Young, Gay and Scared

By Robbie Byrnes

It’s the early 1950’s in Australia and Ryan Seaton has a dark secret. At twelve years old he’s discovered he’s a homosexual and in that decade being gay could be fatal. Added to that, his mother uses emotional blackmail, making his home-life miserable. Then his best mate confides he’s also gay, but the combined hostility of society, religion and the law, ensures that any relief is short-lived. Tragedy follows.

The decade known as the 1950s was word-wide, the worst time to be gay, but out of the depths of despair, a new period of enlightenment began. This is the story of some young souls living through and surmounting that awful decade.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robbie Byrnes
• Release date: Jul 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463374481

Book preview

Prologue

. . . . AUTHORS NOTE

My intent in writing this book is to expose the 1950’s treatment of homosexuals both in Australia, England and America. Why is this important?

In 1953, England’s Lord Montagu of Beaulieu with two others were arrested and tried for performing gross offences. The trial caused a backlash of opinion that led to the setting up of the Wolfenden Committee. In its 1957 report, the committee recommended the decriminalisation of homosexual activity in private, between two consenting adults.

Thus set in train the gradual acceptance, both legal and societal, of homosexual men. The virulence directed towards gay men had grown to ridiculous heights. In the cold war atmosphere of the 1950’s, witch hunts (later called the Lavender Scare) were ruining the lives of many gay men and lesbian women in the United States. Also, the parallel political atmosphere in Britain was virulently anti-homosexual. As many as 1,000 men were locked up in Britain's prisons every year amid a widespread police clampdown on homosexual offences. Undercover officers acting as agents provocateurs would pose as gay men soliciting in public places. The prevailing mood was one of barely concealed paranoia.

It all backfired with the Montagu trial. Sympathy for homosexuals began to escalate, gaining momentum and then culminating with the Stonewell Inn riots of June 29, 1969.

But, for many souls, the irreversible damage had been done. For many, the impact of electric shocks and chemical castration, whilst doing nothing to change one’s sexual orientation, had created self-doubt and a destruction of self-worth. It would take many years for victims to recover.

Many did not.

Allan Turing (who cracked the German Enigma code in World War Two) did not, because he killed himself. The man who saved countless Allied lives in the war, was sentenced as a criminal and given the choice of either imprisonment or chemical castration. He chose the latter. Many years later he was posthumously exonerated and received a commendation. Many years later.

Gay men and women must never forget to be vigilant. In this enlightened age, Fundamental Christianity still stridently condemns Homosexuality, and when they may seem foolish, they are dangerous fools. Any form of religious fundamentalism is a threat.

. . . SOME BACKGROUND

Being gay in Australia, during the nineteen fifties, was akin to a death sentence. I just don’t mean in the physical sense because the emotional trauma inflicted was sometimes worse. The nineteen fifties laid claim to the scourge of Communism and this fear manifested itself not only politically, but also in Religion. Both the State and Churches were stridently anti-communist, and woe betide anyone who looked, smelled and talked even faintly, communist. Because being homosexual was such a stigma, we were looked on as being highly susceptible to blackmail and therefore, had to be weeded out of public and corporate life. If caught and sentenced, the penalty was 14 years imprisonment. Furthermore, Buggery or Sodomy was only applicable to Homosexuals, not Heterosexuals.

During a hearing of the U.S. Senate in 1951, certain government officials talked about an alleged connection between homosexual government employees and communism. According to a government official questioned, 91 State Department employees had been removed from their position because they were found to be untrustworthy and belonging to the shady category. When he was asked to clarify what exactly he meant by that term, he said, they were homosexuals.

Not only homosexuals suffered during the nineteen fifties, anyone who didn’t conform to the strict rules of society was suppressed. This was manna for religious institutions who used fear to induct people into the harshest application of Christianity. The advent of Rock and Roll towards the end of the era was a manifestation of the yearning to change; to escape the harshness of the fifties and for minorities to start demanding fundamental rights.

This was the atmosphere that Ryan Seaton became a teenager when he turned thirteen. In those days the Australian School System required kids to start school when they turned six and attend Primary school for six years until they were twelve. They then progressed to High School for another three years and sat for their Intermediate Certificate . This level was sufficient to begin work at sixteen. Anyone wanting to go to University had to complete two more years and sit for their Leaving Certificate. So, by the time kids turned eighteen they could either enter University or enter the workforce with slightly better qualifications than those beginning work at sixteen.

