necks so they could kiss at the same time. After they’d cum,

Frank mentioned dinner.

“It’s fish and chip night,” said Brandon. “They usually have

barbecued chicken, too. And gravy.”

“Great, let’s go,” said Frank as he pulled his shorts on.

Brandon, who was tidying up the bed, stopped and looked

at Frank, slightly aghast. “What?” he said. “You want to eat over

there?”

Frank stepped into the small en suite bathroom. “Why

not? Where else are we going to eat?”

Brandon had to think quickly. “I’ll go and get dinner,” he

said. “I don’t have to pay for it. It comes with the rent. I’ll bring it

back here and we can have a romantic picnic in my room.”

Frank came out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on his

shorts. “What’s wrong with eating over there? I don’t mind

paying. It’s only fish and chips.”

Brandon could feel his heart beating in double time.

“People will see us,” he said.

Frank’s usual smile and sunny expression, dimmed. “So?”

Brandon knew how he’d sounded. “Well, I’m a teacher,” he

began. “It’s my first year out. I don’t want anything to jeopardise

my chances of getting the best probation report I can.”

“And eating dinner with me is going to spoil your probation

report, is it?”

Brandon didn’t need to be psychic to know this wasn’t

going to end well.

“No,” he said reluctantly, “but they know about you. They

know you’re…you know…gay.” The final word was barely a

whisper.

“Like you?”

Brandon hung his head. “Yeah, like me.”

“And you don’t think they know about you?”

Brandon looked up, horrified. “They don’t know, do they?

How?”

He’d been very careful to present as heterosexual an

image as he could. Hell, he’d even joined in a cricket match.

He’d stopped wearing gel in his hair and usually hung around in

a T-shirt and shorts. He’d learned to tolerate the taste of beer,

because after about three, the taste didn’t seem to bother him so

much.

Frank didn’t reply. He shook his head, walked towards the

door, and opened it. Just before he closed it, he looked back at

Brandon with an expression of such absolute hurt and

disappointment that Brandon feared he’d never again see the

man he professed to be in love with.

His stomach gurgled, but despite what had just happened,

the thought of Frank being over in the dining room, where half

the town and their dogs were, kept Brandon in his room. Instead

of eating dinner, he walked up to the nearby service station and

bought a plastic-wrapped, oven-heated chicken and vegetable

pie. He returned to his room and ate it, the gravy flavoured with

tears that just didn’t seem to want to stop falling.

* * * *

Sleep was difficult to find that night. Every time he thought

of losing Frank his eyes welled with tears. Even the following

morning he awoke with eyes crusted over by the tears he’d cried

in his sleep.

He dressed and went across to eat breakfast in the pub

dining room, a space with four brown, laminated wood tables

arranged in two sets of two and ringed by an assortment of

plastic chairs. On his way, he noticed that Frank’s car was gone.

If he never saw Frank again, it would be his own fault.

After breakfast he returned to his room, brushed his teeth,

and sat down at his desk. He sighed as he looked at all the blank

programme sheets that would have to be filled in before Term

Two began, in a fortnight. Knowing he was getting paid for his

holidays made things a little easier to bear and it had occurred to

him that at least while he was working, he wasn’t thinking about

Frank.

A knock on the door startled him. He’d had the curtains

drawn and hadn’t noticed anyone approaching the room. He got

up from his chair and opened the door to find Frank standing

there, smiling, as always.

“Morning,” he said. “What ya doing?”

Brandon couldn’t speak for a moment. “What are you…?

Um, doing my programmes.”

The information didn’t seem to register. “Want to come for

a swim?”

“A swim? Where?”

“Kirk and a mate of his from Port Hedland are going out to

a waterhole.”

Brandon’s initial thought was to refuse. Those

programmes weren’t going to finish themselves. But instead,

assuming he was being given a second chance, he said yes.

“Good, grab a towel and let’s get going. They’re waiting

over by the pub.”

Brandon grabbed the towel out of the bathroom and

hurried to catch up to Frank.

“Frank, I’m sorry about last night,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Frank. “Forget it.”

“No, but I really am sorry. I…”

“I said forget it,” said Frank, with a slight frown appearing

on his face.

“About time,” said Kirk pushing himself off the car he’d

been leaning on. “This is Doug. This is Brandon.”

The two men shook hands and then everyone piled into

Doug’s jeep.

The waterhole was quite a way out of town. There wasn’t

a tree in sight, just red dirt and spinifex grass.

“Watch out for snakes,” said Kirk as they got out of the jeep.

Brandon was immediately alert. “I wish you hadn’t

mentioned snakes.”

Everyone took off their T-shirts and left them in the car.

Kirk was already wearing board shorts, so he was ready to go

swimming. Frank and Doug stripped down to their underpants,

but since Brandon wasn’t wearing any, he had to make do with

the shorts he had on.

The water was only about three metres from the top of the

rock they were standing on. Kirk and Doug jumped in first,

followed by Brandon, who’d always loved the water, and then

Frank.

“There are some Abo drawings over there,” said Kirk.

“Where?” asked Brandon. “Show me.”

They swam across to the other side of the waterhole,

which was no more than seven or eight metres from where

they’d jumped in. They arrived on a sandy bank, where a couple

of clumps of reeds were growing in the silt.

“Over here,” said Kirk.

The walls of the waterhole extended back quite a way

until they became a mass of jumbled rock which re-connected

the shallow gorge with the desert. But not far from the water, on

one section of the wall to his left, Brandon saw a truly amazing

sight. The drawings were surprisingly clear and detailed

considering they’d probably been there for hundreds, if not

thousands, of years. There were stick men with spears and

crude kangaroos. There was a yellow hand print and a fish,

complete with skeleton. Primitive they might have been.

Breathtaking they certainly were.

“I’ll see you back in the water,” said Kirk.

Brandon barely heard him and grunted an answer that

could have been anything. He walked up to the drawings,

examining each one of them as carefully as any scientist setting

eyes on them for the first time. He traced the outline of one with

his index finger, thinking about how another hand, one whose

owner had long since died, had done the same thing centuries

earlier; before white people had known Australia even existed.

And here, in the absolute silence of the desert, broken only by

the shrieks and shouts of his friends, he caught a flash of that

other existence—a man, so connected with his environment and

respectful of it that this was the only trace he’d left of himself.

Time seemed to stand still for Brandon. He knew many

minutes had passed, but was shocked to find out he’d been

staring at the drawings for half an hour.

“You all right, mate?” asked Kirk, as he approached,

dripping with water.

“Yeah, sorry. I just find this so…fascinating.”

Kirk looked at him as if he’d just spoken Swahili. “We

wondered whether you’d been bitten by a snake or something.

You coming back?”

Brandon was loathe to leave the drawings, but knew he

couldn’t examine them any more than he already had.

“Yeah,” he said, looking back over his shoulder one last

time as he followed Kirk back to the water.

Brandon swam across to the other side, using a series of

jutting rocks to climb back up to where the car was parked.

Frank was waiting by the edge of the hole, watching Kirk

swimming around.

“Is there anything to drink?” he asked Frank.

“Not sure. Ask Doug.”

As it turned out, Doug was already at the car and taking a

great gulp of lemonade from a two-litre bottle.

“Hi Doug,” said Brandon. “You wouldn’t mind if I had

some, would you? I forgot to bring anything to drink.”

Doug took another swig, swallowed, burped, and thrust

the bottle at Brandon. “Sure, mate. All yours.”

Brandon thanked him and drank until he was sated. He

put the bottle back into the icebox, perched on the back seat,

and went around to the back of the vehicle. The first thing he

saw was Doug looking at Frank. He had a strange expression on

his face and when Brandon looked past Doug at Frank, he could

see why. Frank had a hard on. It was jutting out inside his

underpants. Not only that, but his erection had lifted the fabric

away from his body and Doug, and Brandon, could clearly see

his big hairy balls.

Brandon found the strange scenario vaguely erotic and

soon felt his own cock getting hard. But Doug was having an

altogether different reaction. He shook his head and took a run at

the waterhole. He leapt off and disappeared over the side.

Frank’s eyes were still on the water. He’d been oblivious to the

attention his excited state had attracted. No doubt, Doug was

busy telling Kirk what he’d just witnessed and Brandon wouldn’t

be surprised if Frank, and perhaps even himself, were made to

walk back to town.

Luckily, no such thing happened. Frank and Brandon

jumped into the water and for a few minutes there was an

impromptu competition to see who could make the biggest

splash jumping into the water. Then there were water fights, four

pairs of hands sweeping great waves of water over each other

until everyone was thoroughly exhausted.

After climbing back out of the waterhole, everyone

collapsed onto the rock to dry off, which didn’t take long thanks

to the searing heat. Then, with great reluctance, all four men got

back into the jeep and Doug drove them into town.

“I should be heading back,” said Frank when they arrived

at Brandon’s room.

“It’s only two-thirty,” Brandon replied.

“Yeah Brandon, but I have things I’ve got to do before

work tomorrow.”

The insistent tone took Brandon a little by surprise. He

thought the day’s excursion had meant he’d been forgiven. He’d

obviously read too much into the invitation. It may not have even

been Frank’s invitation. Maybe Kirk had sent him over.

He nodded. There was little else he could do.

“So I’ll see you later,” said Frank, who made no move to

kiss him.

Brandon felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. No

goodbye kiss. Barely even a smile.

“Okay,” he said as he disappeared into his room.

Chapter 8: Snakes

Brandon threw himself into finishing his programmes. He

worked from breakfast to dinner, breaking only for lunch, to make

coffee, or to go to the toilet. When the middle weekend of his

holidays arrived, he wanted to be free to spend it with Frank, and

while he managed to accomplish his goal, the weekend arrived

and Frank didn’t show up.

Frank didn’t visit the following weekend either, and when

Brandon rang the mining camp at Bushie Creek and left a

message, there was no reply. With a heavy heart, Brandon

realised he’d have to start getting used to not having Frank

around.

“What’s up with you?” asked Katy as he took a seat in the

empty bar.

“Just been working too hard,” Brandon replied flatly.

“Oh, you poor baby. Bourbon and coke then?”

Brandon nodded.

“So how’s it going? How do you like teaching?”

Brandon shrugged. “It’s weird. Sometimes I feel as if I’m

only playing at being an adult. It’s almost like when I’m in the

classroom, responsible for the education and well-being of all

those kids, it’s someone else in there, inside my head, not me.”

“What do you mean?” Katy handed him his drink.

“I mean, I’ve just graduated from university where I got

drunk, smoked, tried drugs, had sex, was late for lectures, missed

lectures, chatted to friends, and passed notes during lectures, and

now I have to pretend to be this responsible person.”

“But you are a responsible person, aren’t you? You seem

pretty responsible to me.”

Brandon shrugged again. “Maybe. When I have to be. It

just feels weird telling the kids not to do things that I did.”

Brandon chuckled. “And telling them off for things that I reckon

are quite funny.”

“I can’t believe you stayed here for your holidays,” Katy

said as she took her trusty tea towel and started on a tray of

glasses she’d just taken out of the dishwasher. “I would have

gone back to the city. Back to real life.”

“Don’t you worry. I’m definitely going back for the next lot

of holidays.”

“Why didn’t you go this time? Really Brandon, I can’t

believe you didn’t get out of here. Flee back to Perth!”

It had been because of Frank. Of course it had. He had

wanted to spend as much time with Frank as he could. There

had been school-related work to do, but he could have done that

in the city just as easily. Katy would’ve worked that out for

herself. He’d have to come up with something pretty convincing.

“It costs too much to get down there.”

“You earn enough.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to spend it all on transport.” He

laughed for effect. “I’m going back next time, though, and then at

Christmas. The Education Department will pay for my flight down.”

“You’re lucky. I had to pay my way up and my way back.”

Brandon swallowed half the contents of his glass in one

go. “Why are you here? I’ve been wondering what a girl from

Claremont is doing in a place like this.”

“Darling, I’m going for a trip around Europe with my best

friend, Tasha. Money’s got to come from somewhere.”

“I thought your parents were loaded.”

“They are. Do you know my family owns a castle in Scotland?”

“Yeah, I did know that, actually,” Brandon replied

sarcastically.

“Oh! You!” huffed Katy as she flicked Brandon with her tea

towel. “Anyway, as I was saying, Daddy’s matching every dollar I

earn, so I want to earn a lot. You know me, I certainly won’t be

slumming it. Only the best for me, darling.”

As if on cue, they were interrupted by a vaguely familiar,

scruffy-looking man.

“Hello Derek,” said Katy with a note of “Oh My God” in it.

“The usual?”

Derek took a seat at the end of the bar.

“Hey Katy, you’re a vegetarian, aren’t ya?”

Katy poured the man his beer and took it down to him.

“No, I eat meat. Love it,” she replied.

“I’ve got a sausage here you can snack on.”

Brandon’s eyes went from Derek to Katy just in time to

catch her screwing up her face. “Oh Derek, that isn’t even

clever.” She flicked some beer foam from her fingers and

returned to Brandon.

