Trennor

The New Cumbria Chronicles
Marty & Daryl
Book One

Chapter One
Alone

The series starts with the short story which started it all, Alone.

It wasn't that Marty disliked school; it was just that sometimes it was so damned boring. And maths exercises were some of the most boring of all; once he'd figured how to solve one equation, Marty found he could usually finish them all without too much trouble. Hence, having to complete fifteen equations in the time left and as homework if he didn't finish them all this afternoon, made them boring. And boredom led to other things, like thinking about Daryl over there.

Daryl was a beauty boy. His dark, flowing naturally curly hair, heart-shaped face and small pointed nose, his large deep-set bright blue eyes, and cleft, pointed chin made him one of the most handsome boys in the school. Marty knew he wasn't the only person who noticed the boy's good looks, he'd heard teachers and many of the girls admiring his svelte handsomeness many times before. To Marty, Daryl was more than that; Daryl was slim and lithe, graceful and energetic, and loped laps around a footy field with ease, barely losing his breath. So accomplished in nearly everything he did, he made Marty feel so alone. Until Daryl, Marty though he could do all those things too, and truth be told, he could. But Daryl made it look so much easier; causing Marty to feel he was being left far, far behind.

Marty's mind drifted off to the Meadow. Somewhere deep in a forest, where nobody went except he, and those he chose. A grassy sward surrounded by oak and spruce and aspen and maple trees, densely packed, only a narrow almost indiscernible path leading through. A pool, perhaps an acre in size, warm blue water inviting, an excuse to strip off your clothes, plunge in, splash, shout, yell, holler, express your freedom from maths equations any way you wanted. Diving deep deep down, to where the sun barely penetrated, feeling the warm spring which fed the pond against your naked body, surging upwards, carrying you back to the surface so you could dive down again.

And then there was Daryl in Marty's mind, naked next to him, his infectious grin bubbling as air escaped his tight lips, Marty thrilling to the sight of his schoolmate undressed, a thrill he never expected because he thought Daryl just too pretty, out of his reach,beneath the other boy's notice. And yet here he was…

A nudge on his shoulder, and Marty became aware of a general bustle around him, the class was breaking up, talking permitted now the period was over. He'd missed the buzzer, or maybe that had been the buzzing in his ears as he and Daryl had descended into the depths of the pond.

"Hey, come and run with me," Daryl said; it had been he who'd nudged Marty, greatly daring. Finally getting the courage to ask Marty to run with him. Because Marty was the most handsome boy in the school.

Chapter Two
Yule Gift

Marty wasn't used to Christmas without snow. Where he came from in Western America, there was always snow at Christmas, sometimes so much that tree branches were heavily laden and unexpectedly dumped snow on you if you happened to be underneath one. But here in New Cumbria, fifteen hundred miles [2300 km] off the west coast of Chile, on a latitude roughly with New Zealand, there was no snow. Antipodean weather was opposite to that with which Marty had grown up, and in his thirteen years, he had never experienced a green Christmas, much less one which temperatures obliged you to wear shorts and t-shirts or better yet, polos. And the shorts!

Oh my gawd, in a world where boardshorts even below the knees were the only shorts considered modest enough for a boy, here those shorts were barely, well, decent. Cut high on the hips, barely enough thigh covered to properly shield your bum, Marty always felt as if half his ass would half hang out of the shorts the New Cee boys wore this year. His Dad thought so too, and had forbidden him to wear them. And it looked to him as if half of the other boys' asses dropped from their shorts too. Dad would shake his head in disgust. School uniform shorts fortunately were at least modest to the knees, and their footie shorts were a little above; acceptable, in Marty's, and his Dad's, eyes.

Marty didn't mind seeing his new friend Daryl wearing short-shorts – Daryl had the legs for them: long, slim lithe, the same as the rest of him. Daryl's legs reminded Marty of colt's legs he'd seen on his uncle's horse ranch back in America; something else he missed after his Dad moved them here for his new job.

Footsteps behind him trotting up, a jog on his elbow and a "Hey!" announced the arrival of his new friend. Daryl was beautiful in a way Marty did not think he could ever be; flowing wavy dark hair, deep set blue eyes which always seemed to sparkle with fun and mischief in his lovely heart-shaped face, his lithe body under his clothes seeming delicate but Marty knew was as solid and resilient as his own. Daryl's arms and legs were enhanced with light black down which Marty found endlessly fascinating. Marty was gratified they seemed physically evenly matched, both had the same tireless energy, their respective height within a centimetre of each other, and the one time they'd actually wrestled on the footie field after a jog showed they were evenly matched in strength.

Marty had been surprised to get the first fall on Daryl, who seemed equally surprised, but not offended his new friend had bested him. And the best part of that had been laying atop Daryl, panting as they both regained their breath from the effort, and Marty very nearly sure he had felt something rising under Daryl's shorts to press against his own middle. He'd wanted to lean forward, gazing into those brilliant blue eyes, Daryl's pert nose itself beautiful, until Daryl had grinned at him and laughed, pushing against Marty's chest with a, "Let me up you big doof!" and Marty had reluctantly rolled aside. It had only been a moment, and Marty hoped for it happening again.

"Yule in few days," Daryl remarked as they walked down the sidewalk towards school for their last half day before annual summer holidays. "You guys have any plans?"

"None, my Dad is working," Marty replied dolefully. "We probably won't even have a Christmas dinner."

"Marty, it's Yule here, remember?" Daryl reminded him. "New Cee doesn't have churches and religion. We threw all that out years ago."

"Why?" Marty asked.

"Too many fights over who's right and who's wrong," Daryl replied, "So Parliament and the King ruled all churches and religion illegal, except those who want to practise at home. It was for the best, really, and the churches couldn't pay the taxes on their buildings, either. They all had to shut down."

"I think in America churches don't have to pay taxes," Marty said. "They get it all for free or something."

"This isn't America," Daryl said, a phrase Marty was already hearing oft repeated. "Look, come on over to my place Yuletide. There's always lots, Mum won't mind, I promise."

"I… I can't do that," Marty objected. "What, just show up? I wasn't raised that way."

"What, you want a note?!" Daryl asked, disbelief on his face. "Okay."

"No, Daryl!" Marty began, but it was too late, the school bell was ringing and Daryl loped off towards the doors, Marty following more slowly.

This really wasn't turning out to be the life he'd expected. It was so frustrating moving into a new neighbourhood, much less to a foreign country, where they talked funny, had little to no religion, and seemed to have expectations of you you'd never heard of before. Marty was already finding it a bit much. People here, well the boys anyway, expected you to be totally open about your body and your sexuality. You didn't hide changing for games, or nude in the shower, or after showering; you were thought of as sissy. Marty couldn't get used to the stares of some of the boys at his admittedly, larger than average boyhood. There were even boys in his class paired off as if they were gay! Though Marty certainly felt that way towards Daryl, and if truth be told, towards several other rather attractive guys he'd seen in the past few weeks. He was sure he'd never be willing to walk holding hands with Daryl onto the schoolyard; recent memories of his old home back in Oregon were too deeply ingrained. And he wasn't used to being hit upon either, as had also happened a time or three. Dad would never forgive him.

School days before summer holidays, or 'hols', as Marty had been told vacations were known here, were decidedly non-academic. The boys mostly sat in their benches with their schoolmates, joshing with their Masters, who all essentially told them the same things: proud to have had them as students this year, wishes for a good summer, success on summer league footie teams regardless of the level they played, and a whole bunch of other garbage which Marty, along with his mates, tuned out midway through the second period. Their final school reports would be mailed to their homes, but each teacher was proud that every student had graduated to the next level. Graduated, Marty wondered at the term, when they mostly would be returning to the same school next year. Finally the bell rang for the last time and they were released, whooping and hollering as they all poured out the school doors, finally free of school restraints. Marty felt another one of Daryl's nudges.

"Here," his friend said, thrusting an envelope into his hands. "Sorry, can't wait. Gotta go! See ya later!" And he loped off, Marty alternating his stare between Daryl's retreating bum and the envelope in his hands. The envelope bore his name in scrawling script and he gingerly pulled the flap open, and withdrew the card inside. Rough art construction paper, red in colour, with a rather neat drawing of a burning Yule log in a brick fireplace. Opening the fold, he read in neatly printed script, "You are invited to our Feast, December 25th," and an address and time of 3:00 pm. It was signed, Dary.

Dary? Had his friend forgotten the last letter of his name? That seemed as unlikely as Marty forgetting the 'y' which completed his name; he could never see himself signing anything, 'Mart'. Dary. Some kind of code? An affectation? Or … an affectionate diminutive, as Marty was to his actual name, Martin? He was left to puzzle over this on his solitary walk home.

A roar over his head made him look up, and he spotted a light plane gliding across the sky. From the waggle of the wings, Marty knew Dad was flying it; the first pilot on the New Cumbrian National Police force finally taking up his duties. His Dad, a cop; Marty could hardly credit it. Dad had always been a bush pilot in the Pacific North-west of Western America, but always complained the pay hadn't been great. Then one night, surfing the net, he had come across an advertisement for experienced bush pilots or non-airline operators of small aircraft, to apply for positions as police officer pilots with New Cumbrian National Police. The catch was, applicants had to be willing to be vetted and take police training and be willing to become full members of NCNP. Though worried about competing with twenty-something recruits, Dad nevertheless had plunged in, submitted all his information, completed the recruiting process, the training, and to his utter astonishment, and his son's, had passed through Police College and received his warrant card and badge. That had been a proud day for both of them, and Dad was even qualified to mount a pair of wings on his uniform. For all of that, he nearly tripled his pay, though New Cumbrian dollars weren't par with the WSA dollar, it was still a substantial raise.

Just, if integrating wasn't so hard, Marty thought, pushing through the gate of their newly acquired house. They lived near the outskirts of Normanton, not far from one of the four airports which serviced the huge city, though a goodly distance from the police District Office to which Dad was supposed to report.

Yule, or as Dad insisted on calling it, Christmas Day, arrived two days later, and though he felt foolish, (he was thirteen, after all!) he toddled in his underwear and a tee to their new fireplace where Dad had insisted he hang a stocking. Marty wasn't sure if stockings were acceptable in New Cee, but who'd know if he didn't tell anybody? He'd never heard of Santa coming to New Cumbria; he wasn't sure if New Cee kids even knew the legend. He dumped the stocking's contents into an easy chair beside the hearth and poked through the offerings. The usual, he found some fruit, some inexpensive gifts like new flash drives for his laptop, but nothing fantastic like a new tablet or the mobile phone for which he'd been hoping. The old one from America wouldn't work here and they'd been so busy with Dad's training, then moving here to Normanton, the new house… everything. It had just been…

"Merry Christmas!" Dad's voice sounded behind him. "I was hoping you'd be up before I went to work."

"Happy Yule, Dad," Marty replied, turning. Dad was natty in his new utility uniform, he looked almost casual compared to the military-like garb American police wore. Dad's was a polo shirt with embroidered patches on the shoulder, his wings on his right chest, navy cargo pants with two large pockets on each leg and his flying boots. He'd wear a slouch cap and his duty belt in the airplane, Marty knew.

"Got your stocking, I see," Dad smiled.

"Uh yea, um… Santa forgot my phone," Marty sighed.

"Maybe next time," Dad replied, and Marty's heart sank, realizing there would be no mobile phone this Yule. He keenly felt the disappointment, but then he realized most of the New Cee kids didn't have them either. Maybe that's why there was so much peace amongst them; no social media to needlessly stir things up.

Marty glanced towards the tree bough with its red bow and ribbon nestled in the living room bay window, but could see no wrapped parcels; either for his father or for him. Dad, following his glance, nodded to the door. "Come outside, I've something for you."

"Dad, I'm in my undies…" Marty objected but his Dad waved him off laughing.

"Marty, this is New Cee! Besides, we have hedges all around the property. As if anyone's going to see you! Now, come on!"

Dad led him round a corner of the house. Propped against the wall was a shiny yellow surf board. Now Marty understood why there'd been no mobile or tablet this Yule.

"Oh wow!!" he gasped, "oh my gawd! Thank-you, Dad!!"

"Shark Attack Standard, just like you wanted," Dad smiled, snagging an arm round his son's shoulders and pulling him into a hug. "There's even a rack for your bike so you can hike down to the beaches without me having to drive you. You've still got your boardies and wettie from Home, don't you?"

"Packed up in my room, yea," Marty confirmed. "OH man Dad, this is awesome! Thanks so much!"

"You're welcome. Trying it out today?"

"Can't," Marty replied, "I'm invited to Daryl's for Yule Feast, remember?"

"Ah, yes. Well, enjoy. Be good, do me proud, won't you?"

"Promise."

Dad clapped him on the shoulder and left for work.

It must be hell having to work Yuletide, Marty reflected pushing his mountain bike hard towards Daryl's parents house. What on earth did he do all day up in the air?

"I spot for accidents along highways," Dad had told him. "Ready for rapid response within my Area," which Marty knew as a geographical circle approximately a hundred and fifty miles [250 km] in diameter around Normanton's boundaries. "Ready to fly dog teams, swat teams, forensics, whatever support services to wherever they need to go." Marty shuddered, he knew 'forensics' was code for 'murder'. Which meant Dad had to know every airport for hundred and fifty miles around, or even just places he could land his short takeoff and landing Legend aircraft on a highway, or a beach or alongside a river. Those special skills were why NCNP had wanted bush pilots; fearless men who could take an aircraft in just about anywhere, and fly it back out again. Dad was finding out the police part of it was secondary.

