Black Dog

September 5, 2014

Hello again everyone;

Just to whet your appetite, here is Chapter 1 of Black Dog

I’m very direct (as one blogger has remarked about Australians!) so no one is under any misunderstanding what the underlying theme is !



I looked across at Danny as we lay sunbaking. His cock lay straight up his bare belly as hard as stone. I couldn’t stop myself, running my fingers along its length, curling them around and stroking it, the first time my hand had ever touched one other than my own.

It was longer than mine, but mine was actually much thicker and it certainly had Danny’s attention. By now he was gently fisting it, looking both pleased and curious all at once.

His gaze caught mine as we turned, facing each other on the warm flat rocks beside our swimming hole in the little creek, reaching orgasm in record time, yelling out as we came all over each other, revelling in the luxury of complete privacy because “our” swimming hole wasn’t even known about.

Ever the leader, I found a spare towel, which had magically found its way into my bag, and I wiped him clean, his eyes following me with amusement.

It seemed, at least in my case, that what had happened was a relief in more ways than one. We’d grown up with our homes just a few minutes away from each other and had simply done everything together—school, family functions, farmwork, and now, in our immediate postpubescent life, we had finally roared over the imaginary line between wanting to and actually doing “it.”

And we really liked each other—best mates, we were—and I felt a sense of wonder that I’d finally found something I now realized I’d been unconsciously looking for ever since I’d had thoughts about anything.

I knew I’d been sort of flirting with him for a while now, and he’d actually led me on. Mum said I was a master of the double entendre. Anything that wasn’t remotely erotic I managed to turn into a joke with sexual overtones, and this time he’d called my bluff.

But it was worth it. In my eyes, he was stunning. I had a very good idea by now what pressed my buttons, and he was definitely it. Taller than me, dark, almost jet-black hair, a tendency toward a barrel chest—even as a fourteen-year-old—which was lightly covered in fine dark hair, a contrast to me because I had brown hair and was a little shorter.

There was common ground in one area. After constantly talking about sex, we discovered we not only had out-of-control libidos, but we both loved dicks. He loved my dick, and I loved his.

We rested close together in the warmth, listening to the wattlebirds busy with their airborne chatter in pursuit of nectar. Bruce, my twelve-month-old Kelpie, looked over his paws, and I’ll swear he smiled at me.

We’d even jerked off together, but this was just so different. Neither Danny nor I mentioned the obvious—we didn’t have to, we both knew our relationship had changed forever as we reached for each other again. We’d watched porn on my laptop, and I decided, being the more confident and wicked one, that I’d try giving him head and see what happened.

I knew I shouldn’t scrape him with my teeth and was conscious of giving him a good time as well as enjoying myself.

I must have been successful because he started moaning the instant I went down on him. After a short time, he quickly pulled out of my mouth and said “sixty-nine,” so full of authority that I laughed at him. He looked at me a bit sheepishly, but I steered him in the right direction, and we found heaven on earth together.

“Are we okay?” I said to him as we packed up, our brief freedom over.

“Sure,” he grinned, “why shouldn’t we be?”

“Oh, no reason.” I grinned at him, but I could tell there was some turmoil behind those beautiful eyes. I put it out of my head because tomorrow was school, and we both had chores at home. He had calves to feed, and I had to help my mum with her bath routine before Dad closed up at work.

Sunday trading at Prentice Farm Supplies had boomed. There were ever-increasing numbers of hobby farmers who were only around on weekends, and Dad was busily rounding them up. The weekly turnover had increased by 30 percent, he’d said. So it was now seven days a week for him, which made my home duties with Mum even more important.

Mum had multiple sclerosis, and my two young sisters, Emma and Megan, were too small to help her yet. Mum could do most things, including the cooking and housework, but she found showering or the weekly bath she enjoyed impossible to do without help. Dad had rigged up a small crane and a sling over the bath, and I actually looked forward to helping her. Any lingering embarrassment over her nudity had long gone. Mum instead turned the exercise into a weekly catch-up of harmless gossip, family news, and a one-on-one problem-solving exercise—if indeed either of us had problems that needed solving. The door was locked, not so much for Mum’s privacy but to keep my sisters out so Mum and I had each other’s full attention. Today she sensed something had changed, but I deliberately avoided discussion about Daniel and his family. She knew, I was sure. Her eyes told me so.

But she would never press me on it, because that just wasn’t her way.



I was always a mature kid, I guess. Dad and Mum were well educated and people of the world, somehow lost souls in this maze of conservative thinking that was Victoria’s southwest. They made sure that no topic was off the discussion list at home, particularly in areas of social interaction.

So it was relatively easy for me to work out my orientation.

Not that I was antifemale, far from it, and I knew I’d simply have to try one or two just for fun, even though I knew at this early stage that it took a bloke to float my boat.

Yep, I was a gay boy for sure. I hadn’t discussed it with Mum, Dad, or my sisters yet, but that would be a subject for another day, and happily for me, I knew that would be the least of my concerns as my life unfolded.

Around puberty I grew wistful, wondering why I was chosen to be this quirk of nature, one of so few within the vast majority. But since then, because I had generous access to the Internet, I reasoned there were quite a few others like me out there, so I wasn’t alone. And because I grew up with parents who were just so cool and natural, I was able to answer my own questions and not get depressed.

I realized then I was quite normal, just a variation of nature’s plan, and I knew I had to handle it. The alternative was unacceptable.



Daniel, on the other hand, came from a more traditional farming family, descended from the many Irish immigrants who had populated the district, wearing their Catholicism like a winter overcoat, locking their puritanical thoughts inside them.

Except no one gave a shit about the church these days, as both my Dad and Mum correctly confirmed.

Daniel’s dad, Bill Morgan, was a raw-boned, red-faced, loud bloke who drank too much on Friday nights and seemed ignorant of anything else but hard work. But he and Mrs. Morgan were always really nice to me and understood that Danny and I were the closest of friends. They encouraged the friendship, always knowing where to find their youngest son when he wasn’t at home.

Over the years, Mr. Morgan had driven himself and his family hard in their mixed farming and dairying operation, and with all that hard work and focus, the family’s fortunes had obviously turned for the better. With plenty of willing hands to run their assets, Danny had a much easier young life than his older brothers. Danny’s brothers were not as assertive as their father, but instead seemed very quiet and naïve, usually marrying the first girl they went out with. They still worked from daylight till dark seven days a week and had little exposure to the modern world outside the farm gate.

The exception was Simon, the second youngest, who was around five years older than Daniel, and who had escaped, living in town with his girlfriend, Julie, and working as a salesman in rural real estate. Simon was really cool, and Julie was just—lovely.






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