Derek chuckled to himself then took a sip of beer. “You

won’t worry about clever when you clap eyes on it.”

Katy shot him a disapproving look. “Oh pfft!” She began

wiping down the counter. “Some people are so disgusting,” she

said under her breath.

Brandon smiled at her then finished his drink.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” he said. “Leave you two lovebirds

alone.”

“Ugh!” Katy grunted. “Don’t make me vomit.”

As Brandon was crossing the lawn in front of his room he

saw Julie, the long-haired hippy girl, hanging out some freshly-

washed sheets and tablecloths.

“How’s it going?” he said.

“Alright,” Julie replied in her usual relaxed tone. “Nearly

finished. I thought ya would have gone back to the city for ya

holidays.”

“Nope, too much work to do,” he replied.

“What work do ya have to do? Aren’t the kids on holiday, too?”

Julie was beautiful, very natural and very kind, but her

question made Brandon wonder about her intellect.

“Yeah, it’s school holidays. The kids are off for two weeks,

as well, but I have to plan my lessons for next term and get all

the worksheets and stuff like that done.”

Julie nodded. “Oh yeah,” she said dreamily. “I didn’t think

about that. Just thought ya got it out of books or something.”

Brandon turned and took a step forward, noticing as he did a

beautiful, pale green snake slithering casually past his door.

“Look. A snake,” he said.

Julie’s smile widened as if she were expecting to laugh. “A

snake?”

“Yeah,” said Brandon pointing.

Julie took a few tentative steps towards Brandon, her

eyes riveted to where he was pointing.

The slender serpent arrived at the end of the veranda,

paused for a few seconds, tongue flickering, to decide whether to

continue straight ahead across the dirt towards the road, or to

turn the corner and head back towards the desert.

“I thought ya were pulling me leg,” Julie said. “Ya said it

so calmly.”

Brandon smiled. “Ah, I’m not scared of snakes. I actually

like them.”

“They give me the creeps,” said Julie, returning to the

clothes line.

“Anyway, I’d better get on with it. See you later.”

Brandon went into his room, lay down on his bed, and

wondered what the hell he was going to do with the second week

of his holiday.

The next day, he went into the hotel store to buy some

snacks and bumped into Fancy.

“Hi Fancy,” he said.

“Hello, Mitter Lewis,” said Fancy, self-consciously casting

her eyes to the floor.

“Enjoying your holidays?”

“Yes, Mitter Lewis.”

Noticing how uncomfortable the woman was, Brandon

directed his attention to Julie, who worked in the store when she

wasn’t cleaning.

“Hey Julie. How’s things?”

“Ya missed all the excitement. There was a King Brown in

here this morning.”

“You’re kidding.”

King Browns were one of the most poisonous snakes in

the world.

“Yep. I was just standing here reading a magazine and I

heard all this screaming coming from the bar. Katy reckoned she

saw it coming right through that door, so it must have come in

while I was reading me magazine.”

“Shit, that’s scary.”

“Thought ya liked snakes,” said Julie, smirking.

“I do, but a spinifex snake is one thing. A King Brown is

another.”

“Mitter Lewis.”

Brandon almost didn’t hear Fancy, who’d obviously been

hovering in the background waiting for Brandon to stop talking to Julie.

“You been down the reserve?”

The reserve was where the Martu people lived; a huge

portion of land that traditionally belonged to them and which

could never be taken away. The government had built houses for

them on this land, and employed a liaison officer to manage the

tribe, things like keeping an eye on their health and making sure

the children went to school.

“No, I haven’t.”

Fancy glanced up at him. “You wanna come and visit?”

Brandon hadn’t heard very good things about the

reserve—the alcoholism and violence, the destruction of

property, and even incest. But since everything he’d heard had

come from Mark Petersen, a biased source at best, he decided

to take a chance.

“Sure Fancy. When do you want me to come down?”

“This afternoon. I wait for you. I look after you.”

A smile flickered unsteadily on Brandon’s lips. “Okay.”

Fancy smiled at him and shuffled out of the shop.

“Ya really going down there?” asked Julie.

“Yeah, why not?”

“I wouldn’t. You’re a man so I guess that’s different. I still

wouldn’t, but.”

Brandon bought a couple of packets of chips and some

chocolate and took the booty back to his room. At three o’clock

he put on his hat and sunglasses and set off on his excursion.

He walked past the pub, past the health centre and the school,

past the Petersen’s and the house where the Aboriginal Liaison

Officer and his family lived, towards the reserve.

The reserve was fenced off and he entered through a

metal-framed wire gate that had been left open. He didn’t have to

go far to see the small group of government-built tin houses. They

were very simple, just shells. The glass in the windows was either

broken or missing. There were no doors, just doorways, and from

what he could see, there was no furniture inside the houses.

He could also see a group of people sitting around a fire

and as he neared them he heard a chorus of children shouting,

“Mitter Lewis, Mitter Lewis.”

His students were barely recognisable out of their uniform.

Their hair was uncombed and matted. Their camp clothes were

dirty and torn. A couple of them had twin lines of snot running

from their noses. (Mark referred to them as ‘candlesticks”). But

their bright smiles and eagerness to take his hands and lead him

to the camp fire made him forget all that.

Upon his arrival, Fancy got up from the mattress she was

sitting on and walked over to greet him. Here, on her land and in

her home, she was a much more confident person. She looked

him directly in the eye and smiled.

“You came,” she said as if she hadn’t expected him to.

Then she giggled.

“I said I would,” Brandon replied.

“Mitter Lewis, come and see my house,” said Doonga.

The little boy was stronger than he looked and when he

yanked Brandon’s hand, Brandon nearly fell forward.

“Okay, okay,” said Brandon, hurrying to keep up. He

looked over his shoulder at Fancy, “Is it all right if I go with him?”

Fancy looked towards the houses. “I go with you.”

Brandon wondered what he’d got himself into.

Doonga led him to the nearest house, while the other

children shouted at Brandon to see their houses, too.

“Just one,” Brandon said. “And Doonga was first.”

Doonga laughed at the other kids—“Ha-ha”—and

promptly got several slaps for the privilege.

The house was no more than a thick concrete slab upon

which a simple three-roomed shack of tin had been constructed.

As Brandon suspected, none of the rooms had any furniture and

the only thing he did see were a few blankets, a pile of clothes,

some old bones and a sleeping dog.

“And where do you sleep?” asked Brandon.

“Over there. In that room, Mitter,” Doonga replied, pointing.

“Very nice,” said Brandon.

They returned to the fire and Brandon sat down next to

Fancy and smiled respectfully at the other adults there.

One of the male elders spoke, in Martu Wangka.

“He want to know where you from,” said Fancy translating.

“I’m from the city,” said Brandon, addressing his answer to

the old man, while Fancy translated. “But I was born and raised

in the country.”

“Where your country?” asked Fancy on behalf of the old man.

“Down south.”

The old man nodded as Fancy translated.

“Why you come and teach here?” she asked.

“I was sent here by the Education Department.”

“Government?”

“Yes.”

“Me, too,” said Fancy. “We all here because of government.”

“I thought this was your land,” said Brandon.

“This all our land. Your room on our land, but government

say this the place we gotta live.”

“That’s awful,” said Brandon, although as a white person

what could he really say that had any validity? The entire

continent of Australia had been Aboriginal land before European

colonisation. Everywhere he’d ever lived had once belonged to

one indigenous tribe or another. Who was he to try and

empathise with the Martu?

“Martu people live in the desert long, long time. My mother

never see a white fella till she was forty. Martu people used to walk

all over this place. Hunting. Visiting. You know, spirits made all this

place. Hills, rivers, waterholes. Long, long time ago. Our ancestors

here, too. This land very special place for Martu people.”

When Fancy had finished speaking, she hung her head.

She had said all she wanted to say.

Brandon didn’t know how to respond. He felt as though he

wanted to apologise. Fortunately, he didn’t have to say anything.

At that moment, a young Aboriginal man, perhaps only a couple

of years older than Brandon, was coming at them, shouting and

brandishing a spear.

“You better go,” said Fancy, pulling herself up.

Without a goodbye or a backwards glance, Fancy walked

towards the young man, shouting at him in Martu Wangka and

stabbing the air with her finger. Brandon said a collective

palunyangulyu (goodbye) to the others seated around the

campfire and hurried back the way he’d come. As he got to the

gate, he glanced back over his shoulder. There was no sign of

the young man, but Fancy was standing by the camp fire waving

back at him. He waved once then walked quickly back to town.

* * * *

The following week, on the first day of school, Fancy was

behaving rather sheepishly around him.

“Thank you for inviting me to the reserve,” he said, hoping

to make her feel more comfortable.

She smiled and nodded, doing her best to avoid eye

contact. She was back in his world now. In her world, she had

power. Here, she felt she had none.

Mark, who had heard about Brandon’s visit to the reserve,

probably from Fancy, made a point of calling in to Brandon’s

classroom before lessons started.

“Can’t believe you did that,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

“Better get your hair checked for nits.” He pretended to check

Brandon’s hair. “Mate, you’re crawling!”

He left the room chuckling.

At lunchtime, Brandon was on playground duty when he

noticed a group of his students standing around in a small circle

at the edge of the playground. Curious to see what they were up

to, he walked over to them.

“What are you all looking at?” he asked, trying to peer

over their shoulders.

“Snake. Snake,” they chorused.

As Julie had doubted him the previous week, he too

doubted there could possibly be a snake in the middle of such a

small circle. Nevertheless he leaned further over and sure

enough, there it was. A Death Adder. A small but very poisonous

snake, curled up and blending in with the stony ground perfectly.

In fact, if the children hadn’t shown him where it was, he would

never have noticed it.

“Come away,” he said, feeling slightly ridiculous. He was

fresh out of the city and these children lived with various creepy

crawlies every day of their lives. They knew better than him what

the score with such a venomous reptile was.

When the bell rang signalling the end of lunchtime,

Brandon waited for the children to line up outside the classroom.

“We aren’t going in until you settle down,” he said.

Trina had given him lots of advice during his short time at

the school, but the one pearl of wisdom he was most grateful for

was that he should always wait for the children to calm

themselves before allowing them into the classroom. This way

they knew that playtime was over and it was time for learning.

However, the snake had overexcited them and it took a full five

minutes before they were quiet enough to go inside.

“Okay. That’s better. Now, I want you to go inside, quietly,

and sit on the story mat,” he said.

The children did as he’d instructed and entered the

classroom quietly, but once they were inside it was a mad dash

for the small square of carpet by the bookcase.

After taking a seat on a desk at the front of the story mat,

Brandon said, “I’m looking for someone sitting very nicely and

very quietly to choose a story.”

Most of the children sat up to attention, pressing their lips

together to demonstrate how quiet they were being. Only three of

them didn’t really care if they got to choose the story or not. One

girl, Vanja, who’d been molested not only by her uncle but by

another boy in the school, had psychological problems that made

her oblivious to the effects of her actions on those around her.

She saw a spot she wanted to sit and despite the fact someone

else was already sitting there, she proceeded to push the other

girl out of the way with her hip. Naturally, the girl was upset and

raised her arm, ready to hit Vanja.

“Okay, Vanja, come and sit here, please,” Brandon said,

pointing to a small space by his feet.

“Mitta Lewis,” moaned Vanja, frowning at Brandon with all

the intensity of a serial killer.

“Vanja, can’t you see that Melanie’s already sitting there.”

“I wanna sit there, Mitta!” she snapped, stamping her foot

emphatically.

“I beg your pardon, Vanja,” said Brandon sternly. “You

can come and sit here or go and sit on the step outside until you

feel better.”

Vanja considered her options for a few seconds before

plopping down on the spot by Brandon’s feet.

“Everyone is doing such a good job of sitting nicely, it’s

really difficult to choose,” said Brandon, putting into practice

some of the psychology he’d learned at university. “But I can

only choose one person. Mmmm.” He made it sound as though

the decision was a difficult one, whereas really he had already

decided. “I think Raylene is doing a wonderful job. Raylene, you

can choose our story.”

Brandon had been quite lenient towards Raylene since

the incident with the soap. And while he’d never forgiven Mark

Petersen for even suggesting something so cruel, he’d spent the

time since making amends to the little girl.

Raylene chose The Hungry Caterpillar, which all the

children loved. He must have read it about a dozen times since

starting at the school.

“Oh Raylene, do you really want this story? Haven’t we

heard it enough times already?”

“No!” chorused the children.

Who was Brandon to go against such overwhelming

opposition?

He began reading. He’d got a third of the way through

when Vanja stood up and put her finger in one of the holes in the

book. In a world of her own, she took control of the book, lifting

the page to see her finger poking out the other side.

“Sit down!” shouted Billy, slapping Vanja on the legs.

Vanja burst into tears.

Brandon put the book down. “Okay, Billy you can go and

sit at your desk. There’s no hitting in this class.”