Children of low-income families only stayed in school until they passed the Intermediate Certificate because the income was needed to support the family. Whilst Public School was geographic, meaning that all the kids from the local area went to the same school, High school was anywhere parents wanted their kids to go. The richer families sent their kids to 'Posh' or Private high schools, whereas poorer families' kids went to the local High School.

Such is the background to my story.

<><><><>

. . . NOW, THE STORY BEGINS

SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!

The expletive resounded through the silence of the bush. In fact he luxuriated in the stillness because he could truly vent his feelings without retribution. He suddenly found himself at a crossroad in life; a decision had to be made about where his life headed. Without doubt, this turned out to be the worst time of his young life.

Of course there really wasn’t a decision at all, because the alternatives available were unpalatable. Looking back on these past years, it still mystified him how events had shaped his journey so far. There had been heartbreak and some funny occasions but over-all his life had been miserable, well only miserable until he met the man of his dreams; the man who undoubtably conquered his heart. And now all that was in jeopardy.

FUCK! SHIT! FUCK!

He didn’t deserve to be in this position because he was a good person and hadn’t done harm to anyone; well except for his defensive scraps with bullies at school. He’d survived a morbid family life and along the way, had acquired close friends. A victim! Yes! A victim of social rejection, of legal persecution, and a negative home life. It had been a long time between laughs.

If you plotted all these negatives on one side of the ledger, they were easily compensated by his sex life. Starting probably around his turning twelve years (he couldn’t remember) he’d had a succession of sex partners and had learnt that sex was something to be enjoyed without guilt. It could be said that he’d experienced too much too soon, but what the hell, it felt bloody good. He couldn’t understand why society viewed the sex act with such condemnation.

BLOODY STUPID FUCKWITS!

Of course he referred to the Catholic Church as the main culprit. It seems God wasn’t satisfied to let his flock enjoy their bodies – which apparently he’d personally designed – he only smiled on sex that produced babies. Of course it had to be conducted only in an approved manner and position. Heaven forbid! They even used a calendar to determine when to do the act.

CRAP!

He was digressing now and slinking away from decision time. An awful decision, that could not only fuck up his life but others as well. Y’see that’s what they don’t understand, if he had to take the most obvious path then the consequences which flowed would cause irreparable harm – to all.

Part One

The High School Years

Chapter One

1.0

It was a warm day; in this late spring season, the sun shone brightly but not too severe. Overhead the sky was a cloudless, blue. The gentle wind barely moved the trees but was enough to give some relief from the heat. This was his favourite spot; the smooth rock was comfortable enough, so he stretched his naked body and relished being alone with nature. How many times had he lain here and thought about his life in general and his family life in particular? Too many. How many conclusions had he made? - none.

I'll be thirteen soon, officially a teenager. I'm scared because I know I feel different. I'm not sick, in fact, I've got good health and am physically fit. It's me sconi. I can't help feeling that something's wrong. I feel apart from other guys; I know I'm different but don't know why I'm different. I just am. I hear other kids telling smutty jokes about sheilas and somehow I know I'm not part of the mischief. I got no attraction to sheilas and I think I should. Well, ain't I supposed to? I mean when blokes are in their teens they'se all over girls and such and doin' . . . well, doin' . . . y'knows . . . gross stuff.

Just then a bull-ant made its way across the rock and he watched as it purposely headed in a straight line to the rock's edge and then disappeared. Muted rustlings in the surrounding bush told of other creatures about on this fine day. He was safe here - at least he felt safe here.

I reckon I'se bullshit. I got no reason t'feel threatened, 'cause no one's gonna hurt me 'cept Bert Cree - the cunt. I dunno why he's taken a dislike t'me. We're neighbours and schoolmates fer god's sake and should get along. Well, I do with his brothers, but not 'im. Take that last punch-up Friday after school. I know I hurt 'im and he hurt me . . . but why? Don't understand, me mum says I shoulda flatenned 'im. Why she hates the Crees beats me. But me Dad . . . reckon he's a coward, full stop. Me mate Bluey, at least he stands with me against the bastard Bert. It's good t'have someone lookin' after yer six. Wouldn't trust the cunt getting' his mates to come in if'n the fight goes against 'im.

