Continued Chapter 11
More Mischief
A few weekends later at the end of a balmy Saturday, just before the sun
set completely, Don and Sam pooled their available wealth from the remnants of
the pittance received from pocket money and rode their bikes to the corner shop
for merchandise of an improper sort. They asked the serving owner;
“Can we ‘ave a pack of ‘ten’
please.”
“What sort?” queried the
shopkeeper. He knew what Sam’s father smoked and always made inquiry by showing
some effort to try and determine with certainty whom the cigarettes were really
for, but he was only covering his ‘butt’; in reality he knew they were not for
Sam’s father.
“Capstain,” said Don
speaking out of turn.
“Yea Capstain for dad
please,” echoed Sam. Both always gave a rehearsed answer with deceitful
sincerity to validate their conviction of choice. The shop owner knew them well
and never really challenged the accuracy of their motives, he just needed to
satisfy the rules of asking who the purchase was for in case of parental query;
in looking back whatever the actual truth he could not care less as long as he
received his two shillings. On many occasions due to inadequate finances they
would buy just a single cigarette and share it; he still did not ask questions.
Back at Sam’s they went to a common meeting place in the bush, camped well out
of sight, and satisfied their physical well-being by perching themselves
comfortably on a fungi strewn log situated beside the track midway between
their houses. Don lit a small smoulder with the abundant tinder while Sam
stoked it with dry sticks and fallen branch bits to ignite a flame capable of
giving out warmth and light. They lit a ‘smoke’ and talked about past
adventures and tomorrows possibilities. The main topic of conversation was
about sex or leaving school and how much fun they were going to have in the
future when they could go to work, buy a car and go to pubs legally.
Feeling jolly, jovial and full of good humour, their mirthful laugh
robbed the dark night of its silence, until without warning the fun was
interrupted by footsteps snapping twigs, and faint rustling sounds grabbed
their utmost attention. Spooky noises immediately impeded the flow of
conversation. Sam whispered;
“Quick!” He threw his
cigarette into the fire and with facial gesture implied Don do the same. “It
might be dad, throw it away hurry,” he muttered and stoked the fire to hide the
burning cigarette. To Don’s way of thinking this was a dire emergency so he
followed suit, just not according to plan, he went one better. In an urgent
attempt to conceal the cigarettes and in thought of what could be serious
repercussions if caught smoking he threw his ‘ciggy’ together with the whole
packet into the fire. Sam gave Don a look of scowl and bewilderment and had no
choice but to stir the fire more to cover the evidence of a burning packet.
They sat poised in quiet, watching the flames flicker as if nothing happened,
and listened as the footsteps got closer. Still no glimpse of identity, then a
few yards away out of the blackness a figure emerged and said in a calm voice;
“It’s only me. What are yas
doing?” It was Weepy. Sam responded;
“It’s only you. Ya fuck’n
idiot, ya scared the shit out’f us. We thought ya were dad.” Weepy chuckled and
offered them a drink from the two bottles of beer he brought along.
“Great,” they replied while
he used his opener to flip the lids and pass them on. Sam was still baffled as
to Don’s reaction in discarding the cigarettes, he asked;
“Why did you throw the
‘pack’ in the fire?” He looked at Weepy and said; “D’ya know this fuckin’
dumbshit just threw a whole packet of ciggys into the fire.”
“I did ‘cause you did; I
didn’t won’t to get caught with them,” Don said in hopeful exoneration of his
actions. Weepy piped up;
“Ohh don’t worry about it.”
Sam was upset and still ranting. He did not see the funny side of events and
his further criticism cut deep into Don’s feelings because it was said with
such malice and a closed fist;
“Yea, but I didn’t throw the
bloody whole packet in, (pointing to Don) you did. You Fuckin’ idiot.”
“Don’t worry I said,”
repeated Weepy. “I told Fran to meet me here. She’ll be here soon; she’s always
got ‘fags’.” This was the first time one of his friends, excluding Sterge, was
fiercely abusive to him. Don’s amiable propensity towards mateship seemed far
from amicable and this episode shed light on a revelation; even at this early
stage of his life he could never fit into their group.
There was an abrupt transformation to Don’s disposition, mainly because
of Sam’s scathing attack, but also from the mention of Fran’s name. The concept
of her joining them and maybe wanting sex again caused a panic-stricken release
of verbal energy;
“Why is she coming? Girls
are a pain. Tell her to stay home.”
“Why? What’s your problem?
At least we can get a smoke,” said Sam still not able to suppress his
contemptuous accent. Don’s anxiety became blurred with an eagerness to repeat
the situation of his near celebration regarding a full sexual encounter. After
five minutes of self-bedevilment Fran arrives and says;
“Ya can hear yus from my
place.”
“Got any smokes?” blurts
Sam.