Billy, a solidly built boy with a head that had been freshly

clipped, got up and stormed back to his seat. Before he sat down

he shot Vanja a dirty look and snarled something in Martu

Wangka. At least Brandon thought it was directed at Vanja.

Perhaps it had been meant for both of them.

“Now, Vanja, you were in the way, weren’t you? The other

children couldn’t see the book.”

Vanja’s finger went to her mouth. She was deciding

whether to cry or not.

“Come and sit next to me. You can turn the pages.”

A big smile blossomed on Vanja’s face.

“I wanna turn the pages!” Raylene shouted angrily,

shooting to her feet.

Brandon felt like rolling his eyes. “Raylene, you chose the

book, didn’t you? You can’t do everything. That’s not fair, is it?”

The frown on Raylene’s face dissipated. She walked to

the other side of Brandon and sat on the desk beside him.

“Are you going to be able to see from there?” asked Brandon.

Raylene leaned forward, the position looking

uncomfortable and unsustainable. “Yes,” she replied.

Brandon continued reading. As he came to the end of the

text on each page, he’d say “Vanja” and Vanja would turn the

page, sometimes being unable to resist the urge to quickly poke

her finger into the holes the Hungry Caterpillar had made as he

ate his way through various items of food.

At the completion of the story, as Brandon was about to

ask the children to stand up and go quietly back to their seats,

Raylene grabbed his arm.

“Mitta Lewis, your skin white, but you not white. You one

of us.”

Brandon looked at Raylene’s smiling face and for a

moment was lost for words.

“Thank you, Raylene,” he said, beaming. “That’s the

nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Raylene released Brandon’s arm and twisted herself

slowly off the desk to join her friends returning to their seats.

The compliment meant so much more coming from Raylene.

Chapter 9: Wet

During the wet season life sometimes became slightly

more difficult. Unlike the southern part of the state, the rain here

would pour for days. The ground turned into red slush and pools

of water appeared in the most unlikely places. So much rain also

meant the air strip was closed. That meant no mail, no

newspapers, no bread, and no milk. Brandon didn’t care about

newspapers or milk, but he hated not getting mail. The plane

only came twice a week as it was, but sometimes the air strip

could be closed for two weeks. Two weeks without mail nearly

drove Brandon crazy.

Finally, when the rain had soaked into the normally

parched earth and everything had dried off, the plane was able

to land and with it came a letter from Brandon’s mother and

another one from Frank.

Curious, Brandon tore the envelope open and read the

contents, written in a barely legible combination of capitals and

lower case letters.

SExy BRAnDon,

SoRRy I hAvEn’t bEEn in touch. BEEn down to thE big

smokE. BAck on thE 15

. WAnt to comE and sEE you. (If yA still

tAlking to mE.)

LovE FRAnk.

Brandon greeted the news with mixed feelings. He had

spent the past six weeks or so trying to get used to the fact he

might never see Frank again and suddenly there was a letter. He

stopped walking and read it again. Do I even want to see him

again? Of course I do. Do I still have feelings for him? He looked

up from the letter as if the answer would lie somewhere in the

rain-drenched street. Definitely.

He recommenced walking and by the time he got back to

his room he realised he’d been humming.

The following Sunday Frank turned up, carrying a bottle of

wine and wearing a heart-melting smile.

“Hey sexy,” he said as he stepped inside Brandon’s room.

Brandon groaned at the word ‘sexy’ being spoken so

loudly and publicly, and quickly checked the grounds for signs of

anyone about. Thankfully, the area was clear, though he was

quick to close the door before Frank had a chance to see what

he’d done.

“How are you, Frank?”

“It’s been a while,” he said, putting the wine in Brandon’s

bar fridge.

“Yeah,” Brandon replied, feeling strangely awkward.

Usually by this stage they’d kissed and hugged, but now,

since their disagreement, there was a palpable sense of

discomfort between them.

“I can only stay for a couple of hours,” said Frank. “But I

thought a couple of hours would be better than nothing.”

Brandon nodded. Why is this so difficult?

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, retrieving the wine

and getting the glasses.

He poured them both some wine and handed Frank a glass.

“Here’s to us,” said Frank.

They clinked their glasses and Frank took the opportunity

to kiss Brandon on the lips.

Brandon felt his cock react immediately. It had been a

long time.

Both of them placed their glasses on Brandon’s desk, the

wine untouched. Their bodies came together, and their lips.

Warm breath burst into each other’s mouths as their tongues

entwined—licking, tasting. Frank lowered Brandon onto the bed

and removed Brandon’s shorts before removing his own.

Frank lay down next to Brandon and, as he pressed his

lips against Brandon’s, he slid his hand down over the smooth

skin of Brandon’s chest, brushing his erect nipple and causing

him to shudder. He continued to slide it further down, over

Brandon’s flat stomach, across the tangle of pubic hair to his

erection. His fingers gripped it and began stroking.

Brandon’s right arm was pinned between their bodies and

when he tried to reach across with his left arm, Frank pushed it

away.

“Relax,” he whispered between kisses.

Brandon closed his eyes. Every sensation was magnified.

Frank’s lips seemed wetter and softer. His body warmer. The

gentle scratching sensation of Frank’s unshaven jaw against the

smooth, sensitive skin of his own face sent tingles radiating

through his body. He could even feel the light abrasiveness of

Frank’s thick chest hair against the smooth skin of his arm.

He felt his muscles tensing and a familiar sensation

growing in the core of his being. As Frank’s hand continued to

slip like a piston up and down the length of his engorged cock,

he began to writhe. He arched his back slightly and moaned.

Frank swallowed the moan and began to kiss him even more

passionately. Frank’s hand began to work harder, faster, on his

erection. Such power and strength in his strokes.

Brandon began to grunt, the sounds muffled by Frank’s

mouth over his. His whole body tensed. His fingers clawed the

bedding. With one mighty grunt he bucked his hips upwards as a

white streak shot from the head of his cock and hit the

headboard of the bed. More and more ribbons of white rocketed

out, landing in a crisscross pattern of wet splatters across his

chest and belly. And as the last bead of pearly cum appeared at

the very tip of his cock, Frank leaned down and sucked it off,

lingering to take the entire length of Brandon’s shaft down his

throat several times before returning to Brandon’s lips for a final

few, cum-flavoured kisses.

They lay in silence for a minute. Brandon was grateful for

the respite. He wanted to revel in the final remnants of his climax

before they disappeared altogether.

“I was thinking…” said Frank, breaking the silence.

“What about?”

“Would you like to go away with me next weekend?”

“Where to?”

“To the coast. Port Hedland. We can get a room and

spend our first night together. We can hire a dinghy and go

fishing. Have you ever been fishing before?”

“No.”

“So what do you think?”

It was getting near the end of term. For two weeks he’d be

away in the city. When he came back there would be ten short

weeks of the final term and then he’d be leaving Gunnanilla forever.

“Yes,” he said. “I’d love to.”

“Good,” said Frank. “It’ll be fun.”

Chapter 10: Port Hedland

It was Brandon’s first real trip out of Gunnanilla since he

arrived. The sight of the ocean was a welcome one. The town

itself was rather drab, but at least it was a town and not an

outpost, like Gunnanilla.

“How about some lunch?” asked Frank. “Fish and chips?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Brandon.

“Keep your eyes open for a fish and chip shop.”

It didn’t take long to find one. They pulled into an empty

parking bay and went inside to order.

“Feels so good to be away from Gunnanilla,” Brandon said

as they went back outside to wait for their order to be cooked.

Frank leaned in. “Feel even better tonight,” he said, giving

the front of Brandon’s jeans a rub.

Here, Brandon didn’t care if anyone saw them. No one

knew them in Port Hedland. Here, he could openly enjoy Frank’s

amorous attention.

They ate their lunch in a park overlooking the ocean.

There was a slight chill in the air, but the sun was out. The

breeze blowing in off the ocean was fresh and tousled Frank’s

curls as it raced towards the desert.

After lunch, they returned to the fish and chip shop to buy

some bait and then headed towards the inlet where they hired a

small aluminium dinghy. They returned to the Land Cruiser and

after a short rummage about in the back, Frank produced two

fishing rods.

“Hold these,” he said while he retrieved a small metal box

and a bucket. “Ready?”

Brandon nodded.

“Let’s go and get some fish then.”

They walked down a small, wooden jetty and located the

dinghy. Frank climbed in first and Brandon handed him their

fishing gear before climbing into the boat himself.

“You ever been in a boat before?” asked Frank.

“No,” said Brandon excitedly.

The area was all mangroves and Frank mentioned they

had to be careful of the tide.

“When the tide goes out, all this becomes mud flats.”

Brandon leaned over the side of the boat and could easily

see the bottom through the tea-coloured water.

“Let’s go out further,” he said.

“Can’t go out too far,” said Frank. “Not in such a little boat.

It’s alright. We’ll catch some fish over there a bit.”

Frank brought the boat to a stop near the edge of the

mangroves. They were equidistant from the jetty and the open sea.

“The fish like to hang around the roots,” he explained.

“Keeps them safe.”

“From what?” asked Brandon, watching carefully as Frank

baited one of the hooks.

“Sharks, barracudas,” he said. “Lots of things out here.”

The word ‘shark’ soon wiped the smile from Brandon’s

face. Ever since he’d seen Jaws, and the intermittent newspaper

articles about shark fatalities along the Western Australian coast,

the joy of a day at the beach had lost a good deal of its appeal.

“But there wouldn’t be any in this water?” said Brandon,

hopefully. “It’s too shallow.”

Frank finished baiting the hook and leaned over the side

of the boat. “You could get a small shark coming in for a look.”

Frank passed the rod with the baited hook to Brandon,

who refused to take it. “I want to do my own,” he said.

“You know how to?” asked Frank passing him the second rod.

“Just watched you do it,” Brandon replied.

He pushed the hook through the tiny bait fish, grimacing

as he did.

“This is a sinker,” said Frank, pointing to a small metal ball

at the end of the line, near the hook. “This is what takes the hook

down to where the fish will see your bait. Now, you take your rod

back like this and release this little lever here as you flick the rod

forward, like this.”

Frank’s hook went sailing through the air and landed with

a plop about eight metres from the dinghy. Brandon did as he’d

been instructed, sending his hook flying in the opposite direction.

“Now we wait,” said Frank.

The cool breeze from earlier had dissipated. The sun’s

rays were beating down on them with gusto. Brandon removed

his T-shirt. Frank followed suit.

“So what have you been up to while I was away?” asked

Frank.

Brandon shrugged his shoulders. “Not much. Work, work,

and more work. Not much else to do.”

“How much longer have you got up here?”

“About three more months. I go back to Perth in a couple

of weeks.”

“School holidays?”

Brandon nodded. “I’ve already started work on next term’s

programmes. Nearly finished, in fact. I don’t want to have to do a

damned thing when I’m down there.”

Frank smiled. “Going to get up to some mischief, hey?”

Brandon smiled, embarrassed. “Course not.”

Frank, who had taken off his thongs, pressed his toes

gently against Brandon’s crotch.

Then Brandon had a thought. “Did you get up to mischief

down there?”

He could hardly bear to hear the answer. If Frank replied

in the affirmative, he didn’t know what he’d do. Even thinking

about Frank with someone else had the flames of jealousy

flickering bright.

“I didn’t really have time,” he replied.

“What did you go down for?”

“I had to go and see my doctor. Do some shopping. I had

some time owing so I thought I’d use it.”

Brandon nodded. “What did you go and see the

doctor…?”

Before he could finish his sentence, there was a tug on

his line. He gripped the rod, eagerly.

“You got a bite?”

“Yeah,” said Brandon.

“Pull it in gently. Keep the tension on the line. That’s it.

Steady. Steady.”

Brandon could see something silvery in the water, wriggling

madly to free itself from the hook embedded in its mouth.

“That’s it. Now bring it out of the water.”

Even with his limited knowledge of fish, Brandon could

see that what he had on the other end was a barracuda. It’s long

body and vicious teeth were unmistakable. He didn’t know how

big they grew, but this one looked like a baby. Perhaps thirty

centimetres. He imaged them to be something much more

monstrous.

“Take it off the hook and throw it into the bucket. Be

careful of its teeth.”

Brandon pulled a face. “I didn’t need to be told that,” he

said as he twisted the wriggling creature off the hook. “Can you

eat them?”

“Sure can. And it looks like it’s all we’re going to be eating.”

“Where are we going to cook it?”

“The motel’s got some barbecues out the back. We’ll

throw it on one of them. But you have to gut and clean it first.”

Brandon hadn’t considered that part. He’d thought about

the catching it part and the eating it part, but not the part that

came in the middle.

“Can you do it for me?” he asked. “I really don’t want to kill it.”

Frank shook his head. “You caught it, you clean it. If you

don’t want to do it, throw it back while it’s still alive.”

Brandon considered his options. He didn’t want to throw

the first fish he’d ever caught back into the sea. What sort of

story would that make for his friends back in the city?