Thinking about his mate Bluey caused a slight tingling in his penis and he automatically touched himself to relieve the feeling. Then his thoughts turned to the new sensation he'd begun to experience of late. In the mornings, he'd wake up with his cock hard and needing attention. He knew his body was changing and going through something called 'puberty'. He didn't know what that meant and from all the smutty jokes flying around, his buddies didn't know either.

What a bunch of bullshit artists. Mostly they make up stupid stories to show what big guys they were. Some kids have older brothers, so they probably know what to expect, but I've got no one. I can't ask me useless old man. If I asked 'im how many schooners he could down without getting' pissed he'd know. Useless old cunt! 'im and her, they'se always at it . . . fight, fight and fight. I reckon they'se hates each other. How they'se got married and had a kid like me I dunno. Yeah, part of the reason I'se comes down here in the bush is t'get away from their brawling. It's the usual, her mouth against his fist. Of course, when he hits her I gotta come in and hit 'im to defend the bloody bitch. I hates it! I cry meself to sleep some nights. God what a mouth that woman has; she's probably what they'se call a harpy, like that ‘sakepere character. I dunno who I hates the most - 'im or her.

He turned over and let the sun warm his front. The silence was so welcome after the screeching at home. Then a shadow passed, and he noticed clouds were beginning to form; not rain clouds, just heat clouds. He sighed. The rock was still warm and caressed his back and buttocks. Then the sun's warmth gentled his penis, making it expand and flop down his right leg. He loved the sensation. This led his thinking in another direction.

What's Bluey's mate's name? Umm, yeah . . . Tomas. Why did I feel nervous when I was introduced? A good lookin' kid and a bit better developed than me. I mean, he's got more muscle on 'im than I have. I reckon the sheilas'll be knockin' themselves to get inta his pants in a few years' time. I dunno, he looked at me real strange an' I felt weird - real weird. Not unpleasant, just weird. Oh shit, here I go again thinkin' they'se somethin' wrong with yours truly. Musta been me imagination, but I'd like to see 'im again . . . dunno why. I kept lookin' at his lips, why's that. Blokes don't go lookin' at each other's lips, do they? Nah, I'm gest playin' with meself. Must find a way of seein' him again. Yeah, Tomas. Hey, where did those clouds come from? No rain but they'se blottin' out the sun.

As the afternoon progressed, the sky became overcast, but he didn't want to go home. It would only be a problem if it rained and that wasn't likely to happen. This bush, this rock, this place, was his castle, his defence against an increasingly hostile world. He'd run from home this morning after a bitter yelling spree and wagged school. He needed peace and he needed to get away - away from the harsh atmosphere that had become his home life.

It's always the same; Ryan do this, Ryan do that, Ryan come here, Ryan he's hitting me. I reckon I should change me bloody name when I gets older. I hate the sound of Ryan. I mean there's never any love. Nobody's ever said, 'Oh Ryan I love you'. Never. I'm just a chattel - a thing, not a person, a thingamajig. I wish I could cry. The only one who loves me is me nanna but she's religious and I gotta listen to her go and on about Jesus this, Jesus that and what the Pope's doing lately. She's always got her head in the Catholic Weekly and reads aloud like she's preachin'. Then I gotta go to mass with her every Sunday and listen to the priest rant on about nuthin' important. Yeah but I know she loves me, so I just ignore all the religious bullshit.

He stayed until school was out and then made his way haltingly back to his miserable home life and growing uncertainties.

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1.1

Hey Ryan, Ryan wait up!

Ryan turned around at the sound of the voice and saw Tomas striding towards him with his school bag over his shoulder. Since first meeting, they had gravitated to each other and a friendship, of sorts, had developed. Ryan couldn't understand why Tomas pursued the friendship because they weren't alike. The kid was well developed for a teenager, and with his jet-black hair and tanned features, was good-looking. He also moved with a languid grace that only athletes have.

"(Panting) why are ya rushing off? Thought ya weren't keen t'get home, so why the rush?"

Ahhh heard a rumour that that cunt Cree was lookin' fer a fight and I just don't feel like fightin' t'day.

Tomas Davis placed a friendly arm around Ryan's shoulders and squeezed, catching Ryan by surprize.