Marty reached the address noted on his invitation card; a leafy, shaded street with large houses set back from the street behind tall walls and iron gates. Most of the gates were open this day with guests expected and so was Daryl's. He pedaled his bike up the curving cobbled drive, through lush lawns and flower beds, tended Marty was sure by lawn service companies. He nearly turned the bike around and pedaled home for a lonely afternoon, but someone standing on the steps hailed him and he recognized Daryl – wearing short shorts and a very short-sleeved tee. Marty gulped a bit at the amount of bare skin Daryl displayed, feeling overdressed in his board shorts and and long polo tee.

"Hey, ya made it!" Daryl beamed. "Good on ya, park your bike over there, no need to lock it. Come on in and meet my parents."

"So it's okay then?" Marty asked, still a bit fearful.

"Oh sure! Mum was thrilled I'm having someone from school, and somebody new to New Cee to boot!"

Oh joy, Marty thought, more talking about Home, which he missed terribly sometimes; even the snow. The ritual wasn't half as bad as he'd feared, Daryl's Mum ("Call me Auntie!") received him with a wide smile and hug, which Marty gingerly returned. He handed over the small expected gift he'd picked up on his way over, for which he was quietly thanked.

"Dad's barbecuing," Daryl said, "come on!" and he led the way through the big house to rear patio doors, leading onto a large patio, where a barbecue smoked at one end. "Dad, meet my friend Marty, from school." A hand came out, another wide smile of welcome, level grey eyes sizing him up quickly.

"Ah, the lad from America! Welcome, Marty," Dad said in the curious soft accent of New Cumbria. Marty glanced about looking for other guests, but there didn't appear to be any. As the boys moved off the patio onto the wide lawn beyond, Marty asked, "Am I the only one invited?"

"Mmm hmm!" Daryl grinned. "Mum wouldn't hear of you spending Yule alone at home. I was going to phone you to make sure you're coming but I don't have your number!"

"Oh, I'll have to ask my Dad… we're not listed," Marty said.

"Okay," Daryl simply said. "Come on up to my room, I've something for you."

"You're the second one to tell me that today," Marty laughed. "My Dad got me a surfboard."

Oh way cool!" Daryl enthused. "Get a rack for your bike and you can…"

"Came with it," Marty interrupted, then, "Oh, sorry!"

"No problem!" Daryl laughed. "It's only me!"

They entered Daryl's room on the second floor, overlooking the backyard, pleasantly furnished with a large double bed, nightstand and lamp, desk with a laptop computer and various other possessions, including a white Ripcurl surfboard which looked like it had had some hard use.

"Cool, you surf too!" Marty exclaimed, gesturing towards the board.

"Yup!" Daryl replied, handing Marty a colourfully wrapped parcel. It was soft, yielding, and Marty looked at Daryl questioningly. "Only way you'll find out is to open it," Daryl smiled. "Go on! It won't bite."

"I… I didn't get you anything!" Marty blurted.

"Don't worry about it," Daryl said, still smiling. "I've got most of what I want. What's a gift after all, between friends?"

"It's just… fair, that's all!" Marty stammered, "I mean…

"Shhhh…" Daryl said quietly, leaning close, and planting a light kiss on Marty's lips. Marty started, drew back, but Daryl persisted. Kissed again, and this time, it felt good. Tasted good, and Marty slowly got over his surprise, and noticed Daryl's scent, musky, drawing him in, intoxicating and he puckered to return the kiss. Arms went about him, pulling him close, middles met, and this time Marty was certain about that rising lump in Daryl's middle. Because his own was doing it too, thrusting against his briefs inside his boardies. Daryl pushed against him, encouraging the erection, no doubt encouraging his own, their lips locked, Daryl's tongue seeking to push between Marty's lips and teeth, Marty finally giving way and meeting it. They stood writhing together in the middle of the room, arms wrapped about, Daryl's hands dropping to Marty's bum, massaging in almost desperation.

"Come on," he gasped, "Let's get these off…" and he tugged at Marty's shorts, fumbling for the strings. Marty unsure but unable to object to the other boy's insistence.

Daryl's tongue lashing him, lips working his cock backwards and forwards and almost before he realized it, he was throbbing and gasping with dry heaves in his penis; it had never felt so good down there. He moaned and Daryl didn't stop, but kept lashing him, and Marty had to back away, his penis unable to stand the after play, overcharged and over sensitive as it was.

"Omigawd omigawd omigawd!" he gasped, staring at his friend still kneeling on the carpet. He felt almost obscene, his pants at his ankles, his cock sticking out in front of him, and when Daryl reached for him again, he backed away.

"I'm not sure… "

"I am," Daryl said matter of fact. "Looka that thing, it loves it. Soon as we touched, Marty, it leapt up, man. We're gay, okay? You and me. I want you to be my boyfriend. It's all the gift I want this Yule."

"B-b-b-b-boyfriends?! You mean, like, kissing and holding hands in public and stuff?! I can't do that!"

"Yet," Daryl smiled at him. "It's okay, I understand you're American and stuff like that is weird to you. We'll be secret boyfriends for now, okay? We don't have to tell anybody. Not your Dad, if you don't want."

"No way! Not my Dad, ever!" Marty exclaimed. "He'll kill me! He's so anti-gay, man."

"He'll have to accept it if he's gonna live here," Daryl smiled. "It's legal for us, you know. If you're fourteen, you can have sex with any guy you want. Twelve even if your Dad agrees to a pedagogue agreement."

"That my dad would never do," Marty asserted. "He'd throw any guy out wanted to have sex with me!"

"Here, open it," Daryl said, handing Marty his gift. Marty took it, fingers squeezing.

"It's clothes, isn't it?" he asked, and Daryl nodded. Marty carefully pulled the taped seams of the parcel apart; revealing a red and white horizontal-striped tee shirt with very short sleeves, and a pair of New Cee short shorts, and he stared at Daryl. "I can't wear these…"

"Just wear them here," Daryl suggested, "or at the beach when your Dad's not around. Go on, put 'em on! My parents don't mind."

Marty slowly pulled his polo tee, and Daryl helped him pull it over his head and tossed it onto his bed.

"You are undoubtedly the handsomest kid in the school," Daryl said admiringly, gazing frankly at Marty's nude body.

"Uhhhh… no," Marty shook his head, reaching for his briefs.

"Oh please, no briefs!" Daryl said. "They show under those shorts… go commando. Everybody does."

"Who's Dary? Is that you?" Marty asked, pulling on his new khaki shorts. They felt, with no briefs, like he had very little on.

"Yea, it's my nickname here at home. Only my parents and very good friends get to use it. You can too, but only when it's just us," Daryl said. "Love those on you," he added, a gleam of appreciation in his indigo eyes. "Go on, pull on the shirt, though you've got a great chest and shoulders."

Marty complied, not sure whether he should be embarrassed or gratified; he remembered his dream of this boy in his imaginary meadow a few weeks ago. And now, they'd kissed, Daryl had done something intimate with him which he wouldn't soon forget. The other boy reached and took his hands, eyes running up and down Marty's smooth arms, then rising to meet Marty's soft brown eyes.

"Happy Yule, love," he said, and leaned forward with another kiss.

"Happy Yule, Dary," Marty smiled.

Chapter Three
Marty's Cross

As Marty had hoped, the next day dawned sunny and mild, and the weatherman promised sun all day and hot. That suited Marty just fine as he and Daryl were going to the beach to try Marty's new surfboard. Daryl was due to pick him up in about half an hour. Right now, Marty was mounting – trying to mount – his new surfboard rack onto his bike. What had seemed a simple operation as he thought it over in bed last night – when thoughts of Daryl doing what he had done yesterday didn't intrude – was now fraught with frustration. Marty only had a leaning kickstand on the side of his bike to hold it up, which was unsatisfactory because the bike kept tipping when he tried to mount the rack. Leaning the bike against a wall didn't work either because the handlebars would turn and the bike rolled forward to flop on its side, leaving Marty staring at the thing and cursing roundly. He wished Dad had stuck around to help him but he was off flying again for the police. All hands on deck because it was the Holidays, and that also meant New Cumbria's Royal National Police Flying Corps, as Dad jokingly referred to himself. So Marty fumed and cursed alone as he yanked the bike vertical once again after another failed attempt.

Sonofabitch! he fumed, then an inspiration hit him. The school had bike racks, nearly flat to the ground into which one could stick a tire and which held the bike relatively vertical, and more importantly, firmly. It probably wouldn't fall over on him as he worked. Grabbing his backpack, he stuffed the rack and its various parts into it, double checked the tools he'd need, and lastly scribbled a hasty note which he stuck to the window of the back door, where he hoped Daryl was likely to see it. He didn't lock up because this was New Cee and people didn't do that here.

Mounting his bike, he slung his pack and quickly pedaled to the school. He was nearly finished when Daryl rolled up beside him on his gleaming mountain bike, his elderly RipCurl surfboard bungee-corded snugly onto his rack.

"You've got the same rack I do," Daryl observed, after the boys greeted each other with a quick hug and kiss. Marty furtively looked around before he'd hug his friend – his new boyfriend – he had to remind himself. They'd made that commitment yesterday, sealed with a kiss. "Get it on alright?" Daryl asked.

"I think so," Marty replied, wiping his brow with his arm. "Can you check and see?"

"So long as everything's level so the board don't slide out," Daryl replied. "Looks good from here, but you need to ride with the board to know. Bring your tools today and if we need to fix it, we'll be able to. Come on! Surf'll be up. Let's get goin'."

"Amen to that," Marty smiled and pedaled back to his house with his friend.

"Here, I brought these over," Daryl said. "Change into 'em, will you? Your Dad's flying, right? So you can wear them."

Marty recognized the new clothes Daryl had given him as a Yuletide gift yesterday, and he had to suppress a thrill of alarm and excitement. He felt nervous going about with so little on, his bum feeling nearly naked, and he hoped he wouldn't sunburn too much wearing these things.

"Okay, just a sec," and Marty disappeared into the house to change. Daryl shook his head at Marty's nervousness, a byproduct of having lived in America for the first thirteen years of his life. A New Cumbrian boy would simply have changed right here.

Daryl occupied himself with placing Marty's new Shark Attack surfboard onto the rack and hunted about for bungee cords to secure it. Defeated, he hunkered on his haunches, wondering what could have happened to them when Marty reappeared, showing a lot more leg and arm, pushing his arms into his pack straps.

"Oh, I'll bet Dad forgot to unpack them," Marty guessed when Daryl asked about the cords. "He does things like that. There might be some in the shed," he added, indicating a lean-to against a small red barn down the yard from the cottage. Fortunately a brief hunt came up with two of the elastic cords and the boys were soon on their way.

"We'll try the Channel, first," Daryl said, as they pedaled south, then east on the narrow country lanes this side of Normanton. They chattered as Daryl described the conditions they could expect on the water.

It was pretty out here, Marty noticed, with very few people evident, for which he was grateful, dressed as he was. As he'd expected, he felt half naked in his short shorts and sleeveless tee; wind blew up where it had never blown before in his experience, not that the sensations were unpleasant. They passed other residential cottages, many of them surrounded by trees and hedges, creating a canopy over them which shielded them from the sun and created an almost Utopian lane way for them to ride. Most of the properties had various animals in pens or pastures; llamas and alpacas trotted to their fences to poke their pointed noses at them as they passed, horses abounded, a few cattle. Border collie dogs sometimes roared down lanes barking a blue streak at them, to retire satisfied they'd chased the boys off when they didn't try to ride on their lane. It was over half an hour's steady pedalling to the beach, Marty having to adjust for the weight of his surfboard and rack on his right as they went, grateful there was little wind. He finally glimpsed the waters of the strait known as The Channel which bordered Normanton's east side and as they got closer, he could see moderate surf breaking.

"Looks like good conditions," Daryl grinned at him, his teeth pearly white in his tanned face. "Good tryout for your board."

"Yea, lookin' forward to it," Marty grinned back. He'd checked the beach's webcams this morning at breakfast and was anticipating the day's surfing. When they arrived at the beach, they stood their boards against a wooden wind break and Daryl shucked his clothes, Marty nervously watching as Daryl undressed. Gods Daryl's body was cool! Slim, well muscled, curvy bum with a deep crevice, his penis maybe approaching eleven centimetres [4¼ inch], light, long black down along the backs of his arms and on his legs. A hint of fluff just over his penis. Beautiful.

"Hey," Daryl said gently, and Marty gaped.

"Oh, sorry," Marty blushed, guilty at having stared. He busied himself removing his cross on its gold chain which he always wore round his neck, except when he surfed. He didn't want to risk losing it during a possible wipe-out in the water. He carefully dangled it into one of his socks, bundled the socks together and carefully stuffed them into a sneaker. He quickly pulled off his tee, and breathing deeply, opened and shoved down his shorts, kicking his feet loose and reaching for his board shorts and rash shirt. He quickly pulled on the long surfing shorts and tied the strings, then hauled on his rashie shirt. The specially designed tee was made of polymer materials which offered better protection from sun and crashing water than a regular tee. He glanced at Daryl, who stood watching unashamedly.

"You could try going slower next time," Daryl said seriously. "I hardly got a look, you were hunched over so much…" and Marty blushed again, unused to this sort of comment. "And take your shorts off first," he added.

"Hey, lemme get used to this, okay? We didn't do this at home, so this is all new to me."

"I know," Daryl said gently. "I'm trying to help, not make fun of you. You're really well set up you know. Love your bod. I just wanna see more of it, that's all. We are supposed to be boyfriends, aren't we?"

Marty gulped, nodded and said, "Yea, we are. I'm sorry; I'll get it right yet, I promise you."

"I know. Let's hit the water, try that new Shark out."

Marty's grin told Daryl all was forgiven.