Reluctantly he picked the fish up in one hand and the

gutting knife in the other.

“Cut it here,” said Frank, pointing to a spot just under its

head, “and bring the knife all the way down to the tail.”

Brandon pushed the point of the knife in, squirming as the

blade cut through flesh.

“You’re making a mess,” said Frank. “Do it over the side

of the boat, but don’t let go.”

Brandon positioned both arms over the side of the dinghy

and looked away as he pulled the knife down the pale white belly

of the fish. He could feel blood and god knows what else running

down his hand and wrist. He imagined that at any minute, a

shark, having smelt the blood, would leap out of the water, taking

his fish and both his arms with it.

Feeling bilious, Brandon washed the knife and handed it

back to Frank, who could barely suppress his laughter.

“Now you have to clean it. Put a couple of fingers in and

pull down. Most of its insides should come out.”

Brandon buried two fingers into the warm, slimy innards of

the fish, gagging as he did. Finding it no more possible to watch

what he was doing, than when he was killing the poor creature,

he focused his attention on Frank, who was laughing so hard he

had tears streaming down his cheeks.

“What’s wrong, Brandon?” Frank asked between fits of

laughter. “You look a bit pale. A bit green around the gills.”

Brandon continued dry retching, tasting a trace of

undigested fish and chips and feeling the burn of vomit at the

back of his throat as his fingers dragged out the bulk of the

barracuda’s innards. When he got to the tail, he leaned over the

side of the dinghy and rinsed the fish out in the water. When he

was sure he’d thoroughly cleaned the fish, he threw it into the

bucket and glared at Frank.

“That was the most disgusting thing I have ever done,” he

said. “And if you’re going to make me do that again then I’m not

catching any more fish.”

Frank was still laughing. His face was glistening with tears.

“I’m glad you find it so funny,” growled Brandon, looking away.

Something moving in the water next to him caught his

attention. Momentarily forgetting his anger and disgust, he

pointed at the small shark.

“I can’t believe it. Look at it!”

Frank looked over from where he was sitting. “Must be

after the blood and guts. It’s only a baby.”

The shark was about a metre long, very small and

slender. Rather than scare him, the baby predator fascinated

Brandon and he watched as it swam about beside the boat.

Frank was quick to drop the hook over the side.

“What are you doing?” said Brandon, horrified. “Don’t kill it.”

“Sharks make good eating. Probably what your fish at

lunch today was.”

Frank lowered the hook into the water, while Brandon

willed the small beast to swim away. The shark must have got

the message. Finding nothing of any substance to eat, it casually

swam out towards the open sea.

“Are you just going to sit there?” asked Frank after he’d

cast his line again.

Brandon nodded. “Sure am. If you’re going to make me do

gross things like that every time I catch a fish, then I’m not going

to catch any more.”

Frank smirked, and Brandon could see he was trying to

stifle a laugh.

A boat load of people coming in after a day out on the sea

went past them on the other side of the inlet. They tooted their

horn and several of them raised glasses to Brandon and Frank.

They were too far away to see clearly, but Brandon could have

sworn one of the women had her tits out.

It gave him an idea.

He pulled his shorts off.

Frank looked horrified. “Put them back on,” he said. “What

if someone comes by? You’ll be arrested.”

“How are they going to see? The edge of the boat will

hide me. They won’t know I’m not wearing any bathers,” he said.

Brandon’s cock was growing stiff. The idea of being naked

out in public and with the heat of the sun beating down on his

naked flesh had his system swimming with hormones.

He could see that Frank approved, too. There was a large

protrusion at the front of Frank’s shorts.

After a quick look around, Frank slid his shorts off and

they were both sitting in the boat absolutely naked with their

erections jutting up proudly.

Brandon got down on his knees, steadying himself as the

boat wobbled in the water. He leaned forward and took Frank’s

large cock into his mouth.

“You’ll get us arrested,” Frank said, though he made no

attempt to push Brandon away.

Knowing that time was short, Brandon did everything he

could to ensure speedy satisfaction. His lips were firm around

the girth of Frank’s cock, his throat, open, so he could take as

much of Frank’s cock down his throat as possible. Once he’d got

a good rhythm going, he wriggled a finger into the hairy crease

between Frank’s butt cheeks. As he continued sliding his lips up

and down the length of the shaft, he began to finger fuck Frank’s

not-very-tight arsehole.

He felt Frank place a hand on the back of his head,

pushing him harder onto his cock each time he went down. Soon

he tasted Frank’s pre-cum at the back of his throat. He could feel

Frank’s prostate growing firmer, more solid. Frank’s cock swelled

in his mouth, filling it until it was difficult to go down as easily as

he had been. Then he felt it. A warm spurt of cum, hitting the soft

tissue at the back of his throat. He drank it down fast and when

the bountiful load eased to a few drops, he sucked them from the

head of Frank’s cock.

“Someone’s coming,” said Frank, pushing Brandon’s head

off his cock.

“Yeah, you just did,” Brandon said with a smirk as he sat

up and looked over his shoulder. Two men in a dinghy had their

eyes on Frank and now Brandon.

“Think they saw us,” said Frank.

Brandon grabbed the barracuda and leaned over the side

of the boat and gave it another rinsing. As the men went by he

held it up and the concerned expression on their faces

disappeared. One of them even gave Brandon the thumbs up.

“You’re a sneaky little bugger, aren’t you?” said Frank.

Brandon leaned up and kissed him. “Can be,” he replied.

Later that evening, Frank placed Brandon’s barracuda on

the barbecue, along with the two fish he’d caught. Brandon,

meanwhile, piled two plates up with the pre-made salads they’d

bought on the way back to the motel.

Fit to bursting after a large dinner, they returned to their

room with a bottle of champagne for a night of love making,

punctuated by brief periods of rest. With barely a couple of hours

to go before the sun broke on a new day, Brandon rolled onto his

side and spooned with Frank. It felt good to be able to sleep

together, with Frank’s arms securely around him and Frank’s

cock pressed against the firm mounds of his buttocks. As his

eyelids grew too heavy to keep open, he smiled and fell into a

deep, restful sleep.

Check out time on Sunday was ten o’clock, and they only

just made it out in time not to be charged for another night. On

the way back to Gunnanilla, Frank let Brandon drive.

“So you’ve got three, or four, more months up here?”

asked Frank.

“A bit over three, I think. One more week of this term, then

two weeks in Perth, then ten weeks until the end of the final term.”

“And what happens then?”

“I go back to Perth.”

The minute he said it, he regretted not using a little more

tact. It seemed so final. So pre-determined.

Frank looked out his side window. “And…what about us?”

He was hesitant. “I don’t think I could live in the city. Nice place

to visit, but I prefer the open spaces.”

“I don’t think I could live up here all the time, Frank. It’s so

boring. There’s nothing to do. Without you, I’d have gone crazy

by now.”

“But you do have me,” said Frank, turning his face back to

Brandon. “So what are we going to do?”

An uncomfortable silence descended. Brandon had no

idea what Frank was thinking, and as for himself, he couldn’t see

any possible way around their dilemma.

“Do you love me?” asked Frank.

“Yes, I do,” Brandon replied.

In fact, Brandon loved Frank more than he’d ever loved

anyone in his life. When he told his mother he loved her, the

feelings he was expressing were nothing like the feelings he felt

when he thought about how much he loved Frank.

“How about we go around Australia together?” said Frank.

“When you finish up here? We can sleep in my car, go where we

want and do what we want. We could make love every day.”

The idea appealed to Brandon, as a fantasy. Yet he knew

his answer was one Frank wasn’t going to like. His thoughts

turned to his friends in Perth. He missed them and couldn’t wait

to see them. He missed the clubs and vibrant city life. He knew

he couldn’t do without them. Not now. Perhaps when he was

older, but then where would he and Frank be in five or ten years’

time when he might be ready to do something like travel around

Australia?

“Can I think about it?” Brandon asked finally, buying

himself some time to consider his answer, or rather how he was

going to phrase it.

“Course you can,” said Frank, grabbing Brandon’s thigh

and giving it a squeeze. “It’s a big decision to make. I know that.”

Chapter 11: The Big Smoke

The cheapest way back to the city was by bus. It was also

sixteen hours of Brandon’s life that he’d never get back. The bus

arrived at the Gunnanilla service station at eight o’clock at night.

Brandon found a seat next to a middle-aged man with a

moustache and headphones, and sat down.

“Hello,” said the man.

Brandon returned the greeting, accompanied by a quick

smile, and hoped he wouldn’t be trapped next to a talker. He

needn’t have worried. The man seemed quite happy to listen to

whatever it was he was listening to.

Brandon made a mental note to buy himself a Walkman

while he was in the city.

The journey was non-stop through the night. One by one

the people around him fell asleep, but no matter what he did, he

couldn’t seem to get there himself. But he must have nodded of

at some point. He awoke the next morning to a bus filled with the

smell of morning breath. It was strong enough to make him pull

his blanket up over his nose to block the worst of it.

Even more disgusting were the people who, as soon as

the bus stopped at a roadside diner, got out and lit up a

cigarette. Before going to the toilet, before getting something to

eat or drink, they pulled out a fag and lit up.

Brandon got off the bus and made for the toilets, where he

did what he had to, washed his face and hands, and rinsed his

mouth out. He went into the diner and ordered a cup of coffee,

some orange juice, and a bacon and egg sandwich. There was

no time for the real thing since the bus was only stopping for

fifteen minutes.

Finally, they were on the home stretch. As the bus neared

the city, Brandon’s mood brightened. As the vast, misty

paddocks of grazing cattle gave way to houses, and the towering

eucalypts became neatly tended gardens, Brandon grew

increasingly restless. Twice the man beside him asked him to

stop jiggling his leg. The minute the bus pulled into the East

Perth terminal, Brandon was off like a rocket, at the front of the

bus before anyone else had even got out of their seats.

Brandon booked a room at the Wellington Hotel. It was

cheap and he had to share a bathroom, but his room was neat

and clean, and it smelled nice. Before he did anything else, he

stripped down to his underpants and T-shirt, grabbed a towel,

and padded down the carpeted hall to the bathroom. There was

one other occupant, a man not much older than him, who was

shaving naked at the mirrors. They nodded at each other before

Brandon stepped into one of the vacant cubicles and removed

his clothing.

As he was washing himself he kept thinking about the

man at the mirror, wondering if perhaps they’d end up fucking in

the steamy bathroom. His cock grew hard at the thought, but

then he thought about Frank and jerked off instead.

As it was Saturday, most of his friends were working. To

fill in time he got a haircut, had some Chinese for lunch, and

went to a movie. He returned to his room in the early evening,

feeling exhausted. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes.

Sleep wasn’t far away. In his dreams, he was with the man from

the bathroom. He was bent over the sinks, watching himself

being fucked in the mirror.

When he woke up it was too late for dinner. He wasn’t

feeling hungry anyway. What he wanted to do, more than

anything, was speak to his best friend, Stig. He rolled over, lifted

the handpiece of the telephone and dialled.

“Are you back?” asked Stig.

“I told you I’d be back today.”

“How are you?”

“Feeling better now,” Brandon replied. “How about we

catch up tonight? You can tell me everything.”

“We’re going to Capture tonight—Craig, Russ, and me.

Wanna come?”

Brandon beamed. “God, I was hoping you were going out.”

“Meet you there at ten.”

“Definitely.”

Capture had been known by many names—The Furnace,

Blast, and even Pinkies back in the seventies. It was the best

gay club in town, or at least the longest running club, which

amounted to the same thing, Brandon supposed.

He dressed entirely in black, the unofficial dress code at

Capture, and walked across the famous horseshoe bridge into

Northbridge—the nightclub/restaurant district. The lights and

noises of the inner city may as well have been a fanfare for his

return. Suddenly he felt alive again. Part of the world. Gunnanilla

was a forgotten memory.

Brandon arrived in front of Capture at the same time as

Stig, Craig, and Russ.

“Hey look everyone, it’s Crocodile Dundee,” shouted

Russ, the camp one of the group. Even now his eyes were

ringed with mascara, his eyelids dusted rouge, and his lips tinted

with just a hint of lipstick, or lip-gloss. Brandon could never tell.

“Love the tan,” said Stig as they hugged.

Stig was tall and broad-shouldered. His hair was light

blond and he was sporting a goatee in the same shade. When

they had first met Brandon used to make jokes about Stig’s

Viking heritage—The Vikings are cumming. Who’s in the mood

to be plundered and pillaged? And ABBA—Give my love to aunty

Frida. Or Digging the Dancing Queen!A

“There’s nothing else to do up there but tan,” Brandon

replied. “Almost nothing.”

They joined the queue, which wasn’t all that long. It didn’t

stay that way, though. By the time Brandon and his group of

black-clad friends were at the door, it stretched back past the

souvlaki shop, past the Japanese take away place, to the all-

night newsagents.

“So who’s Frank?” asked Craig, the quiet one. Naturally

olive-skinned, quite hirsute and stunning looking, the constant

male attention he received meant he was the envy of all three of

his friends.