Don't fret it, if the cunt tries anything I'll back you up. I hate the bastard too.

Don't get me wrong, boyo, but why're you gonna help me with my fight? Ya don't knows me that well and mebe, just mebe, he might 'ave a good reason to front me.

Nah, I knows you and I knows him. Anyway, I thought we're mates and mates help each other out, don't they; I mean we are mates aren't we?

(Quickly but cautiously) Yeah, yeah, yes we are. I mean yer a good mate of mine and I do 'preciate yer wantin' t'help like.

"(Confidently) I also reckon that shit-head won't try anything if'n there's two of us. Bullies are like that, they like to have the numbers on their side before they's starts anything nasty. Anyway, I feel like a punch-up today if'n you don't. (Hesitantly) Got a bit of me own shit bugging me, and a good stouch would help."

Wanna talk 'bout it?

"Umm (long pause) it's nothing much . . . well, it could be. I dunno . . . me Gran's sick (pause) . . . I reckon she's real sick Ryan. (Choke) I think (softly) I think she might die and (emotional pause) . . ."

"C'mon mate, let's sit on this bus seat (they sat, and Ryan put his arm around Tomas) Reckon that's awful, Tommo. How old is she?"

She's real old, about seventy something, thereabouts.

Is yer close? I mean me own Nanna and I are close, and it'd upset me if'n she croaked it.

Yeah, sort've; we've been good mates and she tells me I'm special t'her. I'm a bit like you Ryan, and don't get a lot of luvin'.

Ryan became quiet as he digested Tommo's revelation.

Can't remember tellin' him that, (thoughtful) musta been Bluey. Is this why we're drawn to each other because we don't get no love or affection? Geeze, I do know how rotten that feels. Kids need love; we needs the feel of someone carin' for us. I wanna love someone but it's hard to love when ya ain't been loved in return. My useless lot only care about themselves. In fact, the only caring they do is carin' about how much they hate each other.

"Yer real quiet Ryan, (concerned) did I upset yer?"

No Tommo, no. I was jest thinkin' about what ya said . . . y'know, about not bein' loved.

Yeah, it's shitty ain't it. Y'know, I ain't told anybody else about not bein' loved. You’re the only person I'se told. Can yer keep it just between us?

"(Earnestly) Yeah, riggy-didge. But about yer Gran, she's old and hadda good life, eh. We'se young and we gotta live our own lives. Look, you and her got somethin' special, I get that, but what's important now is yer own life and what ya makes of it. (Hesitantly) I hope I don't sound too mushy, but I like ya Tommo, and it feels real good t'have ya as a mate."

"Same here. (Long pause) The other day you told Bluey that ya had a special place yer goes to if'n yer needs peace. Care to share with me. I mean, don't wanna impose on yer private stuff but I reckon I'd like to see it"

" (Slowly) Geeze I dunno mate, look I'd like t'share with ya but it's really nuthin, jest a spot I goes to when I got the grumps. Ain't nothing special like, jest, you know, sumthin that works fer me. (Seeing Tommo looking glum Ryan hurried on) Yeah, all right, what about Sunday after lunch; how's that sound?"

"(Contritely) I feels like I put you on the spot, mate. Look let's leave it for now. I gotta go to church on Sunday and then Sunday school right after. Yeah let's leave it for now; I reckon I'se been a bit pushy and I really like ya Ryan so's I don't wanna crowd ya. I gotta special place too that I slink away to and I wouldn't want to share with anyone. Thanks, fer the invite though."

I guess yer a Prodo eh, like ya said goin to Sunday school. What's it like?

Bloody boring, I hate it. All right fer little kids but I'll be thirteen soon and I reckon all this religion crap is bullshit.

Yeah, I hate it too. Me family's Catholic and I have to put up with a bloody mass every Sunday; one boring hour of crap - me Nanna makes me.

Umm Ryan, when's yer birthday? . . . Gotta figure who's the eldest.

Next March, on the ninth. What about you?

Shit I don't believe it; my birthday's February twenty-seventh, that’s when I'll turn thirteen. Looks like I'm the eldest so I can boss you around . . . young'un.

Try it shit-face . . .