Marty carefully attached his board's leash, making sure the double velcro was well sealed around his ankle and they paddled out into the waves. The other end of the leash was attached to the board, so in the case of a wipe-out or fall, Marty and his board would not be separated. They had to duck under oncoming waves in a technique known as 'duck diving' in order to make any distance into the ocean for a decent ride in. But both boys were adept, long hours of practise now paying off. The waves were steady and Daryl and Marty duck dived beneath several to get a good distance from the beach before Daryl finally turned and sat his board, grinning at Marty.

"Think you can keep up?" he teased, but before Marty could respond, a wave came up beneath them and Daryl performed an almost flawless pop up. Grasping the sides of his board, his body bent on his hands and feet, he put his left foot flat forward on the board, then the right foot behind and stood on his board, almost in one single motion. And he was away, carving back and forth on the wave's surface as he rode it towards the beach.

Jeese, he can surf! Marty thought admiringly, then realized he'd missed the wave by watching Daryl. He caught the next one, and he managed a respectable pop up himself, his new Shark steady and sturdy under his feet, and he only had to dance once or twice before he was away. So smooth! he exulted, bottom turning and carving to and fro behind Daryl, zeroing in on his friend but a good twenty yards behind him and so in no danger of committing the sin of running up on him. Their waves finally ran out on the sandy bottom and both dismounted, instantly turning their boards for another paddle out.

"How's that thing for ducking?" Daryl asked, as they pushed back out into the channel.

"Had a little trouble at first," Marty admitted, "I didn't get my knee far enough back the first time and I nearly turtled, but I managed to catch it. Got pushed back though. Gotta be really far back on it to make it work."

They surfed the rest of the morning, the waves becoming more and more crowded as both locals and tourists flocked to the beach in the heat of the day, and the boys had to be more and more mindful of their positions. About eleven thirty Marty began to tire; he and Daryl had just paddled out for what seemed the twentieth time, and he was feeling the effects.

"I'm making this the last run of the morning," Marty announced, and Daryl looked at him, then at the plastic watch strapped to his wrist.

"Time for another couple of runs before lunch," he observed, a skeptical look on his face.

"I'm wiped," Marty admitted. He hated wimping out, but the first rule his father had drilled into him was safety.

"If you feel tired, get out!" Dad had instructed, advice Marty knew to be sound. He always followed it.

"Yea, okay, I'll meet ya on the beach, then," Daryl responded, and both boys looked over their shoulders. A wave, a monster wave was fast approaching, and Daryl's face set in a look of concentration.

"You catching that one?!" Marty asked.

"Yup! You?" But before Marty could reply, it was upon them, lifting them, and though he wasn't quite prepared for it, Marty's muscle memory took over, he popped up and began riding the wave in. Jeese, he was getting ahead of the wave, too close to the leading edge, dangerous because you could slide off it and plunge nearly twenty feet to the ocean floor, to have tons of water crashing over you. He shifted his weight, leaned back, and the board responded, performing a cut back to put Marty back in control on top of the wave. He didn't get any air, but that was okay; on a wave this size Marty wasn't comfortable yet with any heroics; he just wanted a good ride in, and a safe dismount at the end. Carefully, he carved back and forth, but that cutback had felt soooooo goooood; he decided to try another. And another, and in the end managed half a dozen before changing tactics and charging in for the thrill of the speed. The wave carried him almost to the beach and with both regret and relief, Marty lay down on the Shark to ride the rest of the way in. To his surprise, Daryl was right beside him, a look of sheer admiration on his face.

"Jeese, can you surf!" he exulted, jumping to his feet and picking his board up out of the water. "I saw those cutbacks, man; wow!"

"How could you? I was behind you," Marty replied, perplexed.

"Uh uh! You went charging ahead of me, man, so aggro, then you started those cutbacks, seven or eight of 'em, then ya charged right in! Awesome! And you thought that wave was too much!"

"Did not!" Though Marty knew the accusation was true; he'd nearly passed it up.

"C'mon, let's get dry, get something to eat, I'm starved!"

They leaned their boards up against the windbreak again, and though they were both soaking wet, didn't change back to their shorts and tees; the sea breezes would quickly dry their clothes. Marty carefully placed his socks in a side pocket of his pack, pulled on his sandals and scrubbed his hair with a towel, and hung the towel on the bar of his bike.

"Got money for lunch?" Daryl asked, and Marty nodded, so they went in search of food.

"Jeese, the crowds!" Marty remarked as they threaded their way down the beach to a boardwalk, along which were many amenities including food booths of varying qualities, some with wooden patios and a few tables with umbrellas.

"Height of the tourist season," Daryl confirmed. "This is one of the best surfing beaches in the country so of course people come here from all over. Even from 'Merica, too; gets cold there this time of year I hear," and he tossed a mischievous grin at Marty.

"Uh yea, just a little," Marty said, rolling his eyes.

"What do you want, burger?" Daryl asked.

Marty had had experience with New Cee burgers; they did such weird things to them he could only get a decent one at home. "Naw, a wrap I think. Chicken, or Caesar," he said.

"You're weird!" Daryl remarked but they stopped at a booth run by a wide happy woman who efficiently made Marty's wrap, added a heap of chips and plunked a can of cola beside it.

"Five dollah," she smiled, and Marty handed over the still-unfamiliar bill.

"They're really gonna confuse you when they issue the $5 and $10 coins," Daryl grinned.

"You pulling my leg?!" Marty demanded, sure Dary was having him on.

"Nope!" Daryl responded and looked pointedly at Marty's middle.

"You perv!" Marty whispered and Daryl just laughed.

"You know it, why you love me!" he responded and they returned to the boardwalk to find a barbecue for Daryl.

They settled on a bench by the boardwalk for their lunches, fortunate to get one given the crowds, but soon had to share it with a nosy Australian tourist who wanted to compare surfing beaches in Aus to the ones in New Cee.

"Uhhhh I've nevah surfed Aus," Daryl said in a thick New Cumbrian country accent. "Hear tell they gnarly. But than, our beaches be too gnarly for Aussies owt. Come, Newton, let's be on." And he rose, Marty following, barely suppressing the laughter welling up inside.

"Newton?!" Marty demanded, shaking with laughter as they walked away from the mystified Australian.

"No point giving him your real name," Daryl said seriously. "He was lookin' for somethin' else besides pointers on New Cee beaches, buddy."

"Huh? What do you mean?" Marty asked, mystified in his turn.

"Single guy like him? Talking to two boys? He lookin' to pick up a New Cee surfer boy. Or two," and then Marty got it.

"That shit happens here too?!" he exclaimed, mindful of predators he'd avoided in Oregon not so long ago.

"Even more so here because them tourists think they can pick up and fuck any boy twelve or over," Daryl said seriously. "They don't understand the law well enough. Gotta be on your guard, Newt…" And he easily ducked the halfhearted swing Marty aimed at his head.

"We're two seriously cute boys, Marty," Daryl added. "Come on, you know it, I know it. It's why we buddied up, right? Gotta look out for each other; best way, okay?"

Every day, new revelations about New Cee life seemed to assail Marty, but he knew Daryl spoke truth. Though he'd often been cautioned against vanity, he knew he attracted looks, the same kinds of looks Daryl attracted in public, and though he was shy and embarrassed about how nature had so endowed him, he also realized it was a facet of himself he'd have to learn to deal with, with tact and aplomb. He hoped he had it in him, but perhaps Daryl, who seemed so worldly and knowledgeable himself, would help him.

"Just seems so much I don't know," Marty replied, wondering if he sometimes appeared dull witted or slow to his new friend. "So much I have to get used to, you know?"

"I know," Daryl replied. "I'll help you; it's partly why I chose you for my friend. For my boyfriend."

"You're really sure you want that?" Marty asked, still nonplussed at Daryl's forwardness.

"Why, don't you?" Daryl stopped, turned and confronted him, indigo eyes boring into Marty's light brown ones, seeking a way past his friend's obtuseness, his insecurities about teaming up and being friends. Boyfriends.

"Yea … yes!" Marty said firmly, and suddenly he knew. Realized that having admired this boy from afar for so long, in the four months he'd lived here in Normie and attended school with him, this was exactly what he wanted. But he had been so afraid to admit it, even to himself. He realized it was only himself holding him back; after all, it wasn't like he needed someone's permission to be friends with Daryl, except from Daryl himself. And Daryl was the one who'd ensnared him. Daryl was their acknowledged leader, he knew and accepted that, for now. And for now, Marty was content to follow.

The afternoon's surfing proved as much fun as the morning, but Marty changed his style to a more relaxed, less aggressive style, often allowing others to move ahead of him as he rested on his Shark. The board really was all he'd hoped it would be, and more. His weight and the board seemed well matched, but Marty realized Dad would have made sure of that before he purchased it. This was a significant investment, Marty knew; Shark Attack surf boards did not come cheaply, and he was ever so grateful to Dad for having treated him so well this Yule. And the addition of the rack for his bike. He'd had similar in Oregon too, but not nearly the quality.

"Who're you surfing with?" a voice broke into his reverie, and he glanced right to see another boy in his class at school sitting up on a blue Minnow. Robbie, Marty remembered; another rather cute boy he'd found attractive.

"Oh, hi, Robbie. Um … I'm with Daryl."

"With Daryl?" Robbie's emphasis made clear Robbie's take on his answer. "I wondered about that…" and Marty's blush acutely embarrassed him.

"NO! Not like that!" Marty exclaimed. "Don't you be thinkin' that, you hear? Just forget it! We're just friends, that's all."

"Yea, sure," Robbie replied, startled at Marty's vehement response. Marty wasn't sure Robbie believed him.

"Hey, it's okay here, ya know," Robbie told him with that same earnest look Daryl employed. "Lotsa guys wanna pair up with Daryl, but you're the only one he's ever been interested in. Way cool man! Enjoy the ride!"

"Uh, yea, thanks, I guess," Marty stuttered, yet again taken aback at Robbie's remarks. The other boy jerked his head toward the beach.

"Catch a wave with me?"

"Uh, sure, okay, but nothing too aggro, okay? I'm hangin' loose today."

"Sure, no problem," and Robbie looked back over his shoulder. "Here we go," he said, and leaned forward to grasp his rails. Marty emulated him, felt the wave raise him up, and he popped up the same time Robbie did. Marty was inside, Robbie to his right, so he took the lead and carved a leisurely route towards the beach, nothing too fancy but he couldn't help a few bottom turns and even one cutback which gave him some air. He heard Robbie's whoop behind him, and then he settled down to simply ride the wave in to the beach. On the way in, he decided this was his last run. It had nothing to do with the company; but there was a time to quit and Marty figured this was it. He couldn't seen Daryl anywhere on the water, but that wasn't unusual this afternoon; they seemed have missed each other more than they'd connected after their lunch. He bid Robbie good-bye and trudged up the beach to his bike, his board now feeling heavy under his arm.

He showered under one of the chilly open shower heads provided and changed, modestly presenting his bottom toward the water and the crowds, and returning to his bike, hung his surf clothes on his bike to dry. His board was propped up against the windbreak, and he lay on his towel watching the activity. He thought he saw the Australian again, remembering the man's touristy dress and large straw hat, but the man fortunately didn't spot him through the crowds this far back up the beach against the windbreak. He watched his legs carefully, applying copious amounts of sunscreen to prevent burning; Dad might notice so high up his thighs and question him. He wished Daryl would come in, but his friend seemed intent on making the most of the day, and Marty wasn't entirely sure of the route back home. A nudge woke him, and he rolled over, squinting at Daryl's grinning face, then the boy leaned over him and planted a kiss on Marty's lips.

"Mmmmmmm…" Daryl hummed, and Marty gave him the ghost of a smile.

"You'd do more if it wasn't so public, wouldn't you?" Marty remarked, and Daryl kissed him again in answer.

"You betcha!" Daryl said, then turned, stripped off his surf gear and dressed. Marty saw everything, noting how carefully Daryl seemed to display himself to him; certain it was for his benefit alone and vowed to remember. He really should be more open with Daryl, he knew. In a way he was sorry now he'd changed earlier, but it was too late now.

"Ready to roll?" Daryl asked, and Marty scrambled to his feet, rummaged in his pack for his socks, found them in the pocket. He felt for his cross.

"Hey!" he gasped, fingers working his socks; hard sharp points poked through the fabric, and he hastily dumped whatever it was into his hand. White coral strung on a black thong, with extra tie ends sat in his hand. "Where's my cross?" he demanded, of no-one in particular. He felt the other sock, thrust his hand in to find the precious possession. It was empty. In rising panic, he thrust his hand into the first sock, hoping he'd find the cross. But it too was empty. A hot flush pitted and rose in his stomach, the prick of tears in his eyes as he realized the cross was lost. "My cross!" he cried and looked up at Daryl, eyes brimming. "It's… it's gone! It was a gift," and he choked. "From… from my Mom! For… for my confirmation. The Bishop blessed it for me! Dary…!"

"Shhh… relax, don't panic, quit hyperventilating," Daryl soothed, reaching into his pocket and pulling gently. The thin gold chain glittered in the light and the small gold cross shone as he held it up, his face suddenly serious. "I'm sorry, I meant it as a prank; I didn't realize it meant so much to you…"

Marty just glared at him, a turmoil of emotions coursing through him. Angered at Daryl's breach of his trust, yet unwilling to condemn him for it. He struggled to control the hot anger at the prank, tried to find the humour in it, and with a huge effort, managed to suppress his resentment for the scare his friend had given him. He felt like throwing Daryl's coral choker back at him, knowing it would cut a cheek if it hit hard enough, but he knew he couldn't, wouldn't do it. Instead, he managed a weak smile, and pocketed the choker.