“Do tell,” said Russ. “Is he big and rugged?”

Brandon laughed. “He is a bit, actually.”

Russ slapped him. “Oh, you bitch! How’d you get

someone big and rugged? I want one. Has he got a brother?”

“Not sure,” Brandon replied. “My mouth has always been

too full of cock to ask.”

Everyone laughed as the bouncer stepped aside to admit

them to the club.

Upstairs the house music was pounding. The dance floor

was full of shadowy bodies bobbing and twisting. Someone had

obviously fallen asleep on the dry ice lever. The place was thick

with it, making it look like something out of a horror film.

“Nothing’s changed here,” Brandon shouted into Stig’s ear.

“Never does,” Stig replied.

Brandon spent the rest of the night catching up with

friends and the myriad acquaintances he bumped into. He wasn’t

much of a dancer, but when the DJ played “You Spin Me Round

(Like A Record)” by Dead or Alive, he ran onto the dance floor

and gave it his best shot. By one o’clock he was drunker than he

could ever remember being and by five o’clock he’d drunk

himself sober. After he’d exchanged sloppy goodbye kisses with

his friends and seen them into a taxi, Brandon staggered back

towards the city centre.

He slept almost the entire next day.

On Monday, he hired a car and drove down south to visit

his parents. His friends were back at work so he wouldn’t have

seen much of them anyway, and knowing he’d be back with them

in four and a half days made his time in the country bearable.

Mungalup was a small town of approximately two thousand

people. It sat in a gently sloping valley. A small stream ran through

the centre, cutting it almost in half, while the main highway

dissected it lengthways, dividing the town into four neat quarters.

The district high school sat on a ridge overlooking the town. It was

a place Brandon couldn’t care less if he never saw again.

He’d been gay his whole life. To him, finding men attractive

was as natural as ejaculation. He’d played with other boy’s cocks

since he was in kindergarten and didn’t think any of it. Only when

he was older did he realise he was different, and that that

difference wasn’t tolerated. High school was pure hell, every day a

new torture, until he found he could hide himself away in the

library and, for the most part, keep out of harm’s way.

No, revisiting Mungalup wasn’t something he relished

doing. Especially since both his parents worked. Four days he

had to fill. What a depressing thought. To pass the time, he slept

in, watched a lot of television, and visited his grandparents, who

lived on the other side of town. In the evenings, he helped his

mother prepare dinner, while regaling both parents with tales

from the north. And finally, when Friday arrived, he kissed his

mother goodbye, shook his father’s hand, and took off down the

road like he was evading the police.

* * * *

“How was it?” asked Stig that night at dinner in a

Japanese restaurant.

“I felt drugged most of the time,” Brandon replied.

“A couple of drinks at Capture will wash the country

away,” said Russ, who was using his menu as a fan.

Once again, Brandon and his friends pulled an all-nighter,

although Craig was picked up barely an hour after they arrived at

Capture and none of them saw him again that evening.

On Saturday night, Stig invited Brandon to stay at his

apartment.

“It’s stupid paying for a hotel room.”

“Gee thanks, Stig,” said Brandon. “I’ll give you a week’s rent.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Stig replied.

“But I will,” said Brandon. “Only fair.”

Not a day went by that alcohol wasn’t consumed,

sometimes in heart-stopping quantities, and two out of the five

nights Brandon spent at Stig’s involved neighbours banging on

their door to turn the music down.

“I’ll call the police next time,” said a middle-aged man with

a tacky gold chain hanging down over his hairy chest.

“Oh good,” said Stig. “Can you make sure they’re tall, dark

and handsome with big…weapons.”

The man gave Stig a look of disgust. “Faggots.”

Stig pulled a face at Brandon as he kicked the door

closed. “Was it something I said?”

Brandon had been thinking about his return to Gunnanilla

all day Thursday, and couldn’t hide his misery.

When Stig arrived home from work, Brandon was in the

middle of making spaghetti bolognaise, using chicken mince

instead of beef.

“Hi honey, I’m homo.”

“I’m in here,” Brandon called from the kitchen.

“Mmm. Something smells good…What the hell?” Stig

recoiled after lifting the lid off the sauce pot. “What happened to

the meat?”

“It’s chicken. You know I don’t eat red meat.”

“Hmmm. Interesting,” said Stig. “Hope it tastes better than

it looks. How’s your day been?”

“Awful,” Brandon replied.

“Okay, next, more pleasant, topic. Are those kids still

starving in Ethiopia?”

“Very funny,” said Brandon.

Stig took off his coat and went to the fridge to retrieve the

last bottle of wine. “Why so glum, chum?”

“Can’t you guess? Got to go back tomorrow.”

“But you’ll get to see Frank again. Big, muscular, fat-

cocked Frank.”

Brandon sighed. “That’s part of the problem.”

Stig poured the wine. “I thought you were hot for each other.”

“We are,” said Brandon taking a glass of wine. “But he

wants me to go around Australia with him.”

“Ew.”

“Exactly! I love him, I really do, but I love you guys, too.

Not in the same way, of course.”

“Thank God for that.” Stig sat down at the table while

Brandon checked the pasta. “My friend, you have a decision to

make, though it seems to me you’ve already made it.”

“I think I have,” said Brandon. “Besides, I’m too young to

settle down, aren’t I?”

Stig shrugged. “Maybe. Although you wouldn’t be settling

down, would you? You’d be driving around Australia.”

Brandon groaned. “There’s that, too. I don’t want to drive

around Australia. If I ever do that much travelling I want it to be

somewhere like Canada or Europe, not my own bloody country.”

“There you go,” said Stig, raising his glass. “Decision

made. Next problem!”

Chapter 12: The Word Is ‘Out’ (In More Ways Than One)

“Oooh. How was it?” asked Katy. “What’s everyone

wearing?”

Brandon laughed at Katy’s exuberance. “You’ve only been

up here for nine months.”

“I know,” she said, “but you know how quickly fashion

changes.”

She handed him a large bourbon and Coke, no ice, as

she’d done countless times before.

“Well, Kirk and I are over,” she said. “I don’t know what I

was thinking. He’s way too young for me. Practically a little boy.”

Brandon nodded sympathetically. “What happened?”

“He’s just so immature. I need someone a bit more

sophisticated. And rich! Oh, I can’t wait to get out of here.”

“I hear ya, sister,” said Brandon.

Katy slapped him with her tea towel. “You’ve just been

out. Ungrateful!”

“Had any visits from Derek, lately?” He asked deliberately,

just to see her roll her eyes and groan, and right on cue, she did

just that. He laughed.

“Darling, that man has serious problems,” she said,

looking disgusted. “Asked me if I liked motorbikes, which I don’t,

then said a ride on his purple chopper would soon change my

mind. I mean, really. Has anything like that ever worked on a

girl? Has any girl, at any time, ever responded to some dirty old

pig saying “Take a ride on my chopper” with “Oh heart-throb! Let

me jump on right now and ride it into the night!”

Brandon burst out laughing, so hard that a bit of bourbon

and Coke shot out of his nostrils.

“I mean he’s not even good looking. Or young. Probably

got a penis the size of this peanut.” She picked a peanut out of

the bowl on the counter, held it up then shuddered as she threw

it back. “Ugh. I don’t even want to think about it. Oh why have I

put that image in my head? I need to go and wash my brain. I’ll

be in therapy for months trying to get that out of my head.”

“You should have been a gay…”

Brandon stopped himself, but it was too late. His eyes

were wide as he realised his gaffe.

“It’s alright, love. Everybody knows.”

Brandon felt his heart racing. “Everyone knows what,” he

asked defensively.

“About you and Frank having it off all the time.”

Brandon’s eyes went even wider. “Even Mark and Trina?”

“Darling, read my lips. E-ver-y-one!”

“Since when?” Brandon felt as though he was going to

blast chunks all over the top of the bar.

“Since…Oh, I don’t know. Does it matter? Why? Did you

think no one knew? There are no secrets in this town, Mitta

Lewis.” She giggled at her little joke.

Brandon took a moment to take in this revelation from the

out of the blue.

“Why hasn’t anyone said anything about it?” he asked.

“Oh, they’ve said things,” said Katy, blissfully unaware of

the shockwaves she was sending through Brandon. “Probably

not to you because you’ve never spoken about it yourself.”

“Great, so everyone’s been talking about me behind my

back?” growled Brandon, as his eyes began to water.

“A couple of people have mentioned…”

“Just forget it!” snapped Brandon, storming out of the bar

and back to his room.

He threw himself onto his bed, crying uncontrollably as he

imagined all the townspeople standing around with their beers,

laughing at him, just as he’d been laughed at all throughout high

school. And Katy. He didn’t know whether to hate her or thank

her. At the moment he was more inclined to hate her. She’d said it

so matter-of-factly, like telling him wouldn’t shatter his whole life.

How the hell was he ever going to step foot out of his room again?

Later, that evening there was a knock on the door. His

first instinct was to ignore it, pretend he wasn’t in, but it was

getting more persistent.

“I know you’re in there, Brandon Lewis.”

It was Katy. Probably come to apologise.

He opened the door slowly.

“You didn’t come over for dinner,” she said, holding a

plate of fish curry and rice.

“I wasn’t hungry,” he said, returning to his bed.

Katy put the plate of food on Brandon’s desk and sat on

the end of the bed.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” she said. “I don’t know why you

even care what these people think.”

“You wouldn’t, would you?” said Brandon feeling very

close to tears once again.

“Tell me then,” she said. “Why does it matter what these

yokels think?”

“It matters because I have to live here. It matters because

I had to put up with ridicule every day of my life at high school. I

thought I was being so careful.”

“Careful of what?”

“Careful to keep it a secret. Careful not to let it jeopardise

my life here.”

“And has it? I mean, people have known about you and

Frank for a while now. Has it had a negative impact on your life?”

“Not till now. Not till you told me everyone’s been laughing

at me behind my back.”

The tears began to fall. He reached across to his bedside

table and grabbed a tissue. What he really wanted to hear was

that they hadn’t been laughing, that it had only been a couple of

comments, a long time ago. But Katy didn’t say that.

“What I meant was, even though they’ve known, they

haven’t treated you any differently, have they? I can’t believe you

thought you were getting away with it. His car’s parked outside

your room almost every weekend.”

He couldn’t deny it. How did I think I was getting away

with it?

“Not almost every weekend. A few weekends.”

“And your dirty weekend in Port Hedland.”

Brandon gasped.

“Oh come on, darling. You can’t have thought no one

noticed your absence. Or that no one saw you being driven off in

Frank’s car. You’re unbelievable!”

Despite wanting to wring her neck every time she opened

her mouth, Katy was actually doing some good. And people

gossiped and laughed at everyone up here. He’d even joined in

with them when they were taking the mickey out of Mark and

Trina, two stuck-up yuppies.

“Okay, okay,” Brandon said. “You win. You’re right.”

“Darling, I’m always right. Now give me a hug.” She

leaned forward and they embraced for a moment. “So

everything’s alright now?”

Brandon nodded on Katy’s shoulder. “Yes, but I don’t

want to talk about this with anyone else, so I’d appreciate it if you

kept our conversation private. I’m happy to let things carry on the

way they have been since I’m only here for a few more weeks.”

Having successfully assuaged Brandon, Katy got up from

the bed. “It’s your life, darling. Whatever you say. Come over for

a drink later, if you feel like it.”

“Thanks again,” said Brandon, who had no intention of

going across to the pub for a drink, now or anytime.

Chapter 13: End of Year Tensions

It was a Wednesday. Brandon had gone across to Mark

and Trina’s place for lunch. The minute he stepped into the

kitchen he could feel the tension.

“Do you mind if I get a plate?” asked Brandon.

Trina was making her young sons a sandwich. “You know

where they are,” she said, curtly.

Brandon went to the cupboard, got the plate, and crept as

quietly as he could to the table to eat his lunch.

“I’m sorry, Brandon. For ten years we’ve been teaching in

these fucking…” she whispered the word, “…little backwater

places and the fucking Education Department have passed Mark

over for a promotion again. I’m sick of it. Just sick of it.”

Brandon didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, he didn’t

have to say anything.

“Are you still going on about that?” asked Mark as he

came in through the back door.

“Yes, I’m still going on about it, Mark!” she snapped. “I

want the boys to grow up with their grandparents. I want them to

go to a good school. They’re not going to get that going from

toilet to toilet the way they have been!”

Mark put a hand on the counter and leaned in towards his

wife. “And I’ve told you I’m going to write to the department to get

it all sorted out.”

“What good will that do? Nothing. They’re not going to

take the promotion away from someone else, are they? Think

about it!”

Brandon scoffed his lunch down, giving himself

indigestion in the process, then quietly took his plate to the sink

and placed it gently in.

“Sorry about this, Brandon,” said Mark. “Didn’t mean to do

this in front of you.”

“That’s alright, Mark,” Brandon managed to say through a

mouthful of food. “I’ve finished, anyway.”