"(Tommo looked up and spotted Bert Cree) Oh wadda-ya-know young-one, there's Cree walking towards us on the other side of the road. What say we have some fun, eh? (And then yelling out) HEY BLUDGER, HEY CREE, HERE WE ARE, ONLY TWO OF US TO ONE OF YOU. I HEARD YA SAY THAT YER WORTH TWO OF ANYONE THAT WANTS T'FIGHT. WELL, NOW'S YER CHANCE T'PROOVE IT CUNT-FACE, HERE WE ARE!"

(Then Ryan joined in) C'MON MISSUS CREE, COME OVER HERE AND WE'LL TAKE YA ON! THERE'S ONLY TWO OF US SO A BIG MAN LIKE YOU WON'T HAVE ANY TROUBLE WITH JEST TWO OF US, EH. WADDA YA SAY?"

FUCK OFF SEATON! ' SPOSE YA THINK YER SAFE EH, WITH YER BIG MATE HELPIN' OUT.

Nah, don't feel safe; just would like t'kick yer balls in, that's all. C'mon hero, I'm ready. So, come on over!

Fuck off, yer not worth it. I gotta get home anyway, so it'll keep. Next time don't bring yer big gorilla mate t'help youse. FUCK OFF!

With that, Cree left with unseemly haste, leaving the two champions with big smiles.

"(Laughing) Wow that was good Tommo; thanks, fer stepping up, appreciate it."

Hell don't thank me, that’s the best fun I've had in a long time, boyo. Anyway, I best get goin' . . . see ya Sunday?

Yer on. See ya.

<><><><>

1.2

Here you go mum, let me cut that up for you.

"(Angry) don't fuss over me, Clare. It's only chicken and I can cut my own food. I'm not an invalid yet. Don't let your own food get cold."

It was Sunday and Ryan's family had sat down to a traditional Sunday lunch of roast chicken, roast potatoes, greens, and gravy. Clare Seaton, for all her other faults, was a good cook so Sunday lunch was something Ryan looked forward to. In the winter, for dessert, they had Apple Pie and ice cream; in summer, they'd have fruit salad and ice cream. As usual, there was an undercurrent of tension at the table.

Ryan's grandmother, Merle Fitzgerald finished chewing a piece of chicken and reminisced,

Father O'Brian gave us a good sermon today, don't you think Ryan?

"I didn't understand much of what he said, he's such a bloody boor . . . '

'Ryan, language. I don't want to hear swearing at the dinner table."

Ok mother, but I heard plenty worse cumin' outta yer mouth most times. Why is eating any different?

Because I said so, that's why.

(Ryan's father Bill piped up) " Listen to your mother Ryan and don't give her any cheek."

Ryan gave his father a look of utmost contempt. He'd long ago lost any respect for him.

Like I was saying, Father O'Brian gave us a talk on adults setting good role models for their kids. He reminded us that children look to their parents for guidance in morals, behaviour, manners, and principles. He also said that it was necessary for kids to have a good religious education.

This brought an uncomfortable silence at the table as Ryan's parents tried to look disinterested.

Shit, the old bat's really tryin to stir the pot. Funny I can't remember the priest sayin that. I musta ben asleep or sumthin.

Then,

Gran I'd like to go to Sunday school with me mate Tommo and . . .

'What! (An angry Nanna was a fierce sight) you can't go there because they're Protestants. You'll burn in hell if you even enter a Protestant church, let alone a school. NO! For the sake of your eternal soul, I forbid it!"

I'm a Prodo.

Ryan's father Bill looked up and stared at his mother-in-law, who stared right back.

It shows.

Bullshit . . .

I won't have bad language at . . .

"(From both Merle and Bill) Shut up, Clare!"

"(talking reasonably) When I married your daughter we couldn't get married like most folks do, we had to get married 'behind the altar' as your lot put it. Didn't matter to me, I just wanted to root your charming daughter and that was the only way I could."

Both Merle and Ryan's mum stared at Bill Seaton with disgust. However, Merle Fitzgerald had her dander up, and wouldn't let the last go unchallenged.

"(Spitting her words) you’re an animal Bill Seaton as are all Protestants. Your lot left the One True Church and, as a result, you have no sense of morality. You're all pigs!"