"Guess it's mine now," he said, not quite nonchalantly, and moved to snug his surfboard in its rack on his bike. Ignoring Daryl, he pulled the bungee cords tight, and wheeled his bike away from the fence, then stopped; he'd forgotten to put on his pack. Suppressing a sigh, he leaned the bike back against the boards of the windbreak again, snagged his pack and donned it, then glanced at Daryl. Who was watching him with a grave expression on his face.

"You mad at me?"

"No."

"Sure acting like it."

"Sorry. I just didn't expect you to mess with my stuff."

"I didn't mean any harm. I wasn't going to steal it."

"I know."

"You can keep the choker if you like it, and I'll give you your cross back."

"Don't want your choker."

"Why is it in your pocket then?"

"Because you've still got my cross."

"Here," and Daryl held the cross on its chain into the middle distance between them. "I said I'm sorry, and I am! Why won't you believe me?!"

Marty knew this was the time to do the thing he never thought he would ever do. He went to Daryl, put his arms round his friend's neck, and kissed him. Right there in public for the whole world to see. And he didn't care.

They had to make up.

Chapter Four
Making Up

The ride home from the beach was harder than Marty had expected. Though the lanes between and under the leafy trees alongside were fairly flat and there was very little wind, Marty was fatigued from their long day of surfing. Even the gentlest rise seemed to call for more effort than he remembered from this morning, and the weight of his surfboard in its rack beside him on his bike seemed heavier with each passing mile. Daryl, as usual, led the way, but fortunately, he set a leisurely pace and didn't seem in much hurry. Marty sensed rather than saw his boyfriend's glances at him every now and again; then Daryl would look away, scanning each side of the lane as if searching for something. Marty wondered what it could be, and glanced at his wristwatch, a gift from Dad for his last birthday.

A simple watch, with just the hours marked in large numbers round its face, minutes as small vertical hashes between the numbers around its radius and the common three hands. It also had a little date window, and was enclosed in a rather heavy steel case which was supposed to be water tight to forty meters [130 feet] underwater. Marty doubted he'd ever test that feature, but he loved the watch with its black face and dark brown leather strap on his wrist. It told him it was after four in the afternoon; Marty knew Dad wouldn't be home much before eight o'clock this evening. Dad seemed to work long hours, but he did as a bush pilot back in Oregon too.

"Hey, let's stop and rest a bit," Daryl's clear voice broke into his thoughts and he turned left off the lane onto a faint two track leading into some trees. Marty wearily followed, actually grateful for the rest and he didn't bother wondering why Daryl would turn off the road. He followed his friend down the track for about fifty meters [150 feet], where Daryl turned right into a copse of tall leafy trees, dismounted his bike and leaned it against a trunk. Marty carefully swung a leg over his bike saddle and copied him, careful not to scrape the surfboard against the bark. He made sure the the bike wasn't going to topple over, then turned to where Daryl was laying out his towel on the grass carpet under the trees.

"What?" Marty asked, as Daryl grinned up at him.

"Like it?"

"Yea, it's nice. So what?" Marty asked.

"Lay your towel beside mine," Daryl suggested and an inkling stirred in Marty's mind, and a tiny voice saying, No matter what, go with it!

Marty shucked his pack, opened it and pulled his towel, shaking the sand from it and laying it on the ground beside Daryl's.

"Now, will you please undress for me? Not hiding anything?" The plaint in his friend's voice caught Marty by surprise. "Man, I've stripped naked for you like six times…" Daryl said, and Marty nodded, fingering the waistband of his shorts.

"I know," he said, letting the regret show in his voice. And he pushed the damp shorts off his waist, off his bum, and let them fall to his ankles, and stood while Daryl looked him over. He felt awkward, but not shamed; Daryl had actually seen him any number of times changing at school, but never had Marty posed for him.

"Coool," Daryl sighed, and Marty watched with frank interest as his friend's hand massaged himself unconsciously. Marty pulled his tee up, then over his head, pulled his arms from it and let it drop onto the towel beside him. He quickly bent and pulled his sneaker strings, standing again to toe them from his feet, then stepped from the shorts, nudging them aside with a foot and stood naked in the meadow. "Fucking awesome!" Daryl breathed.

"Stand up," Marty said and Daryl's bright blue eyes raised to him. "Come on, get up," he repeated and Daryl stood. "Stand still," and Marty reached for Daryl's tee. The other boy looked down at his hands, then back at Marty's face as Marty raised the tee up Daryl's' trunk, exposing his brown nipples, and Daryl raised his arms to allow Marty to pull it from them. His eyes ran along Daryl's arms, a light crop of long black hairs from his upper arm to his wrists lay across the skin and he couldn't resist running hands on the skin, trying to feel them. He was surprised when they seemed as soft as the skin beneath them, though they were dislodged from their neat rows along Daryl's arms to a messy tangle from his hands.

"Heh, you mussed my hairs!" Daryl exclaimed, though Marty heard laughter in his voice.

"You've no idea how long I've wanted to do that," Marty admitted, feeling foolish.

"Hey, no problem!" Daryl assured him, then dropped his arms from under Marty's hands and glanced down at his waist, then back up at Marty. He didn't need to say anything as Marty's hands were already reaching down. He pulled at Daryl's shorts, they seemed for a moment anchored to Daryl's waist, but they suddenly came free and Marty pulled them off his friend's bum, letting them drop to the ground. Daryl was half erected, the boy's penis rising in short jerky extensions until Daryl's boner was full bore, the tip of his foreskin a point on the end.

"Coool," Marty observed, his eyes on the uncircumcised penis; this wasn't new to him, though why he should be circumcised and many boys not was a mystery not yet explained to him. He knew about the operation but not why it had been performed on him.

"Feel it," Daryl whispered. "Go on, you haven't felt me up yet."

"Know what I wanna do?" Marty asked, extending his hand to to contact Daryl's hardness. It surged in his fingers, the hardness in the soft skin a thrill which was Marty's first experience.

"What?"

"Lie down on you like we did in the schoolyard," Marty said. "Like this…"

"Cool!!" Daryl beamed, and dropped to the ground, pulling his penis from Marty's hand and lying on his back on the towels. "Come on!"

Marty sank to his knees, scarcely believing he was naked with Daryl, hidden away in a copse of trees just fifty yards from a road not well travelled, about to lay down on top of this boy with whom he was boyfriend. This was way better than an imaginary naked swim with him in some hidden pool in his mind. Gingerly, he leaned forward, hands either side of his friend, elbows locked for a moment, then finally allowed himself to lower onto Daryl's waiting body. The skin on skin contact was heavenly, longed-for. Anticipation and now accomplishment suddenly thrust his own erection in a surging pulsing series of bursts which were surprisingly in their intensity. Daryl's arms went round his back, lips locked with Marty's, and his hips thrust upwards driving his penis hard against Marty's middle. Marty in his turn thrusting, grinding his own substantial organ against Daryl, their legs sometimes clashing, penises contacting, then not, then again as lips, hands, arms, legs and tongues and cocks competed for attention.

Daryl moaned beneath him, thrusting rhythmically against Marty's body, wanting, needing the contact, the thoughts of which he'd rubbed himself many times in the privacy of his own bed, long before he'd found the courage to nudge Marty that day in class. If he'd known Marty was going to be this easy, yet so difficult…

He surged, his penis pumping, ejaculating against Marty's skin, but either the other boy didn't notice or didn't care. Maybe he was… then Daryl felt them, Marty's own pulses, the wetness from him joining his own, and they mashed their middles together, still grinding, still tonguing each other until it was time to come up for air.

"Omigawd omigawd omigawd oh fuck!!" Marty exclaimed, collapsing completely on top of Daryl, cognizant of Daryl's hands kneading his bum cheeks, pulling them apart and opening his crevice. Air felt cool in there where it rarely reached, and the sensation was not unpleasant.

"Holy shit!" Daryl sighed, finally releasing Marty's bum, hands flopping to his sides and he lay quiescent, Marty on top of him. "Omigawd Mart, do you have any idea how wonderful that was?"

"No shit," Marty breathed. "Fucking awesome! Omigawd…" They were panting, he realized, chests meeting where their middles had just a few moments before, huffs of air expanding then releasing from their chests, and finally their breathing slowed, and Daryl wriggled a bit under him.

"Hey, can you get off me?"

"Uh uh."

"Come on!"

"No way, uh uh, not gonna do it," Marty replied.

"Why not?"

"Feels too good the way we are."

"Sheese," Daryl responded. "It does that, alright, but you're getting heavy."

"I don't weigh that much," Marty teased.

"Half a ton," Daryl, snorted, wriggling again.

"Hey, that feels good! Do it some more…"

"Come on, Mart, please? We need to clean up…"

Marty seemed to notice for the first time their mutual ejaculate sandwiched between them, and he slowly raised his hips, then his shoulders and trunk from Daryl's body. Glancing down, he saw a fair sized smear of shiny substance which had been mashed between them, felt the cold stickiness now the warmth was gone from it.

"Ewwww," he shuddered, wincing from the cold stickiness on his skin, and hunted for something with which to clean himself.

"Get me my pack," Daryl said, and Marty reached across him, dragging the nylon bag closer. "Top right hand pocket," Daryl said, "There's wet and dry wipes in there. Get us a couple?" Marty found them in zip-lock bags and pulled them from the pack. Something else fell out with them, and he gaped for a moment at the small square packets with the round enclosures. Then without saying anything, he put the condoms back into Daryl's pack pocket.

They cleaned up, dressed against the descending chill; the sun was setting and a chilly breeze had started up. Marty pulled a polo shirt and a pair of dry board shorts from his pack and pulled them on, stuffing his short clothes to the bottom of the bag with his surfing duds, vowing only to launder them when Dad was sure to be away. God only knew what he'd say if he ever discovered them in Marty's possession; no explanation would be good enough for him. A thick cozy fleece hoodie went over top his tee.

Marty seemed to have new energy as they wheeled back to the lane and turned for the final miles to home. They were almost to Marty's house when the RNCNP 'Air Corps' plane rumbled overhead, and waggled its wings at them.

"That your dad?" Daryl asked and Marty nodded.

"Yea, he has to get in before sundown because Timpte airport doesn't have runway lights," he explained.

"Why doesn't he use the Air Base or Templeton or North Shore? Or the International?"

"Templeton's clear across town," Marty snorted, "half hour to an hour's drive at least. North Shore's too elitist 'cause all the rich guys use it and it's across the strait; another long drive across the causeway. International's too expensive. I heard the Air Base is too crowded even for Dad's plane. So we have to use Timpte, which is the main reason we moved here."

"Oh," and Daryl didn't seem to have much to say after that.

"See ya tomorrow?" Daryl asked, as they prepared to part at Marty's house.

"Don't know. Heard a rumour Dad's off work tomorrow so we might do something together," Marty said.

"Oh, okay. What did he say about the phone number?"

"Oh!" and Marty recited it to him, Daryl quickly writing it down on a scrap of paper he found in his pack. "Don't give it to anybody else," Marty cautioned, "or Dad will be supremely pissed off."

"No worries. Hey, can I borrow your hoodie? It's getting cold and I didn't bring mine," and Marty saw Daryl's arms goose-bumped, all his hairs standing on end and curled over.

"Sure," Marty said, wriggling from it and handing it over. Daryl shrugged into it, sniffing a sleeve.

"Got your scent in it," he smiled. "Hey, give us a kiss before I go?"

They kissed, arms snug around each other, lips moist and pliant and gentle without the sexual urgency of the last ones. "Boyfriends, Mart," Daryl murmured.

"Boyfriends, Dary," Marty replied.

This time, it was a lot easier.

The surf outing cemented the boys' relationship; or maybe it was the 'making up', afterwards, as Marty thought of it. Whichever it was, Marty could now think of Daryl as a friend, rather than someone he longed to know. It still seemed incredible that this boy… well, of his dreams, if he were perfectly honest with himself… was actually his friend. His boyfriend, with all the obligations and benefits that implied. Of which, Marty was not exactly sure. Did that mean loyalty between them? Fidelity? Assurance of support? Marty certainly hoped so; he thought of boy-friendship akin to being boyfriend-girlfriend, something special and apart from mere friendship, a defining relationship which was meant to be stronger between two people. Did Dary feel the same way? The subject hadn't come up between them since their agreement, but Marty felt it should, if only so he knew how Daryl viewed their relationship.

One thing Daryl certainly expected of the relationship was sex, and Marty was up for that. He hoped. Although watching gay porn on his laptop when Dad wasn't around was sometimes scary, some of the things he'd seen. What was sucking like? How did it taste? Would it be gross? Fucking… omigawd, he shuddered; those were the scary parts! Fortunately, Dary wasn't all that big down there, so it shouldn't be that painful. But what would it feel like, going in…?

"So," Dad said at supper that night, "how was the surfing?"

"Rad, Dad! And my board is oh so awesome!" Marty enthused and spent the next few minutes relating his surf runs, the water, the waves, all the other people at Channel Beach, surfing with Daryl and Robbie. "It's gonna be so cool going there, Dad. There's loads of kids from school there too! So even if Dary … uh Daryl can't go, there's still surf buddies there. That's okay, isn't it?" Marty asked, hopefully. Dad regarded him seriously across the table, his level brown eyes softening in the face of his son's enthusiasm.

They had made fish and chips, with fresh pan fried fish Dad gotten somewhere and homemade Julianne potatoes. Not exactly like the shops, but tasty enough with tartar sauce and a little ketchup. But he would microwave those yucky frozen veggies and heap them on his plate too. Marty hated people deciding for him what he should eat. Hadn't happened at Dary's; he'd been free to chose his own dishes, which mercifully hadn't included cauliflower, carrots, snap peas, broccoli and lima beans. He especially disliked peas and lima beans.