He felt something lodge in his throat. His eyes watered as

he hurried from the room. He flew down the steps and ran to the

side of the house where he erupted into a fit of coughing. Bits of

food sprayed the sun-dried grass.

“See what you did!” shouted Mark from inside the house.

“Why don’t you just tell the whole fucking town our business?”

Brandon stood up, coughed once then frowned. What is

that supposed to mean? That I'm a gossip? I’m bloody-well not!

That afternoon, while Brandon was reading a story, there

was a knock on the classroom door. It was Mark.

“Mr Lewis, can I see you for a moment?” then, “Afternoon,

boys and girls.”

“Good afternoon, Mr Petersen,” chorused the children.

“Leanne, would you come and sit here and continue

reading for me?”

Leanne leapt to her feet, pleased as punch to be chosen.

“I’ll do it,” said Raylene as Leanne passed by.

“Mitter Lewis ask me!” Leanne shouted, earning herself a

slap on the leg from a disgruntled Raylene.

“Come out here, Brandon.”

For a moment Brandon thought he was in trouble. Mark

seemed unusually subdued.

“I’m sorry about what happened at lunch. We didn’t mean

to make you feel uncomfortable. It’s just we’re both a bit upset.

We thought we were going to be transferred back to the city, but

we haven’t been. Anyway, we’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t

mention anything to anyone.”

“Mark, I wouldn’t. I’ve never told anyone anything you or

Trina has said.” And he hadn’t.

“I know, I know. Trina just wanted me to come over and

make sure. We trust you.”

“I hope so,” said Brandon, taking the opportunity to

reinforce the fact he wasn’t a gossip.

* * * *

Later that term, Brandon did a science lesson on plants.

To show the children what plants need in order to grow, he gave

each of them a plastic cup with their name on and took them

outside to a grassless area near the school oval where the soil

was good and fertile.

“Okay everyone, we’re going to fill our cups with dirt, but

we don’t want to fill them to the top. We want to fill them to about

here.” Brandon pointed to a mark about an inch and a half from

the top.

The children began filling their cups. Vanja, who always

did her own thing, had filled hers to the top and was patting it

down so it was nice and smooth.

“Very neat, Vanja,” said Brandon. “But you’ve put too

much in. Where are we going to put your seeds?”

Vanja smiled, embarrassed, and emptied her cup out.

Brandon sighed. “Alright Vanja, now just put a little bit of

dirt in.”

When the children were ready he took them inside again.

“So who can tell me one thing seeds need to grow?”

The children thought about it for a moment.

“Water, Mitter Lewis.”

“That’s right, Leanne.” Brandon wrote ‘water’ on the

blackboard.

“Dirt.”

“Very good, Doonga.” Brandon wrote ‘soil’ on the

blackboard. “One more thing.”

The children thought long and hard.

“Food, Mitter Lewis.”

“Very good, Leanne. But what sort of food? Meat and

potatoes?”

The children laughed.

“I’m being silly, aren’t I? They don’t need that sort of food.

They need sssss….”

Brandon continued the ‘s’ until he thought he was going to

pass out from lack of oxygen.

“Sunlight. Plants get their food from sunlight.” Brandon

wrote ‘sunlight’ on the blackboard. “So let’s find out if this is true.

In a minute I’m going to get you to plant your seeds. Not yet,

Vanja. We’re going to give some of the seeds some water and

some of them won’t get any water. Some of the seeds will be put

the cupboard, where they won’t get any sunlight, and some of

the seeds will be put over here on the ledge, where they’ll get all

the sunlight they need. Any questions?”

Brandon smiled at the children, who were all itching to

plant their wheat seeds.

“Okay, when I give you your wheat, I want you to plant

them carefully, like this.” He poked his finger into the dirt in his

own cup down to the first knuckle and dropped in two grains of

wheat. “Let’s go.”

Once the children had completed their task, he consulted

his plan.

“Now the people on this group, your seeds will go into the

cupboard without any water. You can go and do that now.

Carefully put your seed cups into the metal tray on the middle

shelf.” He watched them walk to the cupboard. “The people on

this table can go outside and put a little bit of water into their

cups and then put them in the cupboard, too.”

Vanja returned with her cup filled to the brim with water,

which was leaking out of the hole in the bottom all over her dress

and the floor.

Brandon glared at the child. He sighed again. He could

have said something. Perhaps he should have said something,

but he had three weeks to go until he left and then he’d never

have to see any of them again.

Good luck to her seeds.

“The people on this table, you can put your seeds on the

ledge without any water and the people on this table you can go

outside and put a little bit of water on your seeds and put them

on the ledge, as well.”

The children did as they’d been asked, while Brandon

supervised.

“Vanja. What are you doing?”

She was hovering by the cupboard where she had just

placed the cup with her seeds. Suddenly shy, she twisted her

body around and disappeared behind the open cupboard door.

“Vanja, what are you doing?”

“Look at my seeds growing,” came the reply.

“Vanja, it’ll take a few days for them to grow. Go back to

your seat, please.”

When the children had settled again, Brandon drew a

table on the blackboard.

“Every couple of days we are going to check our seeds. If

they have grown, we’re going to measure them with our rulers

and record the measurements on our table.”

“Like a race, Mitter?” the ever-competitive Raylene called out.

“A little bit like a race, Raylene. We’re going to see which

of our seeds has the best conditions for growing big and strong.”

Two days later, Brandon was preparing the blackboard for

the day’s lessons. He snapped a piece of chalk while he was

writing the date and went to the cupboard to get some more.

When he opened the cupboard doors, he found dirt everywhere,

all over the spare paper and writing pads, and all over the shelf

itself. One of the cups had been knocked over, but all of them

showed evidence of having been tampered with.

He felt his body tense. He’d bought the plastic cups with

his own money and put so much time into planning an

experiment he thought the children might find interesting and

exciting. It was the last straw.

“Who’s been playing in the cupboard?” he asked sternly

after the children had sat down. “Vanja, have you been in my

cupboard!”

The little girl sat in her seat, sullen and unresponsive.

“I asked you a question, Vanja. Have you been playing in

my cupboard?”

Vanja shook her head.

“Someone has. There’s dirt everywhere. Your

experiments are ruined. We put a lot of time and effort into

planting our seeds, but someone doesn’t care about that.”

He paused and glared at each student in turn.

“There’ll be no playtime until I find out who’s been playing

the cupboard. Now, take out your pads and write the date at the

top of the page.”

The morning’s lessons were a solemn affair. Even Jenny,

who had witnessed Brandon’s outburst, took the pre-schoolers

outside to play under the shade of the eucalypts.

When the morning bell rang and the children got up out of

their chairs. Brandon stopped them.

“Back in your seats everyone. No one goes out to play

until I find out who’s been in my cupboard.”

The children returned to their seats while Brandon got the

dustpan and broom and began the clean-up. He tipped the dirt

off the pads and paper, the whole time fuming because he was

missing out on his break, too. A whole year he’d spent in this

shithole and this is all the respect the children had for him and

his efforts.

He took all the cups out of the metal tray and pulled the tray

out. As he tipped the tray up, so the dirt would all slide down into

one corner, he noticed half a dozen small black pellets. Mice poo.

He turned around to face the children, sitting quietly with

grim expressions on their faces. “Okay children, I think you’ve

been punished enough. You can go out and play.”

Brandon finished cleaning up the mess and wondered

whether he should tell the children what he’d discovered. He

knew he probably should, but he didn’t. What they didn’t know

wouldn’t hurt them. As penitence, he planted their seeds again,

put them back into the tray and covered them over with one of

the old tea towels he kept to wash the blackboards with.

The end of term couldn’t come fast enough.

Chapter 14: The Bombshell

That weekend Frank paid Brandon a visit.

“Missed me?” he said.

Brandon was used to the question and was running out of

smart arse ways to respond to it.

“More than my roller skates,” he said.

Frank kissed him. “And how much do you miss them?”

Brandon smirked. “Not very much.”

Frank slapped him on the bum.

“Let’s go for a picnic,” said Frank. “I picked up some wine

and chicken. We can get some tomatoes and bread and make

sandwiches.”

Brandon had been in the middle of writing end of term

reports on the children’s progress. It was a laborious task, and

one which Brandon hated. He wondered whether any of them

would even be read.

“Sounds like fun,” he said.

They called in at the store at the side of the pub and

bought the bread, tomatoes, some margarine and mayonnaise,

and put them into an icebox Frank had filled with ice.

“You’ve planned everything,” said Brandon. “Even Mars

bars. Wow.”

“For dessert,” said Frank.

They returned to Frank’s Land Cruiser and Frank drove

them into the desert, going off the road to a place by a small

waterhole. Growing near the waterhole was a large ghost gum,

whose leafy branches cast a shadow over the ground beneath.

“What a beautiful spot,” said Brandon.

Frank opened the back of the vehicle up and took out a

blanket. “Put this somewhere,” he said, before grabbing the

icebox and a can of insect repellent.

Considering it was baking hot outdoors, the temperature

beneath the ghost gum was noticeably cooler. Nevertheless,

they both removed their T-shirts.

“Let’s get totally naked,” said Brandon, feeling daring. He

pulled off his shorts. “We can keep them handy, just in case.”

Frank grinned at him and likewise removed his shorts. He

leaned over and tickled Brandon’s cock. “Miss me?” he asked in

a silly voice. He sat up again. “Hungry?”

“Yeah,” said Brandon because he’d skipped breakfast in

order to get a jump on the school reports. “Starving, actually.”

They started making the sandwiches. Together they took

everything out of the icebox and undid various lids and opened

various containers. Frank ate four sandwiches, but Brandon

could only manage three. After they’d tidied up and refilled their

cups of wine, Frank leaned back against the smooth bark of the

ghost gum and closed his eyes. Brandon rolled onto his side,

propping his head up with his hand and closing his eyes.

“Not long,” said Frank.

“Not long what?”

“Till you leave.”

“Ah. No, it isn’t. Two weeks.”

“And then what?”

“And then I go back to the city,” Brandon replied, opening

his eyes.

There was a short pause.

“What about travelling around Australia with me? You said

you’d think about it.”

“I have thought about it. I’ve been thinking about it for a

very long time.”

“And you’ve decided not to come with me?” Frank opened

his eyes.

Brandon hardly knew how to respond. “Travelling around

Australia is your dream,” he said. “I’d only get bored.”

“Bored? With me?”

“Not with you. Of course not with you. But I like the city. I

love my friends and meeting people. I love the clubs and the

excitement of having all those different things to do, different

places to go. Being in the middle of everything.”

Frank sighed. “You’re so young.” He took his eyes off

Brandon and stared out into the sweltering desert. “I did all those

things when I was your age. Had a ball. I reckon it was unfair to

ask you to come with me. Just thought you might like to.”

Brandon was pricked by the last statement. It made him

feel guilty, selfish even, for wanting to do his own thing.

“Probably just as well, really,” said Frank.

“What do you mean?”

Frank glanced at Brandon before looking away again.

Tears were glistening in his eyes.

“You know how I went down to Perth to see a doctor?

Which you never even asked me about?”

“I did so ask you about it!” snapped Brandon. “In the boat.

In Port Hedland.”

Frank sniffed. “I never did get to fuck you properly, did I?”

Brandon frowned. Where was he going with all this? “No,

you didn’t. And I’m sorry about that. I can’t help it. Your cock’s

just so big.”

Frank shook his head and attempted a smile. “Just as

well, really. You see, Brandon, I have HIV.”

It was as if Brandon’s brain had deliberately blocked the

vital word. “You’ve got what?”

“HIV.”

Brandon went cold. Immediately he remembered all the

advertisements on television with Death and the bowling ball. He

remembered the pictures of men with purple splotches on their

face, gaunt ghosts of former people, lying in hospital beds just

waiting to die.

Seeing Frank, the usually-smiling Frank, crying openly

brought tears to his own eyes. Then he found he couldn’t look at

Frank at all. He focused on a small clump of spinifex grass and

mentally went through all the times they’d made love. He’d had

Frank’s cum in his mouth. What sort of risk was that? Thank God

he’d never had it up his arse. At least not properly. Why hadn’t we

used condoms? How could I have been so stupid? Young, dumb,

and full of cum. He might have been the first two, but thank God,

again, he hadn’t experienced the final of that well known trilogy.

“What are you thinking?” Frank asked, his eyes red from

weeping.

Brandon shook his head. “I don’t know. When did you find

out?”

“You know when,” said Frank. “When I went down to

Perth a couple of months ago.”

“And you’ve still been sucking my cock?”

“The risk of you getting it that way is very minimal.”

“Minimal! You fucking arsehole!” Brandon felt like an

erupting volcano. “You knew you had this, this fucking deadly

disease, and you didn’t tell me? You just carried on like nothing

was wrong?”

Frank shook his head. “I thought your first question might

have been about how I was feeling? About what I was thinking?”

After snatching up his clothes, Brandon shot to his feet.