"(Sneering) your calling me a pig! Ha, that’s a bloody laugh. All you bloody Irish peasants eat is Pork and potatoes and swill it down with that disgusting drink you call Stout. You all start looking like pigs with yer little piggie noses and sour faces from drinking that black muck. If ya asks me . . . "

"(Huffing) No one's going to ask you, mister, because you're damned to hell. When you die you're gonna go straight to hell and burn for all eternity. All the Protestants that ever were will be there twisting and screaming in the fires of hell and you'll be like that for eternity. When I . . . "

"Mum can you tone it down a little. (Pleading) Think what you're saying and the impact on little Ryan here. You scare me with your language, it's not right to threaten people like that. (Whining) I know Bills not a good human being and your right about him going to hell. I mean not because he's a protestant, he's going to hell because of the way he treats me, his wife, a poor woman who tries . . . "

Oh, shut up you bleating, whinging bitch . . .

"(Outraged) how dare you call my daughter a bitch! How dare you. You’re just a drunken bastard that spends all his money on booze and your crummy mates - all drunkards the lot of you."

Oh, I'm a drunkard am I. You calling me a drunkard? Well, then only reason I drink is to get away from your fucking, whinging, whining, bitch of a daughter and you and your popish, caterwauling priests. You remind me of a piece of slime . . .

'(Firmly) I wanna change Gods . . ."

How dare you say those words . . . Eh? . . . What? What did you say, Ryan?

There was complete silence as Ryan's statement was recalled.

What did you say, dear, I didn't hear you with all the language going on.

I just said mum that I want to change Gods.

(Merle Patiently) "You can't change gods Ryan. As I've told you, there's only one god and he exists as God the Father, God the Son, and the Holy Ghost. There, it's all laid out in your Catechism. If you have questions (unctuously) ask any nun or better still, ask Father O'Brian."

Geeze Nanna, yer not makin sense. How can three coots be one fella? And who’s this Ghost bozo? How'd he get a seat at the table?

"(Getting flustered) Now look hear Ryan, read your Catechism; it's all there. Just accept that the One True Church is correct."

"Listen (hostile) you old bag, don't pan the kid off like that. He asked you a question and I'd like you to give him an answer. I agree with him - what your lot teaches don't make sense. Go one ya big Irish piggie, answer him."

I've sat here and listened to you insulting my mother and I'm fed up. You're a lout, a protestant lout at that, so keep your gutter mind to yourself. Once again, after all my good work, you've ruined lunch. What I've had to put up with all these years . . .

Oh, shut it, Clare! Now Ryan, back to your original statement, why d'yer wanna change gods?

"Well, (looking sideways at his Nanna) I don't like this current bloke; he's not nice, he's a bloody monster."

At this Merle puffed up with indignation and pounced on her grandson.

"(Raising her voice) A monster Ryan, you called god a monster! How dare you! (Ryan flinched) Our God is a kind, loving, caring and gentle being who loves us, looks after us, and accepts us into his bosom when we die. (Glaring at her son-in-law) Those that belong to the One True Church anyway. (Pause) Watch your tongue young man or you'll burn in hell."

Listen you piece of Irish slime; don't you threaten the kid like that. That's child persecution and you'll burn in hell for it. No, . . . let me finish old hag. The kid's entitled to have his say. Now Ryan, why d'yer think gods a monster?

"Well, take that story about the guy in the boat (everyone looked puzzled) . . . "

Oh, you mean Noah's Ark?

Yes, Da, him. Why did he have to kill all the innocent animals? I mean maybe the humans weren't a good lot, but the animals had done nuthin wrong, yet he drowned them jest the same as the bad humans. I reckon he's a mongrel and I ain't gonna worship him.

There was utter silence in the wake of Ryan's statement because there was no logical explanation to answer his concern. Merle bristled but had to shut up. Clare, finding no way to whinge about herself, shut up and toyed with her apple pie. On the other hand, Ryan's dad, in a rare display of affection, bathed his son with a fondness and love he'd not done for a long time.

It was an awkward silence for the adults, and a bit fearful for Ryan who was expecting his Nana to cuff him about the ears. The crisis passed when his mother,

"Ryan, what footy team are you playing for this year? I like to watch boys doing a bit of rough and tumble. Makes for a good character to have a bit of rough stuff for a growing lad. Maybe you'll be a star one day like (naming a well-known football player). He gets respect wherever he goes. I mean with those wide shoulders, powerful legs, and fantastic muscles he's the sort of person . . ."