“Yea, hang on; I just
fuckin’ got ‘ere. Here ya are,” she said, throwing the packet in his lap. Sam
took one and threw them back. She sat on the log and did not give Don a second
glance. It was as if nothing happened between them those few weeks back. He was
still captivated by insular nostalgia and felt he should at least be rewarded
with some form of recognition. She reached back into her dress pocket and once
more pulled out the packet and held them at arm’s length to Don in gesture of
his acceptance. He spoke in appreciation but moreso to gain attention;
“Yea, I’ll ‘ave one.” She
turned and offered Weepy one and took one herself. All were alight and puffing
happily away. As the frivolity continued Don became to realise the folly on the
day they shared those weeks ago was, for her, simply an ephemeral infatuation,
he was a nonentity of no great relevance to her, so without logical
alternatives he mellowed into the group and tried to reignite his standing by
joining in the fun of the moment.
Once again the darkness misted unwelcome guests as the crackling of
twigs reverberated through the aura of Don’s debarment; they never had so many
uninvited interruptions. Everyone reacted instinctually and hid their
cigarettes and bottles, Fran hid the articles behind her back, two tossed them
close by, and again Don panicked and flung his ciggy into the fire. The visitor
this time was Weepy’s sister; Sally.
“What are ya doing here?”
Weepy asked with spiteful grimace and grumble at the risk of her annoying him.
When everyone realised proper it was Sally, all but Sam and Weepy showed
amusement towards Don’s actions of once again throwing his cigarette into the
fire. The rest went about finding theirs for another puff. Weepy said to Don;
“Sam’s right. You’re a pomme
dickhead aren’t ya?” Don ignored his tirade.
“Told you,” said Sam. Weepy
shook his head in disgust before turning the debate back to Sally. He hated his
sister hanging out with him because she spoilt his fun and bribed him by
threatening to tell his mum about his monkey business. If she did not get her own
way she invented lies to stir trouble. Also he knew she had a crush on Sam and
found their consorting to be bothersome towards his friendship with him.
“What ya want?” Weepy
snapped in need of answer to his prior question, which he repeated; “Why ya
here?”
“I don’t have to tell you,”
she said with confrontational smugness; “I was walking over to see Doris.
Anyway, I don’t see why you do this stupid meet on the track; it’s dumb and a
waste of time. Everyone knows your here.” The real truth for her intrusion was,
Weepy was not at home and she knew they were congregating. Her plans to join in
the fun were only to see Sam.
“Go’n, keep going then,”
instructed Weepy. “You can see Doris isn’t here.”
“No! Why should I? I’ll go
when I’m ready.” She stepped back a pace when Weepy took a step towards her,
and hesitated before threatening him;
“If you hit me I’ll tell mum
about your drinking and smoking. Where’d you get them anyway?”
“None of ya fuckin’
business; you’re a prick. Go home,” he commanded. She turned and sat next to
Sam in defiance of his direct order and added the statement;
“No. You can’t make me.”
Weepy mumbled under his breath and let things ride. It did not take long before
she and Sam were arguing; this was not unusual. She proved to have a lot more
maturity and expected a lot more affection than he was capable of knowing how
to give. Another problem was, when Sally was in their company she tried to
control Sam and wanted to be the centre of attention, but she did not fit in
with the group because she communicated in an intellectual superior manner, and
ignored all but Sam; he was the only one she would couple with, and as Don was
told, the only one she ever copulated with. Naturally Sam enjoyed this
extracurricular activity when it suited him, but she was very demanding and
wanted to be with him most of the time. Ultimately he would not only miss out
on having fun with his mates, he knew it made him look pathetic and seen as
lacking the ‘balls’ to exclude her from play. They did not stop arguing for
ages. Name calling continued until Sally started crying and ran home. Weepy
shouted loudly for the benefit of her hearing;
“Thank fuck she’s gone.”
His ducts were shedding tear drops more than usual due to the smoke from
the fire so he sponged his eyes with a hanky and used eye drops to soothe the
sting, then his hand wandered to explore Fran’s leg.
“Get out. Wait till later.”
She said, grinning from ear to ear sounding a prurient snigger. Fully
resonating through the air was Sam’s mother’s voice;
“SAAAMMM, SAAAAMMM, DOONNNN;
time to come home.” Sam stood up and screamed out in reply;
“COMMMINNNGGG. Won’t be
long.” Don did not want to leave, he was jealous of the fact Weepy and Fran
would be alone, but he had no choice in the matter. Both Sam and Don said their
farewells, even before they were out of earshot they could hear mischievous
giggling.
When they got home Mrs Clay ensured they washed their hands, face and
behind their ears with a wet flannel and sent them straight to bed. Due to the
lack of space they were required to share one bed, usually a head to foot
arrangement allowing for whisper in relation to the day’s events. Sam mellowed
in his attitude towards Don for know and presided over the tomfoolery of
imaginations regarding the carryings-on between Fran and Weepy. Talk of illicit
association between the two aroused Don into a secret state of penile erection,
he wanted to be doing what their spoken deliberation suggested Fran and Weepy
were doing. Eventually the long day took its toll and tired them into a deep
sleep in ready for the next day’s outing.