“You devious bastard! I don’t give a shit about how you’re

feeling. You obviously didn’t care about the possibility of giving

me a death sentence. I fucking hate you! Take me back to town!”

Brandon stormed to the car, pulled on his shorts and shirt,

and then climbed in, leaving Frank to pack away all the picnic

gear and put it into the back of the Land Cruiser. When Frank

climbed into the driver’s seat, Brandon turned away and looked

out the passenger-side window.

“Brandon, I’m so sorry. I’ve really fucked up this time.”

“Just drive,” said Brandon coldly.

The journey back to Gunnanilla may have been

uncomfortable for Frank, but Brandon was too preoccupied with

his thoughts to care. He’d have to wait at least two weeks before

he could get tested. Then it would take God-knows-how-long to

get the results back. All that time wondering if he was going to

die or not. And his parents. How was he going to tell them if the

results came back positive? He shot Frank a dirty look then

returned his gaze to the passing desert.

When they arrived at the pub, Frank parked the car.

“Can I come back and talk about this with you next

weekend? When you’ve had time to think about it?”

If looks could kill, the one Brandon gave Frank would

have put him jail for life.

Without answering, he got out of the car, taking care to

slam the door as hard as he could before marching to his room

and throwing Frank’s bag and a pair of his shoes onto the lawn.

Crying uncontrollably, he turned the key in the lock and

flopped onto his bed. Alone with his thoughts, he prayed sleep

would come and take him away from this nightmare.

Chapter 15: The Last Mile

“Have you finished your reports?” asked Mark, standing

over Brandon at his desk.

Brandon handed him the pad of reports, in duplicate—

white for the student and yellow for the school records.

“Good work,” Mark said, taking a seat on a nearby desk.

“So, you made it through your first year.”

Brandon nodded.

“How do you feel?”

“Relieved,” Brandon replied. “In need of a break.”

Mark nodded. “Well, I’ve sent in my report on your

performance. It’s all good. You took my criticisms well and

listened to my advice. You made an effort to improve and I wrote

that in the report. Here’s a copy.”

Mark handed him a large yellow envelope.

“You can read it later. I’ve also got a letter here from the

Education Department about your posting for next year.” Mark

handed him a smaller, white envelope that had already been

opened. “You’re not going to like it.”

Brandon lifted the flap and took the letter out. It only took

a glance to find the word Gunnanilla.

Brandon immediately screwed it up.

“What are you going to do?” asked Mark.

“Resign,” said Brandon. “I cannot spend another year here.”

Mark grinned. “Come on, it’s not that bad, is it?”

“I only stayed because the Education Department told me

they’d transfer me next year. Says a lot about their trustworthiness.”

Mark got up and slapped Brandon on the shoulder. “It’s up

to you and if that’s your decision then that’s your decision.

Anyway, come over to the house later for a few drinks and a

barbecue. Trina’s having a bit of an end-of-year/Christmas thing.”

Having just copped his second lot of bad news in the past

few days, Brandon couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do less

than socialise. Still, he could make an effort, for appearances

sake. This time next week he’d be on his way to Newman, where

he’d spend the night before catching a plane that would take him

back to his beloved city.

“Do you want me to bring anything?” he asked.

“Just whatever you’re drinking.”

* * * *

Trina had gone to a lot of trouble. Brandon walked

through the side gate at six o’clock to find a table, draped with a

red tablecloth and laden with all sorts of delicious looking salads

and desserts. On each corner, no doubt for easy access, there

were trays of nuts and other tempting snacks.

“What shall I do with this?” Brandon asked, holding out the

fillet of fish he’d collected from the pub kitchen on his way down.

Mark took it and put it on the tray with the chicken. “Forgot

you don’t eat meat. Lucky you brought something.”

“Yeah, fish meat,” said Brandon, trying to make a point.

Brandon took a seat next to Kirk and Katy, who’d

obviously made up with each other.

“Are you alright?” asked Katy. “You’ve been a real grump

all week.”

Brandon shook his head. “Nah, I’m fine. Just tired. End of

the year and all that.”

“You sound like an old man,” Katy said with a giggle.

Kirk just listened and gnawed his way through a steak

dripping with barbecue sauce.

Later that evening, after everyone had eaten and the sun

was starting to sink over the hills to the west of the township,

Jimbo, the town councillor, got to his feet and made a speech

about how it was the people that made a town and the people of

Gunnanilla were the best people around.

“Is he serious?” said Katy, leaning in to Brandon.

Jimbo went on to talk about notable things that had

happened over the past year, mentioning Brandon along with

Mark and Trina. He talked about the improvements that had

been made around the town—all news to Brandon—and the

improvements that were to come. He continued, talking about

various facts and figures, during which a noticeable number of

people got up to refresh their drinks or to have a cigarette.

“What’s this? A bloody council meeting?” muttered Kirk.

Finally, Rose, a short, sun-shrivelled woman of about fifty,

shot to her feet, aimed the hose she was holding at Jimbo, and

released the trigger. He was instantly soaked through.

Everyone burst out laughing as Jimbo took off after Rose,

who to her credit, split like lightning. She disappeared around the

house with Jimbo in hot pursuit. When she reappeared, from the

opposite side of the house, everyone was still roaring with

laughter. She made for the back of the gathering, where she

hovered, waiting. Jimbo appeared wearing a wicked grin.

Obviously aware that someone with a beer belly the size of the

one he sported wasn’t going to catch someone so fast, he

reached down, picked up the hose and squirted it in Rose’s

direction. Naturally, several other people got wet in the process.

Jenny’s husband, the police officer, snatched the hose

away from Jimbo and proceeded to give him a second

drenching. It was all too much for Trina, who got up in a huff from

her chair, looked at Brandon as she flicked the water off her

hands and said, sarcastically, “Lovely.”

She walked back to the house, looking most unimpressed.

As she was climbing the back steps someone sprayed her with

the hose, leaving a long wet streak down the back of her dress.

She looked over her shoulder and from the top step told those

men struggling to win possession of the hose to “Grow up!”

Brandon couldn’t stop laughing. Even after a burst of

water hit him in the face and he nearly fell off his chair trying to

escape it, he was laughing. He fell onto the grass and only by

chance did he catch Katy getting a good dousing. Her blonde

curls hung down like broken Slinkies over her face, which

couldn’t have looked more shocked.

“My hair,” she groaned. “My hair. I’ve just washed it!”

When she saw Kirk laughing, she slapped him before

storming off in the direction of the pub.

Finally, someone turned the tap off, but no one had

escaped the attention of the green garden hose.

“Okay everyone,” said Jimbo holding up his hands for

silence. “I want you join me in thanking Mark and Trina for their

efforts this evening…”

“Which you ruined,” shouted someone from the shadows.

“…It was a delicious spread and I’m sure we all

appreciate the work that went into it. But I think it’s time we went

home and got cleaned up. And for anyone who wants to continue

on, there’s a keg at my house. You’re all welcome.”

Brandon finished his drink. “What are you going do?” he

asked Kirk.

“I’d better go and see what Katy’s up to. She’ll give me ten

tonnes of shit if I’m not there to listen to her whinge about her hair.”

Brandon smiled at him. “I’ll walk with you.”

They were halfway up the road when Brandon noticed

Kirk continuously glancing at him.

“What’s wrong?” asked Brandon finally.

“Does it hurt?”

Brandon’s mind raced through the possibilities, but drew a

blank. “I give in. Does what hurt?”

“Getting fucked up the arse?”

Brandon almost choked on his saliva. “Gee, don’t beat

around the bush or anything. Why did you ask me that?”

“You take it up the arse, don’t you?”

Brandon gave a half-nod. “Well, yeah, I have, er, taken it

up the, um, arse.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

“It doesn’t hurt. It feels a bit uncomfortable the first few

times. Why are you asking me this?”

Kirk shook his head. “I just can’t understand how you guys

can stick your cocks up each other’s arses. Even if it doesn’t

hurt. Don’t you get shit all over them?”

Brandon squirmed. “Not if you clean out first.”

Kirk nodded.

“Anything else?” asked Brandon as they arrived at the pub.

Kirk slapped him on the back. “You’re a good guy. For a poof.”

Brandon stopped still and watched Kirk disappear into the

main bar, waving back over his shoulder.

Was that a compliment or an insult?

* * * *

The last week of school dragged on like an old dog

walking down a long road. Brandon had half expected a visit

from Frank, but was mostly glad when it didn’t happen. In the

quiet nights he had lain in bed, listening to the sounds of the

crickets and of the Aboriginal women down in the dry creek bed,

shouting at each other over long distances, Brandon had had

plenty of time to think.

With each night his anger and sense of betrayal had

abated, though there were plenty of other feelings to replace

them. Upon reflection, they hadn’t done anything really risky, and

they’d only had sex a couple of dozen times at the most. He also

began to think more of Frank and less of himself. It can’t have

been easy telling someone you had a fatal illness, and that you

might possibly have passed it on to them. There had been a

flash of anger immediately following those thoughts. Of course it

was still there. He was only twenty-two. He’d hardly lived. He

didn’t want to die. Frank was forty. Almost twice his age. It

wouldn’t be so bad for him. Was that selfish? Immature? It didn’t

matter. Those were his feelings.

The final day of school was actually only half a day. All the

tests had been done and all the marks recorded. All the reports had

been signed by the principal and returned for distribution, so there

really wasn’t much point in attempting to teach anything. The

children were boisterous and Brandon could only think about the

trip home, made easier by the fact Mark and Trina were going to

drive him to Newman before making the long drive back to Perth.

“You could come with us,” Trina had said. “Save yourself

a couple of hundred dollars.”

But Brandon was determined to get back to the city as

quickly as possible. Besides, he wasn’t paying for the plane trip

back, the Education Department was. Stig had written to tell

Brandon that he could stay with him until he found a place of his

own and Brandon had left Stig’s address with Katy so she could

visit when she finally finished her stint at Gunnanilla. Back in his

room, his bags were packed and waiting by the door. He’d said

goodbye to Bruno and Julie, and to Kirk and Katy, the previous

night. He done everything he could think of to ensure he was

ready to go the minute the final bell rang.

“Who wants to play dodge?” shouted Brandon.

The children jumped up from their seats, cheering and

smiling big smiles. Before he could tell them to make their way

nicely outside, the class was empty of everyone but himself,

Jenny, and the pre-schoolers, who were busily colouring in

Christmas pictures which Jenny was going to help them turn into

Christmas cards for their families.

Dodge turned into leap frog which turned into tunnel ball.

Then the children had a special Christmas morning tea, with cups

of Coke and cake. After they’d cleared the table of everything that

wasn’t made of plastic, Brandon took his students, including the

pre-schoolers, back to his class for a story.

By the time lunchtime arrived, he never wanted to read

another Christmas story ever again.

Mark, Trina, and the two boys picked Brandon up fifteen

minutes after school had been let out, at twelve o’clock sharp. As

they drove out of Gunnanilla, leaving a thick cloud of red dust in

their wake, Trina glanced over her shoulder at Brandon.

“I bet you’re happy,” she said, looking just as happy, if not

happier, herself.

“Not even looking back,” Brandon replied.

Chapter 16: Every Ending Means a New Beginning

The plane trip back to the city was a hell of a lot more

comfortable than either the bus or the Petersen family car would

have been. It was also much faster and best of all, free. The

games of “I-Spy” with the Petersen kids on their way to Newman

had frayed Brandon’s last nerve and he realised then that he’d

not only turned his back on Gunnanilla, but on teaching, too.

He also thought of Frank. More truthfully, he was

wondering what Frank was doing. Wondering whether Frank was

thinking of him, knowing that today was his last day in Gunnanilla.

His eyes began to water. He wiped them before his tears

had a chance to fall. He put on his headphones, pressed play on

his Walkman and lost himself in the latest Madonna album.

Despite having a window seat, he closed his eyes to the view of

the desert below. He’d seen enough red sand and spinifex to last

him a lifetime.

The Skywest plane landed more or less on time, and Stig,

Russ, and Craig had all made the drive out to the domestic

terminal to meet him.

“Hey guys,” he said, beaming fit to burst. “All this for little

ole me?”

“How’s it going, Crocodile Dundee?” said Russ, who was

looking more like Boy George than ever.

“Fantastic!” Brandon said as he hugged his friends.

“Soooo good to be back. You don’t know.”

“Then let’s get your bags and get out of here,” said Stig.

“We’ve got a little surprise for you at Stig’s.”

“It’s hardly a surprise now you’ve told him,” said Craig.

“Unknot your knickers, Craig,” said Russ. “He doesn’t

know what the surprise is. Now, where are your bags, you bag?”

Russ flounced off towards baggage claim, drawing the

attention of nearly every eye in the place.

“He’s hoping someone will mistake him for Boy George

and ask him for his autograph,” Craig explained.

“It’s good to have a dream,” said Stig, barely able to stifle

a giggle.

“Especially since Boy George doesn’t even look like that

anymore,” added Craig.