Suddenly Dad smiled, and nodded. "Sure, Marty. You know I always want you safe, and I trust you to be safe when I'm not around to watch you, so I have to trust you in this. Just, don't let me down, okay? If you drown or get hurt through your own carelessness, I'll be a long time forgiving you."

Marty gulped and nodded. When Dad said something like that, Marty knew he meant it. He'd been on the receiving end of Dad's disappointments before, and he had little wish to repeat the experience.

"Tomorrow," Dad went on, "we need to shop for a few things, then I want to take the plane up. I'm sure you'd like to come?"

Marty grinned and nodded enthusiastically; next to surfing, and now Dary, he loved flying best. Dad had an old Cessna 206 airplane which he'd acquired and over several years had gone a long way towards restoring. Oh, it had always been flight worthy, but it was banged up and battered from its days as a bush plane. Someone had left it at a shop in Oregon with the intention of bringing it back to its former glory but that had never happened, and the shop had been forced to auction it to recover what money it could. Dad had bid on it when the auctioneer dropped the price expected because of no bids, and for awhile, Dad and another had gone back and forth in the bidding process until the competitor had eventually dropped out.

"Thank god he did," Dad had admitted at the time, "if he hadn't dropped, I would have." While he hadn't exactly gotten the plane for a song, he'd paid much less for it than he might have otherwise. Over the next few years it had become a project, Dad having performed all manner of work on it; now all it needed was a new paint job to look respectable. Marty wasn't sure when that might happen.

Marketing was interesting, Marty mused as they threaded their way through the offerings on Market Green. The market was a local affair, held once a week on Saturdays when local growers, farmers and hobbyists offered their wares. There were candles, woven and knitted goods from the fleeces of alpacas, llamas and sheep. Sweet honey still in the comb. Fleeces for hobbyists, or skeins of dyed wool. There was always fresh fruit, vegetables, and baked goods, some of Marty's favourites; he loved sampling the free offerings and talking Dad into buying a pie or a dozen tarts or muffins or… Today it was more vegetables, spuds, some scones and biscuits, a pie, a leg of lamb and a haunch of cured pork. Marty puffed back to their Ford Bronco lugging that haunch of pig, while Dad followed with the rest of his purchases which included a couple of bottles of local wine.

"We needn't hit the store today," Dad remarked, heaving the boxes into the back of the SUV. "We'll go the airport and take Sally up."

Marty snorted; long ago Dad had named the Cessna, 'Sally', and Marty never knew why. He climbed into the SUV and watched the scenery race by as they drove to Timpte Airport. Thoughts of his encounter in the glade with Dary threatened to betray him in his slim shorts, and he surreptitiously tugged his tee bottom over top, hoping his rising erection wouldn't give him away. Damn, these things happened at the damnedest times, he fumed, trying to think of anything else but Dary's soft skin, his tongue in his mouth, the skin on skin of yesterday, his cock, the shape of his body, the hairs on his arms… oh jeese!

"Marty?"

They were at the airport, and the last thing Marty wanted to do at this moment was exit the truck with his Thing sticking way out as it was.

"Oh, sorry Dad, thinking of something," Marty nearly blushed, hoping Dad couldn't see the tent in his clothes.

"So I see." Oh shit! "I hope she's cute!"

"Uh… yea, she is," Marty gulped, now totally embarrassed.

"Hey, it happens, Marty," Dad said quietly. "Hell, I remember thirteen and my early teen years. That little bastard always gave me away! Popped up at the damnedest times! Embarrassing as hell, and there's nothin' you can do about it."

"There isn't?" Marty exclaimed, askance. This was awful.

Dad shrugged. "Just tough it out, kid. That's all you can do. Come into the hangar when you're ready," he added with a wink, and stepped out of truck.

Marty groaned as he watched his dad saunter jauntily into the big hangar, where several aircraft, their old beaten up 206 among them, were sheltered. He wondered sometimes why Dad paid for hangar space when the plane was designed for rugged outdoor use; it was no wimp like some of the fancy, pansy planes parked in there. It was a one-ton truck of aircraft, built rugged, built tough, able to withstand some rough handling and rough landings too. Was dad secretly laughing at him and his boner?

He sighed, he bet he was, and there was nothing he could do about it. "Just tough it out, kid," his Dad's voice sounded in his mind again. He watched idly for a few minutes as Dad unlocked the plane and climbed inside, messed about in the cockpit and finally the boy felt ready enough to exit the truck and face the world again.

On his reappearance, Dad grinned at him, and Marty smiled embarrassingly back at him, and they tugged the plane outside. The little four-stroke engine of the hand tug sputtered, heaved and smoked exhaust as Marty directed it, watching the wingtips so they didn't contact another plane as he backed out of the hangar, the tug pulling the aircraft onto the tarmac. In the sun, the 206 looked even more forlorn, what had once been a white and blue motif was now faded and past peeling. But the engine was sound, the avionics in it all worked, and Dad had replaced all of the control cables inside which operated the various air control surfaces.

"Tug it over to the gas tank!" Dad shouted over the racket of the tug's engine, and Marty nodded he understood and glanced over his shoulder. The Barracuda, one of the airport managers, a woman who seemed to have a special enmity for Marty and his Dad, was descending on them, already hollering at Dad that "… kids aren't allowed to tug airplanes on this airport!"

Dad rolled his eyes and gestured to Marty to keep going and went to talk to the irate woman; no doubt telling her he and the police paid this airport handsomely to keep their aircraft here and she could just bloody well cut them some slack. The tug rattled and shook under his hands as he turned the long handle and he finally managed to line the plane alongside the above-ground fuel tank. He shut the engine down, and unhooked the tug from the 206's front end and pulled it out of the way. Dad and the woman were still going at it a few yards away and Marty paid no mind. He pulled the caps from the fuel tanks and peeked inside. Small aluminum tabs were visible, indicating fuel tanks half full but the the gas was well below them; Dad mustn't have refuelled after his last flight. A 206 would fly five hours on a full fuel load, and Dad and Marty would sometimes fly that in an afternoon.

"May as well preflight it," Marty thought, and hunted for a tire pressure gauge. He went round the aircraft, checking various vital parts as Dad had taught him long ago, and even though he did this vital chore, Dad would check up behind him; safety was, after all, the biggest thing in aviation. The biggest thing in Life, if you listened to Dad long enough. He peeked under the nose of the aircraft from the opposite side, the conversation over now and Dad headed towards him.

"Bloody minded woman!" Dad fumed, holding out his hand for the tire gauge. Marty handed it over without saying anything; Dad needed to work off his frustration. He made quick work of refuelling, each of the tanks now filled so they were good for a few hours flying, plus a mandatory reserve. "Climb in!" Dad called, and Marty gamely climbed up into the right seat in the cockpit. He loved this old plane. Though most the interior surfaces had been restored and refinished, there was still enough 'oldness' left in the old cabin liners, ceiling liner, and some of older gauges; it even smelled old! Dad climbed in beside him and as they buckled their safety harnesses, Dad cautioned, "You watch yourself round her, eh, Marty? She's got it in for us, probably because I let you help out like any kid should."

"She's just scared I'll hurt myself or break something," Marty sighed wistfully. "Like somebody else's airplane."

"Well, you haven't yet," Dad remarked, turning the key and flipping switches to activate the airplane's electrics.

"You said that last time," Marty smiled and sat back, waiting for the engine start. When it came, the plane rumbled and shook as Dad carefully revved it, then released the brake and they were moving. Marty donned the green earphones with their boom microphone and Dad asked through the headset, "Want to handle ATC?"

"Sure!" Marty grinned, and switched the radio channels from intercom to Comm 1. "Normanton Center, good day. This is November Charlie Xray Lima at Timpte, request clearance for local flight, please." Marty wasn't sure if the air traffic controllers and other pilots listening thought he was a woman, but it was exciting to be able to talk on the radio.

"November Charlie Xray Lima, taxi and takeoff at your discretion," a competent male voice replied, "Winds at Timpte are two seven zero, variable, altimeter two nine nine three. Do you request flight following?"

Marty glanced at his dad who shook his head. "Take off at discretion," Marty repeated, "and we don't need flight following, thanks. Thanks, and good day. November Charlie Xray Lima." Dad jockeyed the aircraft onto the runway, which stretched away ahead of them like an empty one lane highway.

"Mix, prop," Dad said through the intercom and Marty shoved two levers forward, one blue, one red, and the engine note changed, deepening, and Marty's favourite moment was upon them. Dad pushed the throttle forward, released the brakes, and they were rolling, picking up speed. They flashed past the touchdown markers with thousands of rubber tire skids between the large white rectangles either side of the plane, wheels rumbling under them and the engine roaring and suddenly the rumble of the wheels ceased as they lifted off, Dad pulling back on the control yoke and turning right, away from the airport.

Marty's best moments were spent doing just this, sitting beside Dad in their old beat up aeroplane, climbing to six thousand, seven thousand, eight thousand feet and levelling off at seventy-five or eighty-five hundred and watching the world far below carry on busily without them. Sometimes, if he were really lucky…

"Want to take her?" Dad asked, and Marty's heart leapt. Dad was being supremely generous today. He must be trying to make up for being absent over Yule. Whatever, Marty wasn't going to question. He gripped the yoke in front of him with its half-wheel and carefully put his feet on the rudder pedals. "Okay, course is three five five, keep her between that and three sixty, speed is one twenty-five, we're at seventy-five hundred, no flaps. Got her?"

"Got her," Marty confirmed and Dad took his hands and feet from the controls. Marty was flying again. He wished Dad would let him take off, and land, but with the Barracuda at Timpte Aerodrome, they didn't dare. Sometimes if she wasn't working, Dad had allowed him to take the 206 off the ground, but he'd never landed it.

"Dad, you should teach me to land," Marty said seriously, watching his horizon outside, eyes flicking to his gauges to make sure he wasn't dropping altitude or turning off course. "I mean, what happens if something happens to you in the air? You know, like…"

"You have to be able to find your way back to an airport, first, Marty," Dad said seriously. "But you make a good point. Pilots' wives are always encouraged to learn to how land. Wouldn't be a bad idea for you to learn too. And I know just the place… "

Oh man, this was scary, Marty thought, wishing now he hadn't said anything. Dad had taken over again, and they were flying low and slow over an abandoned airfield which the Air Force had quit using years ago. "Keep an eye out for damage or junk on the runway," Dad instructed and Marty peered out his windows at the old concrete runway below. They made three passes over the old place and finally decided everything looked fine. "Alright, Marty, we don't know which way the wind is here as there's no sock, but we'll assume it's the same as Timpte, which shouldn't affect us much. Take us downwind, go east, zero nine zero," Dad instructed, turning the controls back over to him.

Marty carefully turned, feet and hands together into a two-minute turn, keeping a little ball between two vertical lines on an instrument before him until the compass pointed ninety degrees.

"Altitude three thousand, take her a few miles like this. Always good to have a long final if you're not experienced. Gives you time to think."

"Okay," Marty was tensed, hoping he didn't make a mess of this. He could land all kinds of airplanes on his computer's flight simulator, but he knew that and this were two very different things. You didn't walk away from a failure in a real airplane. After a few minutes, Dad said, "Okay, turn base," and Marty turned south, keeping an eye out his side window for the airport to his right. He spotted it, and kept the turn until the nose was pointing at the runway.

"On final," he said, and this is where the scary part began. Dad talked him through it, reduce power to ninety knots, half flaps to help slow down and stay airborne at slower speeds, nose down at five hundred feet per minute.

"At a real airport, you might have papi or Vasi lights to help you out, as you know," Dad said, "but we don't have those here. So you'll have to eyeball it. Not easy, but if you can learn to land here, then landing at a properly equipped airport will be a snap. Okay, just keep it at that, watch your rate of descent, don't drop too quickly … that's the way!"

The landing, when it came, wasn't as hard or bumpy as Marty had expected. The worst part was the flare over the runway, then waiting for the speed to bleed off as the plane sank onto the concrete, and the tires rumbled. But they bounced, and Marty gulped, he'd landed too fast.

"Keep it straight!" Dad barked, and Marty could feel his feet on the pedals through is own. The plane settled again and Dad pushed the throttle ahead. "Okay, not bad. Take off again and bring it back around."

"Touch and go?" Marty asked, and Dad nodded firmly.

"We'll do some circuits, then maybe head over Pleasanton for lunch, how's that sound?"

"Cool!"

Pleasanton had nice sidewalk cafes, its quaint downtown reminding Marty of some the tourist places he'd seen in Western America, but here, they were all real. Overseas tourists were always coming here for the sun, the awesome scenery of rolling hills and the craggy, picturesque seascape. Marty had heard the surfing was awesome here too.

"We should come up here and surf," he suggested as a handsome young server not much older than Marty himself gently deposited thick fish and mayo sandwiches with generous dill pickle spears and fresh cheese in front of them. "I hear it's awesome." The young server placed a bowl of chips between them and smiled at Marty. Marty smiled back, the boy was cute. Fortunately Dad was oblivious to them.

"Who was telling you this? Your new friend?"

Marty shook his head, biting into his sandwich. Oh this was heavenly, he decided. Flying with Dad, coming to some place exotic for good food. What more could you want? Dary, flashed through his mind, but he shoved the thought aside; he didn't need thoughts of his boyfriend betraying him again. "Read it on the net," he said. "There's a site that rates beaches and waters around New Cee, and Pleasanton's rated near the top."

"Where's Normanton rated?" Dad asked, clearly enjoying his lunch too.

"'Bout the same," Marty replied.

"So why would we fly all the way up here just to catch waves like you can at home?"