Sunday brought with it another glorious sunny day. A unanimous decision
by Don and Sam, of course with Mrs Clay’s permission, cleared them to go for
swim and a picnic at the Falls. This
water hole was located within one mile of Sam’s place, adjacent to Wirrageen Primary school. It was called Wirrageen Falls. It inherited its
fourteen foot deep and two hundred feet diameter existence from a creek running
down a thirty foot waterfall; hence eroding the softer rock below. The water in
the creek ran wide and fast in the rainy season and streamed over a flat rocky
plateau until it reached the point of flow over the fall. Except in drought,
the flow of water was continuous in effort to keep algae and other foreign
matter from clogging up the outlet, maintaining an exceptionally clear supply
suited for swimming. The water escaped and continued its meandering journey for
about eight miles into the salty waters of Skishon
which ran into Visarg Bay; the place
Don and his family first visited on holiday from the ‘Hostel’. On warm days Don
and his friends would pack drinks and sandwiches and spend the day exploring,
snake hunting, following the bush turkeys up and down the slopes, and teasing
and bothering the girls with scampish banter and laughter. A short climb down
the cliff face permitted the use of the many caves for shelter and imp like
play, and offered access to the use of the large flat stone surfaces
surrounding the basin for lazing and sun-baking. It was a secluded and private
place. Because of its solitude, natural beauty and charm, Don visualised it
making the perfect site to build a tourist retreat; his young unfledged
intellect could assume dewy-eyed dreams with astonishing verisimilitude.
Before their departure, Sam ran across and told Weepy of their plans and
asked he convey the message to Fran if he wished, and to meet them there. Mrs
Clay packed lunch, mixed jars of cordial to drink and put it all in a hessian
sack. She hinted to Sam his sisters may follow later. Don was pleased to hear
this but Sam did not share the same enthusiasm and could not get out of the
house quick enough. Before they got to the Falls
they made a detour to the school to steal a few bottles of soft drinks
stockpiled in the storeroom. They did this on many occasions by crawling under
the floor and removing a couple of loose planks; it was easy. They could get
any school supplies they wanted this way and were careful not to take so much
at any one time it would be noticed as missing. Nicked with the drinks were a
few bonus items stored from Friday’s P&C ‘tuck-shop’ and ‘jumble sale’;
those being lemon cupcakes and toffee apples. They left with full hands, sweaty
and ready for a swim.
Because of the extra time taken everyone beat them there, including
Sally and Sterge. Normal play such as jumping off rock ledges into the water,
chasing and swimming soon turned promiscuous; the boys were touching the girl’s
private body parts at every opportunity. Sally would only let Sam touch her
inappropriately, or otherwise, and would scream and scold if Don attempted such
liberties. Except for Doris, Sam’s sisters would not have any part of sexual
shenanigans, and Doris’s raunchy acts would only happen when out of view of her
sister’s antics of threatening dobbing to get their own way; she designed every
move to attract Weepy’s attention. All those present were aware of the
relationship between Sally and Sam, and Weepy and Doris, and they knew Fran was
prone to sexual conduct and coarse and licentious behaviours. Fran on the other
hand never concerned herself with the feelings of others; her nature was,
always look after number one and satisfy one’s own needs. These relationships
were accepted within the clan and Doris’s sister’s threats never mounted to
anything, each knew if they dare say anything to parents or other adults about
any of business, rumoured or otherwise, they themselves would find the wrath of
the rest being nothing short of ostracism.
All day Don tried his hardest to win Fran’s attention, yet for some
reason Sterge had a cult personality where she was involved and both had their
own ideas of play. They cast Don aside, he felt abandoned and alone. The rest
were playing as a group in their selected pairing and he had no-one. He wanted
Fran but there was no way he could stand up to Sterge; besides Fran was not
showing any interest in him. A moment in thought left him clueless as to how or
why Fran could let someone of Sterge’s grotesque, odd, ludicrous looks and
diabolical behaviour touch her; his own enquiry would perplex him for many
years to come. He thought her better than him and a whole lot easier on the
eyes. Sterge was distorted and unnatural in shape and size; rude, abnormal,
hideous and oppressive. The answer to her putting up with him could lie in any
number of pretext on which to judge, such as; she might be too scared of him to
reject him, she may feel sorry for him, or she may actually likes him. The last
reason begs belief because no one liked Sterge.
The following day Don felt even more exposed to his feelings of
rejection and pangs of envy. He never learnt to accept Fran’s choice in
partners, and there was to be plenty of them. In hindsight it may have turned
out for the better if she completely ignored him because she did share herself
around way too much. Nevertheless as time went by things changed, and for many
years after, they got together frequently to satisfy their urges and pander
sexual impulses. She enticed him to relish sex as a pastime rather than an obsession
and it became a natural ingredient in the weekends play. The education he
received far surpassed readings learnt by correspondence out of ‘Playboy’
publications.
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