'The sort of person you'd like to screw eh? Yer just a whore Clare, lusting after someone who, after all, is just a thug!"

"HE'S NOT!

Is too. Word is that he beats his wife and likes young boys.

LIAR! He's not queer. Poofters are disgusting evil creatures . . .

"Well (from Merle) are going to be sent to hell and die a thousand painful . . . "

." . . disgusting evil creatures that deserve to be punished. Anyone with half a brain at all can see that (naming player again) is a man and definitely not queer. He's a man Bill Seaton and someone who our Ryan should look up to as a role model. So there; and Ryan, you're playing football this year and that’s' that!"

I'm not!

You are!

Bullshit, ya can't force me. If you do, I'll get the cops on ya. Me teacher said that if any of us kids get abused by our parents we have to tell the cops. And I will. Anyway, what's a poofter?

No one spoke; this was a subject too sensitive for practicing Christians. His dad answered,

Anyone who molests young boys and has sex with other men. Now drop it, Ryan, go help yer nanna with the lunch dishes.

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1.3

After helping with the dishes, Ryan met Tommo around 2 p.m. It was a beautiful day with still a bite in the sun, so they decided to head for a swim. In the 1950's, where Ryan lived, it was mostly bushland and in the middle was the local dam that gave the area's drinking water. It was a large body of water and provided many discreet places for swimmers. On the way, Ryan related the happenings at lunch - to Tommo's amusement.

Geeze yer nanna seems a bit of a tyrant, eh. I don't dig that hell stuff, do you?

Nah, but that’s the ways she's been brought up and at her age, she's too old to believe anything else. I just can't cop her trying to push that crap down my throat. I got my own thinkin what's different from hers, but I love the old cow and not gonna distress her if I can help it.

They arrived at their favourite spot, a sandy beach secluded from passers-by. Like all young boys, they enthusiastically stripped naked then frolicked in the cool water. All the cares of the world, from family to school, and adult pressures, vanished in the joy that only cool water can deliver. For over half an hour, they splashed, wrestled, and laughed at each other, until they called it quits. Stretching out on their stomachs, they let the sun dry their bodies and warm their naked skin.

Bliss!

Ryan chanced a look at Tommo lying with his face turned away.

Geeze, you'd never think he's only twelve. Got the body of a fifteen yer old with those muscles. I ain't a slouch, and they tell me I got a wiry frame that'll make a good athlete. Must be his genes that he's so well developed; I only hope I can put on a bit of meat soon, so's I stop lookin like a twig. But I knows I'm strong and . . . and . . . yeah, I reckon me cocks a goodun. That's all that counts . . .

Heard from Bluey, Ryan?

Ryan was nudged out of his thoughts.

Nah, not lately. He's taken up with that sheila Mandy Simpson and I ain't heard nuthin.

Silence.

Yeah, it’s a shame ain't it. I mean a good bloke like Bluey gets all moony over a bit of gash and forgets his mates. I reckon it's a rotten shame. Bloody sheilas!

Yeah, bloody sheilas!

Both boys became quiet, as there seemed nothing more to say on the subject. Ryan turned over so and let then sun warm his front. Immediately his penis accepted the warmth and began to inflate.

What do yer think of girls?

Wadda ya mean Tommo? I . . . ah, don't think of girls, much. Wadda ya mean?

Do yer like them? I mean not friendly like but y'know, sexy-like. D'ya get a stiffie thinkin about them?

Nah, not really . . . umm, no I don't. That's why I can't understand Bluey wanting t'get into Mandy Simpson's panties. Yuk! Nope, don't turn me on.

Me neither. I'd rather have a good mate than go chasing after some skirt. Tried having a yadda with me cousin, but all she could talk about was clothes and spilling the dirt on her friends. Boring as shit.

Silence. Now Tommo turned overexposing his naked front. Ryan glanced over and watched as Tommo's cock swelled up. He was a little surprised at the conversation they were having and decided to ask the question that had been on his mind of late.

D'yer think we'll grow out of it? I mean d'yer think we'll start likin' sheilas as we get a bit older?

"Shit, I dunno. Maybe, maybe not. I can't see meself getting married and havin' kids like. Of course, me mum would want that. Y'know, grandkids and