They collected Brandon’s bags and in less than half an

hour they were pulling up in the driveway of Stig’s small villa.

Craig and Stig took Brandon’s bags while Russ hurried

ahead to do the honours with the door.

“Oh my God,” gasped Brandon as he walked inside. “It

looks like a bomb went off in a party supplies shop.”

“You like?” asked Russ, twirling around so the streamers

and balloons fluttered in his wake.

“It’s different,” was all Brandon could think of to say.

“Yeah, Russ went a bit overboard,” said Stig, as he

stepped inside. “But he’s promised to clean up every last bit of

confetti tomorrow.”

Stig continued down the small hallway to the bedrooms.

“But I had my fingers crossed,” Russ whispered. “Shhhh!”

Brandon couldn’t stop smiling, partly because of Russ,

partly because his best friends in the whole world had made his

homecoming even more special than it already was and partly

because he was, finally, home.

Russ put Duran Duran on the stereo and when Stig

reappeared, with Craig close behind, they were carrying drinks

with ice in glasses, not plastic cups. There was pizza and sushi,

not peanuts and chips. And people to talk to about music,

celebrities, and fashion, not the heat, those bloody Abos, and the

price of gold.

“So what are you going to do now?” asked Stig after the

excitement of Brandon’s return had died down. “Now you’ve

resigned.”

Brandon shrugged. “Not sure. Haven’t thought about it.

Take some time off I guess. I need a break.”

“You had two months in Europe last year, bitch,” said Russ.

“I know, but I’ve gone straight from high school to

university back into school and I just feel my whole life has been

spent in a goddamned classroom. There are other things I’d like

to do.”

“Like drinking and whoring?” asked Stig.

“Or becoming a whore,” added Russ. “I mean, since you

need a job and all.”

“I’d like to work in a record shop,” said Brandon, surprising

even himself with the revelation. “Yeah, do something I don’t

have to think about for a change.”

Russ pretended to weep. “Your mother will be so proud.”

He dabbed at his pretend tears. “Four years at university to sell

Culture Club and Cyndi Lauper records.”

Everyone laughed.

“It won’t be forever. I just want to coast for a while.”

“Good on you,” said Stig. “Here’s to Brandon coasting.”

The four men raised their glasses in a toast then sipped

their drinks.

“Hey, what about Action Man?” asked Russ.

Suddenly the smiles evaporated. Brandon saw Stig shoot

Russ a dark look.

“Wasn’t I supposed to say anything?” asked Russ, looking

bewildered.

“You know you weren’t,” said Stig, getting up and slapping

Russ on the back of the head on his way to the kitchen.

“Ah, it’s okay,” said Brandon. “We broke up. Inevitable

really. I didn’t want to stay up there and he didn’t want to move

down here.”

It wasn’t too far from the truth, for even if Frank hadn’t hit

Brandon with the bombshell he had HIV, it never could have

worked.

Russ nodded. “Then you can come out whoring with us

tomorrow night?”

“I suppose so.”

Chapter 17: Contact

The news he was HIV negative, and otherwise STI free as

well, was greeted with elation. It had been two long weeks since

his test, which he’d done on the Monday after he returned to the

city. Due to Christmas and New Year being so close he

wondered whether he’d get the results before everything shut

down for the Christmas break. He wouldn’t have been able to

bear a four-week wait.

“Congratulations,” said Stig, hugging him.

Stig had been the only one Brandon had told about Frank.

It wasn’t something he wanted everyone knowing about, but he

had to talk to someone. Stig had always been there for him, like

a big brother, even though there was only an eight-month

difference in their ages.

“Are you going to let him know?” asked Stig.

“Can’t,” said Brandon. “Haven’t got his address.”

“Just send him a letter with his name and the name of the

mine site on the envelope. How difficult could it be?”

It certainly didn’t sound difficult, but Brandon didn’t want to

risk such a letter getting into the wrong hands. For either of their

sakes.

“Maybe,” he replied simply so as not to commit himself.

“Anyway, I’d better pack.”

“That’s right,” said Stig. “The parents.”

“You make it sound like a horror movie,” said Brandon.

“The parents!” said Stig repeating himself, only this time

with bulging eyes and a fist stabbing at the air.

It was really quite a painless visit, though, with just a

minor hitch when he told his mother he’d resigned from the

Education Department.

“What did you do that for? You’re throwing your life away.

What about all the hard work you’ve put in? And a year’s

experience! Are you just going to throw it all away?”

Brandon took a large gulp of bourbon and Coke. “Mum,

calm down. I’m just taking a break. I can do that, you know. I’m

not a machine. Don’t you think I’ve earned it?”

“You went to Europe last year.”

“What? And you think a two-month holiday is adequate

compensation for sixteen years at school? Seventeen, if you

count this year.”

His mother shook her permed head. “I don’t know. I don’t

know what your father’s going to say.”

“Don’t you? I do,” replied Brandon, growing bored with the

whole subject. “Something along the lines of what you’ve just said.”

Christmas came and went. Thank God. It wasn’t a time of

year that Brandon enjoyed, although he did get two hundred dollars

from relatives who couldn’t be bothered thinking of a proper gift to

buy him. Best for all, really. The cream on the cake, however, was

the car. It wasn’t new, but that didn’t matter. It was a car.

“Two thousand dollars,” his father told him. “Just sitting in

a garage gathering dust.”

It didn’t look like an old bomb. It was a white Toyota

Corona. It had a black leather interior and his mother had bought

a whole heap of goodies to go with it—a leather steering wheel

cover, a Perth city street directory, and a deodoriser in the shape

of a pine tree.

“That’s your birthday present as well,” his mother added.

“Fine with me,” said Brandon. “Who’s coming for a spin?”

“We’ll go for a quick drive,” said his mother. “The family

will be here in an hour or so and I haven’t done a thing.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll help,” said Brandon. “Get in.”

He took them for a spin around the block, but it wasn’t until

he was speeding back to the city, three days after Christmas, that

he truly appreciated the freedom a car could bring.

* * * *

On the Thursday before New Year’s Eve, Brandon was

sitting in the lounge of Stig’s place, listening to Dead or Alive on

the stereo and reading a copy of The Face magazine. Stig was

at work, so Brandon had the place to himself. A knock at the

door startled him. Thinking it might have been a neighbour

coming over to tell him to turn the music down, he dropped the

100

magazine onto the couch and turned the stereo down on the way

to answering it.

“Frank!”

“Miss me?’ he asked with a tentative smile.

“What are you doing here? I mean, how did you find me?”

“Katy had your address,” Frank replied. “Had to virtually

beg to get it off her.”

“Come in,” said Brandon, stepping aside. “Do you want a

coffee? Or something stronger? What’s the time? Is it too early

for alcohol?”

“A coffee will be fine.”

Frank followed Brandon into the kitchen. “Nice place.”

“Yeah. It is, isn’t it? Belongs to my friend, Stig. Okay, he

doesn’t own it. He rents it. But it’s his.” Oh God, I'm jabbering.

“He’s asked me to move in and share the rent. Makes sense. I

need to save the bit of money I’ve put away, and moving out on

my own would be way more expensive.” Jabbering again.

Frank stood next to Brandon as he made the coffee.

“Did you get a test?” he asked.

“Straight to the point,” said Brandon. “Yes, I did and it was

negative.”

Frank sighed. “I’m so glad. I’ve been praying you were alright.”

“You? Praying?”

Frank laughed. “Hey, I’m a Catholic, you know.”

“Lapsed.”

“Collapsed.”

There was a burst of polite laughter.

“I’ve missed you, you know,” said Frank, moving behind

Brandon and wrapping his arms around him.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

Frank turned him around. “Are we okay? Am I forgiven?”

Brandon nodded. “Yes, you’re forgiven.”

Frank leaned forward to kiss Brandon. Brandon turned his

face away.

“Ah, forgiven but not forgotten.” Frank took a step back.

“You know you can’t catch it from kissing.”

“They don’t know all the ways you can catch it, Frank. I’m

101

sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, but I didn’t think you were

going to do that.”

“Do what? Show my feelings? Kiss you to thank you for

understanding?”

The kettle boiled. Brandon poured the water into the mugs

and added a splash of milk to his and left Frank’s black, the way

he liked it.

“You know, I think I’ll leave the coffee. I’ve made a

mistake coming here.”

Frank turned to leave.

Brandon reached out and grabbed his arm. “Frank, wait!”

Frank stopped but didn’t turn around.

Brandon released his arm. “Sit down, Frank. Drink your

coffee.” Brandon returned to the counter to get the mugs. He put

one in front of Frank and sat down with the other one.

“Frank, I’m truly sorry if I’ve upset or offended you. I know

this is hard for you, but it’s hard for me, too. I don’t know the best

way to handle a situation like this. It’s never happened to me

before. Nothing even like it has ever happened to me, and I

didn’t think it ever would.”

Frank nodded.

“I haven’t seen as much of life as you. All I know is what’s

going on inside my head and inside my heart. I know I haven’t

handled this situation well, probably not even maturely, but I’m

handling it the only way I know how.”

Frank looked into his lap then nodded again.

“You’re right,” he said. “You’re absolutely right. I was

expecting too much.”

Brandon bristled. Is that an insult?

Frank must have noticed. “No, really. I was expecting you

to react the way I would’ve. No, that’s not true. I was expecting

you to react the way a perfect person would, and none of us are

perfect. So I’m sorry, too.”

Brandon got up from his seat and hugged Frank. When he

stood back he could see tears in Frank’s eyes.

“I didn’t want to lose you,” Frank sobbed.

Brandon felt his own eyes water. “You haven’t lost me.

102

We can still keep in touch, can’t we?”

“Can we? You sure?”

Brandon wasn’t a hundred per cent certain what he was

agreeing to. “Sure, just because we can’t be lovers, doesn’t

mean we can’t be friends. Really good ones.”

“Just friends?” Frank asked, his tone one of resignation.

“What else can we be, Frank? With you up there and me

down here?”

Frank nodded, “You’re right.”

“So we’re friends?”

“Course we are,” said Frank. “Can’t say I’m not

disappointed, but I’d rather have you in my life as a friend, than

not in my life at all.”

They hugged again and finished their coffee.

“We should go out for lunch,” said Brandon. “My treat.”

“It’ll have to be another day,” said Frank. “Got a doctor’s

appointment in an hour.”

“Tomorrow then? Something to look forward to.”

“You’re on,” said Frank, smiling so that his eyes twinkled.

“Give me your address and I’ll come and pick you up. I’ve got

a car now. Did you see it out in the driveway? The white Toyota?”

“That’s yours? Hey, well done. But no need for that. I’ll

drop over around eleven/eleven thirty. That alright?”

“Sounds perfect.”

They hugged tightly and kissed each other quickly on the

lips. Frank leaned back and looked at Brandon, his eyes taking

in every part of Brandon’s face, as though he were memorising

it. They kissed again, no more than a peck, and then Frank got

into his Land Cruiser and reversed out onto the road. They

waved at each other as Frank drove off.

It was the last time Brandon ever saw him.

THE END

ABOUT WAYNE MANSFIELD

Wayne Mansfield was born and raised in rural Western

Australia. He attended the Western Australian College of

Advanced Education, Claremont campus, and graduated with a

Diploma of Teaching. He has since qualified as an English as a

Second Language teacher and as a counsellor.

He has been writing for most of his life, achieving high

marks in high school English classes and getting poems and

short stories published in the local newspaper. He continued

writing while at college, but it wasn’t until 2007 that he began

getting published properly. Since then he’s had work published in

the UK, the US and Australia.

Initially a writer of gay erotica, he has since combined his

love of horror and fantasy with erotica to create imaginative and

libido-stirring short stories, novellas and novels. In 2013 he

received an Honourable Mention in the Rainbow Awards for his

erotic tale of bullying and its long term effects, The Hiding Place.

He currently resides in Perth, where he teaches English to

overseas students. For a detailed list of publishing credits and

upcoming releases, visit his website at

waynemansfieldwrites.weebly.com

ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

JMS Books LLC is a small electronic press specializing in

gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender fiction (including erotica,

romance, and young adult), as well as popular and literary fiction,

nonfiction, and poetry. While our preference is for GLBT stories,

we accept stories containing any and all sexualities, as well as

general fiction without a romantic subplot. Visit our site at

jms-

books.com

for our latest releases and submission guidelines!

Document Outline

Chapter 1: Arrival
Chapter 2: The Boss
Chapter 3: Frank
Chapter 4: The Desert
Chapter 5: A Knock on the Door
Chapter 6: Mouth Wash
Chapter 7: The Waterhole
Chapter 8: Snakes
Chapter 9: Wet
Chapter 10: Port Hedland
Chapter 11: The Big Smoke
Chapter 12: The Word Is ‘Out’ (In More Ways Than One)
Chapter 13: End of Year Tensions
Chapter 14: The Bombshell
Chapter 15: The Last Mile
Chapter 16: Every Ending Means a New Beginning
Chapter 17: Contact

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