"Because we can," Marty replied pertly, "and we can kill two birds with one stone: fly and surf on the same day! Why not? Pack a cooler like we used to do back home, eat on the beach. That was awesome, man! I miss that."

"You know, so do I," Dad said, gazing off into the distance, no doubt remembering Mom. Mom had always packed the cooler, Marty 'helping'. I probably got in the way more than helped, Marty thought sadly. "Okay, we'll do it!" Dad said said suddenly.

"Cool! Can Daryl come?" Marty asked expectantly.

"If he gets permission from his parents to fly with us, sure," Dad said. "But I'll have to speak to his parents about that."

"I've got his number," Marty said, satisfied.

Chapter Five
Fly & Surf

A Run-In with the Barracuda, Marty learns a new trick, and unexpected guests on a fly and surf trip.

Preparations for the flying and surfing trip grew frantic and took on panic proportions with the development of Daryl's parents accompanying them too. A day after Marty and Dad's return from their trip to Pleasanton, Dad had called Daryl's parents.

"Good day, this is Rainer McKinley, Marty's Dad, calling. Marty suggested a flying and surfing trip to Pleasanton in a day or two and he wanted to know if Daryl would like to tag along," he said.

"Oh hello, Mr. McKinley, I'd wondered when we'd meet. I'm Alphonse Werland. What a novel idea! Let me check with the wife," and he had evidently turned from the phone. "Marty's father's calling, they're going to Pleasanton to surf in a day or two; shall we all go along?" After some discussion at the other end, Alphonse came back on the line. "We'd love to come! When did you say we're going?"

"Well, I hadn't, but would tomorrow be too soon? Assuming the weather's going to co-operate, of course; we can't fly if it's too overcast."

"Oh, fly, you say? Oh marvellous; Dary's never flown before, he'll find that an adventure, I'm sure! Now, what shall we all bring…?" They settled the food and beverages arrangements in short order, and then Dad and Marty got busy in the kitchen.

"Dary's Mom's an awesome cook, Dad," Marty remarked as he put water on to boil more macaroni and eggs for salad. Dad wielded a knife at the cutting board, fiercely chopping veggies to augment what they'd already estimated they'd need for themselves and Dary. "She'll bring way more than we need, you watch."

"Well, the way they invited themselves along…" Dad fumed, but Marty interrupted him gently.

"Dad, we owe them one, remember? I was there a few days ago for Yule feast," he said.

Dad glanced at him a moment, nodded, then put his head down and resumed chopping. He looked up again, "Can you run on your bike to the supermarket and get us another ten-pack of chicken thighs?" he asked. "My wallet's on my dresser, take a twenty."

"Sure, Dad," Marty replied pertly. He never minded running errands; it gave him a sense of independence and responsibility from his Dad, and he always returned the change.

When he arrived at the supermarket, he spotted a familiar green bike with a surfboard rack; Dary's. I hope he doesn't try to kiss me in the store! he thought, racking his own bike beside it and taking his cloth bags from the basket hooked over his handlebars. Entering the store, he knew he needed to go straight to the back to the meats department, and chose a shortcut down the candy aisle; vegetables was simply too crowded with momma shoppers and their sometimes crying offspring in carts. A familiar form entered the other end of the aisle and sauntered toward him, tan face splitting into a big smile as Dary recognized him.

"Hey!" he grinned, coming up and putting his arms round Marty and hugging.

"Hey," Marty replied, hugging back and whispering fiercely, "No kissing! Not in public; that was our deal."

"No problem." Dary replied, releasing him with a glint in his eyes. "Pleasanton, huh? How'd that come about?" Marty explained to him the flight yesterday, and how he'd managed to talk his Dad into another trip with their surfboards. "Wait a minute, your Dad surfs too?" Dary asked.

"Sure, he taught me everything I know," Marty replied.

"Oh cool! So do my parents; is there room in that plane for five surfboards?!"

"Umm… yea, I think so," Marty responded, furrowing his brow, visualizing the 206's cabin. "We might have to take some seats out, but I'm sure we can make 'em all fit. And all the other stuff too. I hope we can… "

Dary rode home with him, his errand was more fruit and vegetables and dip his mother was preparing for tomorrow. On hearing there were two more surfboards to load, Dad's eyes nearly rolled, but he recovered quickly. "Right, Marty. You two get over to the airport, take a couple of five-eighths sockets and drivers and pull one of the seats, um … right hand side. Got that?"

"One seat, starboard side," Marty repeated. "Got it. The back one, right?"

"The back one," Dad confirmed. "And the cargo door back of the seats; we'll need the extra room. Just store them both along one of the walls in the hangar out of the way; if Barracuda gives you any trouble, tell her to phone me. Don't you take any guff from her, you hear?!"

"I hear," Marty replied, a ghost of his grin on his face.

"And wipe that smirk," Dad grumped. "you shouldn't be enjoying this!"

"No sir," Marty replied, dramatically wiping his face with a forearm.

***

"I'll get the front bolts," Marty said as they crouched together in the cramped cabin of the airplane. There was barely room enough for both of them to work, their bare arms jostled each other as they moved. "Just be careful you don't strip those bolt heads, or Dad'll have our hides," he added, carefully testing his socket on a bolt. Four bolts held each seat on the cabin floor, and they could quickly be switched out at need; only problem was the designers had never foreseen electric bolt and nut drivers, so there wasn't enough clearance under the seats for one. The boys were forced to use hand tools.

"Ugh, this one's tight!" Dary grunted, tugging on his wrench, where he was working on the rear seat bolts.

"Leave it," Marty instructed, and turned  back to his friend. "Here," and he produced a spray can of liquid wrench, spraying the offending bolt. "Let that sit until you get the other one out and it'll probably come."

"Cum," Dary giggled and Marty wanted to slap him.

"Hush, you!" he grunted, "we don't have time for sex right now. Besides, the Barracuda's working and she's sure to show up to see what we're up to."

"Why is she called the Barracuda?" Dary asked.

"Because I'm a bitch and I bite and young Martin here has no respect for authority!" came a raspy voice from the open cabin door. Marty cringed, and Daryl looked askance towards the open aircraft door, where the woman's head protruded just inside. "Just what do you think you're doing here, young man, without your father here to supervise you?! You both know kids aren't allowed in this hangar without an adult! Sign on the wall says so!"

"I didn't see any sign. Talk to my Dad," Marty said.

"I'm asking you," Barracuda responded with a snort. "If I had wanted to speak with your father I would have phoned him! Don't get smart with me!"

"He's not gonna answer," Dary piped up. "I distinctly heard his father instruct him to come here, with me, and take a seat outta this airplane and not to take any guff from you. You gotta problem with that, you phone Marty's dad. End of story."

"You keep outta this, just who in the hell do you think you are anyway?"

"Nunya beeswax," Dary retorted, plying his wrench on yet another bolt, the ratchet singing rhythmically as he did. "Go and phone Marty's dad and leave us alone, okay?"

"Not until you're outta the airplane and outta this hangar," Barracuda rasped, and Marty sighed in exasperation.

"Not until we get this seat and hatch out," Dary retorted in his turn. "Now bugger off and leave us alone! Or I'll tell my dad you were molesting us!"

"You'll do no such thing!" Barracuda gasped, huffing up like a puff adder. "I've never molested anyone in my entire life and…"

"First time for everything," Dary smiled sweetly, and enjoyed watching the woman, an outraged expression on her face, stand contorting her features grotesquely as she worked out how to get round Dary's threat. When it became evident neither boy was going to obey her instructions, she whirled on a heel and stalked away.

"Now you've done it," Marty said wearily. "She'll prob'ly kick us out now."

"I doubt it," Dary replied reasonably. He'd removed the first bolt and now seated his socket on the tight one. With a few grunting tugs, it broke free and he worked it out with the wrench. "First off, she's got no business talking to us like that. You're customers here, and her job, manager or not, is to look after you and your interests here, not treat you like some goddamned criminal every time you come onto this airfield, right?"

"I dunno," Marty replied dolefully; all he could see coming from the incident was more trouble, especially for him.

"Look, your Dad said, 'no guff'. So I stuck up for you, that's what friends do. If anyone's to blame, it'll be me. So shaddup, and she was molesting us; just not sexually…"

Then it dawned on Marty, and he had to grin, then laugh. "You," he said between giggles, "are perverted!"

"You know it," Dary grinned. "Why you love me!"

***

"You told her what?!" Rainer exclaimed, glaring at Daryl, and for the first time since Marty had known him, the boy looked uncomfortable. "Daryl, that's an awful thing to tell somebody, no matter how much they're…" Dad broke off, shaking his head. The boys had found him on the back patio barbecuing more chicken.

It was time to speak up. "Dad, she was being really mean," Marty said. "I mean, no more than she usually is, but this time she was ordering us around, telling us we had no right to be there, when you'd told us what to do. We were just doing what you'd told us. And she comes up, tries ordering us outta the airplane, and out of the hangar, saying there's a sign saying 'no kids.' I never seen any such sign," Marty finished.

"She's makin' up her own rules," Dary said stoutly. "I didn't see any sign either. She's fulla shit…"

"Daryl!" Dad barked, and Dary subsided. "That may be so but I don't want you talking like that around here, alright?"

"Yes sir, sorry sir," Dary said contritely, looking at Mr. McKinley with a chaste expression on his face. They glared at each other a moment, and Rainer looked about to say something more but evidently decided against it.

"Alright, I'll deal with this with airport management. She's been on our case since we arrived there; it's time it was dealt with once and for all," Rainer sighed.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean for trouble…" Marty said, his brown eyes anxious; he looked nearly ready to cry.

"C'mere, son," Dad said gently and enfolded Marty in a big embrace. "Not your fault, okay? You guys were doing as you were told. Daryl spoke up for you, that's fine. Did you get the job done?" And both boys nodded.

"Put the seat along the south wall like you told us," Marty said,wiping his eyes.

"Then that's the important thing," Dad said quietly. "As for the rest, I'll deal with it. Don't you guys worry."

"Dad, if Dary's coming with us tomorrow, can he stay over?" Marty asked.

"Hey yea!" Dary enthused, "except… I got this stuff I gotta take home to Mum."

"So, we'll deliver your stuff, then come back," Marty suggested, brightening, and looked to Dad for permission.

"I'll have pizza here when you get back," Dad smiled.

***

"Jeese, I thought we were done for," Marty confessed quietly. They both lay in Marty's bed naked, because that's how boyfriends slept together, or so Marty thought. Dary agreed, so they spent a giggly few moments strip teasing each other until Dad hollered from the lounge to get on with it and get to bed.

"I'm for that!" Dary had said, spurring another round of suppressed giggles, and they finally climbed under the sheets and quilt on Marty's bed. Marty put out the lamp and felt Dary's hand snaking over his thigh to his pener. Which erected full bore in those jerking spasms which reminded Marty of his boner in the truck yesterday. Amidst more giggles, Dary's hand stroking him, he related the incident to Dary, who nearly burst out in a guffaw. Marty managed to stuff a hunk of quilt in his maw before he could make any sound. When they quit laughing, Marty slowly took the quilt away, and he could feel his boyfriend's amusement in the dimness of the room.

"Hey, wanna frottage again?" Dary whispered. "You know, like we did in that meadow t'other day?"

"We'll make too much noise," Marty cautioned softly. "You know now how hypersensitive Dad's ears are."

"I know… suck…" and one of Marty's scary moments was upon him.

"Never have," he whispered, but determined to put on a brave front and do it if Dary insisted.

"Try," Dary suggested, tugging the covers aside. "C'mon, it's not hard."

"What's it taste like?"

"Like cock," Dary whispered. "Go on, you can…"

Oh jeese, here we go… Marty thought, repositioning himself on the bed, using his hands to guide himself to Dary's middle, then his nose took over and he could smell the sharp dusky scent emanating. It grew sharper as his mouth approached, and he felt the tip of Dary's foreskin against his upper lip, adjusted, then tentatively put out his tongue, licking furtively.

"Mmmmmmmmmm," Dary sighed, pressing his hips forward a touch, so his penis head, still in its sheath, bumped up against Marty's mouth. "Go on, Mart, you're nearly there," he hoarsely whispered.

Another lick, now he could taste it, sharp and tangy, unlike anything he'd ever tasted before, but not, he admitted, totally unpleasantly gross or anything like he'd heard it would be. He might even get used to this. He licked again, and felt Dary's penis shudder, and decided to go for broke like he'd seen in the videos on suckme.com. Opening his mouth, he pushed forward, taking most of Dary's organ into his mouth, licked it all over with this tongue, pursing his lips around it, and Dary gasped in surprised pleasure.

"Omigawd," he sighed, "holy shit, don't stop! Keep goin', pleeeeeeeze…" and Marty obliged, lashing his tongue as he'd seen in the videos, Dary's middle scent overwhelming his senses, the hardness of the muscles of his boyfriends cock ensheathed in the soft overskin now almost heavenly. Oh god, forget an imaginary glade in some remote forest, or the little glade where Dary had seduced him a couple of days ago, this was where it was, man. He sucked and lashed and lashed and sucked and suddenly the cock erupted, a small gusher leaping forth into his mouth and he knew he was supposed to swallow. That was hard, so difficult because of what normally came out of that piece of Dary, but he thrust that thought aside as he heard his friend panting and moaning into a pillow he'd pulled over his face so as not to give them away.

When the spurts stopped, the cock throbbing stopped, Marty slowly drew his mouth off Dary's penis, hoping he'd lived up to expectations. He gingerly licked his lips, swallowed his friend's semen, knowing it would not harm him. Sometimes research was also reassuring.

They paused, neither sure what came next. Dary slowly put his pillow aside and lay with his head back, panting still from the intensity of his orgasm. Marty drew back, then wormed his way back up the bed, finally finding his own pillow. He laid his head down, then felt Dary lean over him, and he righted his face upwards, felt Dary's lips find his.

"Fucking awesome, Mart," he whispered. "Was that your first time?" He felt Marty's nod, then kissed him again. Another of their long, tonguing kisses, and this time Dary's tongue didn't have to seek a way beyond Marty's teeth; his boyfriend opened to him immediately. They didn't say anything because there was nothing to say; just tongues and lips busily engaged with each other, and finally, Dary broke away, but continued kissing. On Marty's neck, then his chest, then seeking one of his nipples, finding it, locking his lips round it and giving his tongue full play.

Marty moaned, up until this moment totally unaware that little round fleshy spot which he considered mere decoration without function or purpose could now be used to make him feel soooooooo goood. The sensations went straight to his penis, causing tremors so delicious he was afraid he was going to spurt at any moment. As if sensing this, Dary changed nipples, sucking and lashing the other one with his tongue, beginning all over again, heightening Marty's ecstasy almost beyond control. Nipples tingled, penis tremored, Marty writhed, quickly grabbing Dary's pillow and cramming it over his face, huffing large breaths into it as Dary left his nipples for his… balls?

Omigawd WHEN is he gonna get me off?! Marty cried in his mind. Holy fucking shit man I can't take much more of this, and he moaned aloud into the pillow, hoping to whatever gods there were his father wouldn't hear. Dary's mouth over his sac, that wrinkled appendage beneath his cock, now so sensitive because of his heightened sensuality. No way could he ever bring himself to feel this way alone; it needed another, and Dary was evidently experienced. Marty could not be his first conquest, but ohmychrist it felt good! Off his sac, onto his middum, medically called perineum, licking, with tongue tip stabbing, lapping, stabbing again and Marty instinctively bent his knees, widened them apart, and could feel Dary's hair on his thighs, hands on his calves as his friend lifted his legs, spread them, and dived for Marty's bummole. Still stabbing with his tongue, lapping, and Marty had the foolish thought he hoped he'd wiped well enough after his last…

He spurt. Great shuddering ejaculations, coming from deep at the base of his pener and surging in intense waves up the length of his shaft to explode through his circumcised corona, the semen pumped a foot in the air before falling and landing on his stomach and pubis.

He moaned into that pillow, a long, deep voiced expression of ecstasy he'd never expected to produce, and finally the sensations wore off and he realized Dary had stopped. He panted in his turn, turning to and and fro, the warm ejaculate cooling on his belly, and he felt Dary come up for air, lay alongside him, and Marty finally asked, "You don't have your pack in here with you, do you?"

***

Marty slowly woke. He was on his back, an unusual sleeping position for him; he generally slept on his side. Another thing strange this morning was an arm across his chest, puffs of breath against his side, someone sprawled full-length alongside him. And, he was right on the outside edge of his bed; another couple of inches and he'd tumble onto the floor. Most embarrassing, especially since he now realized he was naked.

Dary was beside him. His thoughts slowly focused. Yea, okay, now he remembered, and he lay back smiling. And the memory of it provoked a predictable reaction. It rose, that damned pleasure organ between his thighs which Dary had told him last night was his most loved part of Marty. Marty hoped there was more than that, or he was in serious trouble with Dary's affections.

Sun was up, he noticed, he could hear birds outside, an occasional vehicle on the road alongside, but otherwise it was quiet. Nobody stirred, so Dad wasn't up yet either. He slowly turned his head to the nightstand beside his bed, the clock's blue numbers read 7:05. They'd be getting up soon; Dary's Mum and Dad were supposed to meet them at the airport at nine. He felt another kind of pressure, his bladder. What a time to have to take a leak!

Marty had their cooler mostly packed with chicken and salads and ice packs and the two bottles of wine Dad had bought last Saturday at the Market when Dad finally made his appearance in the kitchen, smiled good morning to him and took in Marty's preparations. The picnic basket containing their plates, cutlery, glasses, napkins and other items was open on the counter beside the cooler, awaiting any last-minute additions before they left for the airport.

"Busy, aren't you?" Dad remarked, sipping a coffee as he leaned against the counter.

"I woke up early," Marty explained, and Dad nodded, understanding. "Brought our boards up from the barn," he added, and Dad turned, glancing out the window to see them leaning against a patio shelter post.

"Good on you!" he praised, sipping more coffee. He jerked his head towards the hall where the bedrooms were. "Thanks for making coffee; Daryl up yet?"

"Wasn't when I last saw him," Marty replied, and before Marty could hop off his stool at the counter, Dad had moved to the hallway and was tapping at Marty's door. He heard the byplay between Dary and his father and hoped to hell Dary hadn't shown his nudity in bed. Dad returned to the kitchen and started preparing breakfast. Pancakes, eggs, bacon and sausage. Another day in the McKinley household had begun.

***

"Cool, Dennis is the airport guy today!" Marty exclaimed as the Bronco pulled up beside the hangar at Timpte Airport.

"We musta pissed the Barracuda off too much yesterday," Dary remarked, after Dad had exited the SUV.

"Or she's lying in wait for me to go tug the plane," Marty replied, slipping his seat belt and opening his door. "Let's get started."

"Cool!" Daryl agreed, pushing the seatback forward so he could exit the truck. Today, in deference to Marty's Dad, he was conservatively dressed in a tee and board shorts. Marty was grateful. He watched as Marty hooked the hand tug to the 206's front end, yanked the starter cord half a dozen times before the engine caught, and tugged the aircraft onto the tarmac.

"Crap, Dad's got the keys," Marty said, as he pulled the tug away. Dary checked the SUV and came back jangling Dad's key set in his hand.

"Keys on here?" he asked, and Marty hunted through them, finding the Cessna's door key and opening the plane.

"You can probably load the cooler and basket and our packs in here," he said, opening the rear luggage hatch. "Just heave them in, 'cause Dad'll check and change things around anyway," he added with a smile. "I'll start preflight."

"Got some news," Dad said, returning from the airport office. "We get our own hangar for Sally and the police plane now; no more main hangar. And Barracuda's been instructed to leave you strictly alone, unless you're endangering your life or someone else's. Downside is, it's the back hangar over there, so you'll have a ways to haul that tug back and forth," Dad added.

"What happened?!" Marty asked, alarmed.

"Lease ran out on that hangar and the other party didn't renew it, so they offered it to me. I'm leasing it on behalf of the police, and we just happen to be able to store our plane in there too. At least until they buy another police plane."

"Cool!"

And then Dary's Mum and Dad arrived.

***

Another cooler, and two bundles of mysterious other goods made their way into the luggage compartment aft. Five surf boards stacked one upon another and tied down inside the cabin, their tails poking back into the luggage compartment, and they were finally ready to depart. Marty clambered into his co-pilot's seat and donned his headset, buckling up as Dad went through the safety briefing with Dary and his parents.

"Main thing to remember," he finished up, "is the windows pop out if we have to evacuate the airplane; the doors will probably be jammed. So kick out the windows or break 'em open, doesn't matter which. Okay?"

Mairie looked a little nervous at that, but Dad smiled at her. "Don't worry, Mairie, nothing's going to happen but I'm obliged by the rules to tell you all this."

"We'll be just fine, Alphonse said. He was extravagantly dressed today in bright blue shirt with red and blue flowers all over it, wide straw hat, cargo shorts and sandals, with a jumper tied by its sleeves round his neck. Mairie was just as bright in a flowered blouse and tan shorts, slip on sneakers on her bare feet. On arrival, she'd greeted the boys with hugs which included pulling their heads against her breasts; Marty found he didn't mind that at all.

***

"Normanton Center, good day," Marty said into his mic, "this is November Charlie Xray Lima, on the tarmac at Timpte. Request clearance for taxi and takeoff for Pleasanton according to flight plan."

After a few moments wait, as Rainer murmured, "They're hunting up the flight plan," the controller's voice came back to them.

"November Charlie Xray Lima, taxi at your own discretion, hold short runway 27 for incoming. Winds at Timpte are two seven zero, 5 knots, altimeter three zero zero two. Advise when ready."

"Normanton Center, taxi at discretion," Marty repeated, so the controller knew they understood his instructions, "hold short at runway two seven, advise when ready. November Charley Xray Lima."

Dad taxied to the runway, stopping well back and Marty looked to his right, spotted the bright landing lights of an aircraft on its final approach about half a mile out, angling towards the threshold.

"Xray Lima, holding short," Dad said over the radio. Ooops! Marty gulped, he'd forgotten that. He looked at Dad who glanced back, but didn't say anything. "Traffic in sight." The other plane, a snazzy commuter plane belonging to one of the local airlines roared in and touched down, engines roaring as the pilot reversed its turbines, and rolled towards the taxiway distant on the runway. The commuter cleared the runway, and advised air traffic control.

"Xray Lima, cleared for runway two seven. Hold short," ATC advised them.

"Cleared for runway two seven, holding short, Xray Lima," Marty replied, at Dad's nod.

"Xray Lima, you are cleared for take off. Maintain runway heading until five thousand, then continue according to your flight plan," ATC directed.

"Cleared for take off, hold runway heading until five thousand, then proceed according to flight plan. Xray Lima," Marty replied, grinning. This was the most he'd ever been able to talk on the radio, and he was loving it.

"Readback correct," ATC responded, and Marty thought he could hear amusement in the controller's voice.

Dad shoved the levers forward, the engine roared, the plane rolled and before long they were airborne for Pleasanton. "Xray Lima, do you require flight following?" the controller asked, and Marty glanced at Dad again, who nodded.

"Be a good idea," he said.

"Xray Lima, yes, flight following please," Marty replied.

"Xray Lima, you are on flight following," ATC responded; now, should there be any aircraft close to them or a dramatic shift in the weather along their flight path or at Pleasanton, ATC would advise them.

"Xray Lima, thank-you," Marty responded and turned the radio back to the plane's internal intercom.

"How'd you learn to do all that?!" Daryl asked, wonder in his voice as he'd listened in on another set of headphones.

"Dad taught me," Marty replied. "It's fun."

***

Dad had already told Marty he wouldn't be flying the airplane today, so it was with mixed feelings he sat back to watch the countryside roll by beneath them from seven thousand feet as they flew north to Pleasanton. On the one hand, while he didn't feel cheated, he knew it was the presence of Dary and his parents which prevented him flying. On the other, they were off on a surfing day, which promised to be fun; they'd heard so many good things about surfing at Pleasanton Beach. Coolers with lots of food were packed in the luggage bay behind them, and the promise of good times and companionship. Marty had high hopes for the day. He just hoped nothing flared up between the adults to spoil it all; Dad could be touchy about some things, and Marty knew Dary's parents to be pretty liberal sometimes. Allowing Dary to run about in his short clothes for one, of which he knew Dad disapproved. Marty wondered why Rainer hadn't said anything about Dary turning up yesterday in short shorts and tee. He simply hadn't thought when he ran into Dary at the store, and it just seemed natural for Dary to accompany him home. Well, they got past that little incident readily enough, Marty mused, unless Dad was saving it up for later.

They arrived at Pleasanton an hour and half later, Dad handling the radio here as Marty wasn't experienced enough yet. Pleasanton had no tower, just as Timpte didn't, so they were expected to broadcast their intentions in case any other aircraft were in the area.

"On final," Dad finally said, the plane lined up with Pleasanton runway, sinking rapidly and Marty watched as the runway seemed to rush up towards them. Dad flared, cut the engine, and they landed almost without a bump and taxied in. "Xray Lima down and clear of the runway," Dad announced and with that, their flight ended.

"I've a taxi van coming," Alphonse announced, pocketing a mobile phone. "Said he'd meet us here momentarily."

"Great," Dad said. "Can you and the boys unload the boards and I'll get the stuff in the luggage bay?"

"Love to," Alphonse responded, and Marty refrained from rolling his eyes; Alphonse sometimes seemed a little over the top.

Mairie took charge of their spot on the beach, directing the men (and boys) in putting the coolers in the shade, spreading two large beach blankets, a canvas square for shade overhead, and generally organizing everybody. They'd found a nice little spot up against the rocky shore, a sort of cul-de-sac in the rock wall which bordered the beach on the landward side. It was some yards from the water, but close enough the run to the water wasn't arduous. The surf rolled in with surprising regularity, and the boys agreed, conditions looked excellent.

"C'mon, Mart, I'm goin'!" Dary said, after Mairie declared herself satisfied with their arrangements. In short order, the boy was naked, pulling on his surf shorts and rashie shirt, Marty quickly, unthinkingly followed, though he faced the cliff and only presented his bum towards the beach.

He glanced up to see Rainer's disapproving expression. "Where," he asked, "are the changing cabins?"

"I'm not sure there are any!" Alphonse replied. "This is New Cee, after all."

Oh brother, Marty thought. Here we go…

"What, not even for the tourists?" Rainer almost gaped.

"The tourists learn to adapt, or not," Mairie said, matter of fact. "If you wish to surf, you conform. If you don't, well, then you can sit on the beach and watch all day. Pardon me," and she turned, pulled her blouse and sports bra off, shimmied into a female rash tee, then quickly changed her bottom, with about as much speed and efficiency as her son. "There!" she said, turning, "Ready, boys?"

"Let's go!" Dary exclaimed, not the least fazed at having just witnessed his mother changing before his eyes.

Marty ran with them, clutching his new Shark Attack, and they hit the water, pausing to leash their boards to their ankles. They paddled out, duck diving beneath the rollers, Marty glad he could keep up with Dary and Mairie, and half wondering what was going on between Rainer and Alphonse. He wasn't sure Dad had gotten over the double shock of witnessing Dary and Mairie changing in front of them all on the beach. He realized he was more attuned to Dary's ways, which he obviously got from his parents, if not other kids too; though this time Marty had not been caught as much by surprise. Well, maybe by Mairie, so he supposed it was no wonder Dad was so shocked. After a few minutes, they turned and bobbed on the water, until they were ready for the first run.

"Oh Marty! You're inside! Right then, off you go!" Mairie smiled at him. He gulped a little; he felt awkward with Mairie following him in.

Nothing for it but to go, he decided, waited for a rise, then popped up, got his balance, and surged off. Wooooooooooooo! This is coooooooooooooool! he enthused, riding the wave, cutting back, then surging over and bottom turning, then allowing the wave to catch him up again so he could ride the curl. Awesome! Hangin' loose was easy up here, and then he was blindsided by another surfer cutting across his path from his left, a twentysomething hotdog who seemed to have no consideration. He cut back, trying avoid him, but was too late and his board reached for the sky and tumbled him.

"Hey!!" he yelled, but the dude didn't bother looking. He noticed a flash to his right as Mairie rode her board across the back end of the dude's. Which upended him and threw him into the water. Mairie sailed on by, with a big smile on her face, and Dary whooped at her daring and followed her in. Fuming, Marty retrieved his board by its leash, and managed to get aboard again, rising on the next wave and following his friends in.

"What happened out there?!" Dad demanded, and Marty explained. "Right, I'll be watching for him!" Dad said grimly, and Marty wondered if he and Alphonse had changed at their blankets. "Come on, paddle out with me?"

"Let's all go together!" Dary suggested, so the five of them gaggled up and headed back out into the waves.

***

Run after run, they surfed pretty much as a group, gliding in, careful to give each other the room they needed yet still able to remain in a loose grouping. The first arrivals in shallow water would await those behind, then all would turn for the paddle back out for another run. Dad kept a loose check on Marty, making sure he didn't get too far out from them, but the two boys stayed close together and with their parents, so there was little to watch. At one point in the afternoon, Marty found himself outside their line with Dary's mum.

"So, Marty, Dary tells me you've become very close friends!" Mairie beamed at him, her wide mouth in its usual smile.

"Ah, yeah, I guess you could say that," Marty hedged, wondering what she actually knew and how much he could safely admit. Or was she just fishing… ?

"Well, I hope you're both having a great time together!" and Marty gulped, wondering just what she meant with that. Mairie cast a glance to her left but the group hadn't popped up yet for another run in. "Just make sure he doesn't push you into things only he wants," Mairie cautioned, speaking softer and confidentially. "Make sure you get some of what you want too, love," she added. "Oh! And thank-you so much for asking us along today! We're having a ball!"

"Uh, yea, sure," Marty replied, manfully suppressing what was really on the tip of his tongue.

"Oops! Here we go!" Mairie exclaimed, and popped up, and Marty scrambled to follow. He didn't have time to mull over Mairie's words on the run in; but there would be plenty of opportunities to do so later.

Much later.

Chapter Six
Defining Friendship

The sun sometimes goes behind a cloud, even in New Cumbria. Daryl badly miscalculates, just as Marty thought he was finally getting on his feet.

Marty dug into his breakfast, his tummy rumbling annoyingly. Of course, not having fed it since the big lunch on the beach at Pleasanton last evening was reason enough for it to complain. He was dressed only in a tee and briefs. Dad joined him, placing his plate carefully on the table, then sat and picked up his cutlery. He paused before beginning to eat, gazing at his son. Marty glanced up, noticed his dad's look, and asked, "What?"

"I'm not sure that kid is good for you," Dad said, gazing directly into Marty's eyes.

"Dary? Why not?" Marty asked, alarmed. Being around the Werlands yesterday, Dad had picked up on Daryl's diminutive name, and seemed to have been given permission to use it.

"He's pushy, he's selfish, he seems to need to be in charge, he seems to expect people to do his will. I saw plenty of examples of that yesterday," he said. Finally, he started his breakfast.

"Dad, he's my… friend!" Marty defended, gulping that he'd nearly blurted boyfriend, hoping Dad hadn't noticed the slight hesitation. "My first friend here! Before Daryl, I didn't have any friends! Come on…!"

"We've been here, what, four months? Nearly five? And you haven't met any other kids yet?" Dad queried, looking up at him in disbelief.

"Not quite true," Marty responded. The succulent breakfast now tasted dry in his mouth, this was some of his favourite food, and yet now he didn't want to eat. "I've met other kids at school, seen 'em at the beach, but I don't know them! I don't even know their last names!"

"Maybe it's time you did," Dad remarked. "Marty, having only one friend isn't healthy, you know. You need more, to properly socialize. To … to gain wider experiences," and Marty sighed inwardly; Dad was off on another of his tangents. About the importance of a full and productive life, and his theories how to accomplish that. "Having more friends will only benefit you; don't stick yourself with just one boy. Especially that boy! I warn you, I think that kid's trouble; I don't want to see you mixed up in it."

And how! Marty thought, remembering their sexual escapades. "I… I'll see what I can do, Dad. About meeting some more kids, I mean. At the beach, I guess, until school's back in anyway," he said aloud.

"Good," Dad nodded, apparently satisfied, and Marty breathed a silent sigh of relief. At least Dad hadn't prohibited him from seeing Dary anymore; cutting him off from his only friend. "I want to go to the airport this morning and move the planes," Dad said. "Maybe you can come along and help." Marty noticed this wasn't a question.

"Yea, okay," he said, and began eating again with a little more appetite.

***

Marty could feel Barracuda's glare on him from an airport office window as he and Dad drove past and parked at the new hangar. This one looked large enough to house three or four small aircraft, or two larger ones. Dad unlocked a side door and flicked on some tube lights, which flickered into life. There was a single wide horizontal bi-fold door which opened by pulling on a chain-and-pulley system, six slowly rotating ceiling fans, half a dozen skylights, and not much else. The hangar had a new appearance, paint still bright, mostly white, and the floor wasn't stained with oil. And it was totally empty, except, against the near wall about five yards from the door, a strange steel box stood with an upright handle and wheels which was plugged into a large wall socket, and caught Marty's eye.

"Hey Dad, what's that?" he asked, going to the wheeled box and reading large letters which said, Electro Tug. "Oh my god, we got our own tug!" Marty exclaimed, looking it over. Dad joined him, tugging the handle down from its upright position, and flicked a switch on the box.

"Deader 'n a door nail," Dad said, flicking the switch back and forth. "No reaction. Wonder how long it's been sitting here uncharged?"

"Will that pull our planes?" Marty asked.

"If I can get it charged it should," Dad replied. "Might have to replace the batteries."

"Maybe the breaker's turned off," Marty suggested, hunting for an electrical panel, and spotted one beside the door. Opening it, he found a switch labeled 'tug plug', and flicked it.

"Bingo!" Dad said, and Marty could see a pair of red and amber lights now shining from the Tug's box.

When Marty returned he could hear a faint humming. He grinned, looking up at Dad. "No more gas tugging!" he said, and Dad smiled back.

"Take a few hours for that to charge up, so you get to use the gas tug one more time," Dad said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go get the Cessna."

Though Marty kept his eyes opened for her, Barracuda never made an appearance as he tugged first the 206, then the RNCNP Legend across the tarmac from Hangar One to the new McKinley hangar. He was surprised when Dad allowed him to tug the police plane, and Dad did watch him carefully as he slowly manoeuvred the aircraft out of the main hangar and walked it to its new berth.

The Legend was much like the 206 in outward appearance, but Marty knew was a much newer airplane, incorporating some of the newest technology in polymer doors, and an ultra-modern Honeywell 'glass' panel system which used four large computer screens to show the aircraft's instruments rather than the pneumatic 'steam' gauges, as pilots called them. It also boasted some secret equipment Dad wouldn't even talk about, but Marty knew it had traffic monitoring equipment and software, speed radar, built-in digital television and photographic capabilities; there were rumours it could even sniff drug labs and cannabis grows. That it had built-in GPS navigation capability and moving maps of the entire country were common knowledge. But for all of this brand new gleaming technology, Dad complained it didn't come with an autopilot; it still required flying by hand. Marty never flown in it; which made him envious of some of the more notorious criminals who had. But theirs had been a one-way trip, heavily shackled, to Parkhurst prison, from which nobody ever escaped. Marty had no wish to go there.

Dad appeared beside him as he swung the Legend round to back it into the new hangar. "Go and rub the Cessna's windows and windshield, will you? They're getting smudged," Dad directed, taking over the tug from Marty's hands.

"Yea, fine," Marty muttered under his breath. One of his least-liked jobs was cleaning the Cessna; fortunately, Dad didn't ask him to do the Legend too. He grabbed a spray bottle of window cleaner and some rags, found a step ladder and began. As he sprayed and scrubbed, he had plenty of time to think about yesterday's events.

The surfing, as expected, had been grand, and though Marty could feel Dad's eyes on him, he knew it was mostly out of concern for his safety. Marty wondered when that would ever stop. He and Dary, of course, had no opportunity for private engagement, but after the night before, they hardly needed a reason. They contented themselves with secretive grins and cheerful banter, and of course, show-off surfing. He relived some of their runs, surfing now with Mairie, later with Alphonse and Dary, then with his Dad, then all five of them in the gaggle.

By late afternoon, they were mostly tired and hungry, leaving the water for the promised food awaiting them in the coolers. The boys changed together on one corner of the double blankets, modestly facing the cliffs, the men to their left, then Mairie. All the while, Marty worried about his Dad's reaction, but when he stole a glance at him once as he was towelling his bum, Rainer didn't have the shocked or disapproving look Marty had seen this morning. Had Alphonse spoken with him? How much had Dary told his parents about these weird Western Americans who were afraid of public nudity? Or had Rainer finally resigned himself to it all, as Marty had had to do weeks earlier? There were some hard lessons here in New Cumbria, despite the easy-going, laid-back attitudes of the populace, and learning them sometimes involved upsetting one's belief systems. Marty was afraid of Rainer's reaction to the legal boys' sex laws; he had to know of them from Police College, but confronting the reality of them was going to be something else again. Marty wasn't looking forward to that experience.

Then it struck Marty that Rainer's lecture regarding Dary this morning wasn't really about Dary at all, but instead was his way of dealing with some of these changes. But surely his police training had told him public nudity wasn't a crime here, hadn't it? But maybe, because Rainer hadn't come up against it personally before, this was his way of dealing with it.

Raiding the coolers had been worth all of the anticipation, after the surfing of course, and Marty smiled, remembering as he rubbed his windows. Mairie and the boys set out Rainer's barbecued chicken and pasta and potato salads, and Mairie's seafood entrees which, as Marty had predicted, fed all of them with plenty left over. She'd also included some jellied salads and a huge apple cobbler. Dad had even unbent enough, with Alphonse's encouragement, to allow the boys a glass of wine each. The flight home seemed anti-climactic, and Marty even gave Dary his front seat, and had ridden with Alphonse and Mairie in the cabin. All in all, Marty concluded, it had been a memorable outing, peace and contentment all around, and no ugly incidents to mar it. Maybe they could do it all again. But not for a little while, flying was expensive and Marty figured they'd had their share this month. Even with Alphonse having paid half the costs yesterday.

***

He was half done the windows when Dary turned up, showing loads of arm and leg and bum in his short clothes. Marty sighed, hoping Dary's appearance didn't set Dad off again. Or worse, sending him away.

"Hey!" Dary grinned up at where Marty was perched on his ladder, rubbing a rear window of the 206.

"Hi!" Marty grinned back, and returned to his window; there was stubborn streak wouldn't come off the Plexiglas, and the more he rubbed, the worse it seemed to get. Exasperated, he squirted more window cleaner and rubbed with a new rag; that got it. "Here, catch!" he said, holding out his spray bottle until Dary looked up at him then dropped it, the other boy deftly catching it. The rags followed and he scrambled down the ladder, quickly looked around and gave Dary a brief hug and a peck on the lips.

"Mmmm," Dary smiled, kissing him back, but also mindful of Rainer's proximity. "How's it goin'?" he asked.

"Could be better," Marty admitted, "but not all that bad. I gotta clean all the windows on this thing."

"Inside too?" Dary asked and Marty nodded.

"Just the streaks and smudges," he said. "Care to help?"

"Sure," Dary replied and Marty hunted up another window spray bottle and rags. Daryl climbed inside, while Marty mounted his ladder again. They were nearly finished when Rainer reappeared from whatever he'd been doing, surprise on his face when Dary appeared in the doorway of the plane and jumped down.

"Hi Uncle Rainer!" he greeted, smiling. "My parents wanted me to thank you again for flying us up to Pleasanton and allowing us along on your surfing trip. We all had a great time and the dinner on the beach was terrific! Thanks so much!" He was almost gushing, reminding Marty of some of Alphonse's mannerisms.

"Oh!" Rainer looked even more surprised, as well as somewhat disarmed. Marty watched anxiously. "Well, you're welcome, Daryl, I'm sure," Rainer replied, covertly eyeing Dary's lack of dress, wondering if he'd ever get used to boys looking the way they did dressed like that.

"They also wanted me to ask you and Marty to a barbecue, maybe this weekend?" he added hopefully.

Rainer shook his head in regret. "Sorry, I'm working the next four days, Daryl; we can't do the weekend, I'm afraid," and Marty's heart sank a little; he wanted another of Mairie's hugs with his head against her breasts.

"Well…" Dary thought a moment, "how about the the first or second evening of your days off? I'm sure my parents won't mind." Marty was sure they wouldn't either.

"Let's shoot for then," Rainer agreed, and was surprised when Daryl went to him, wrapped his arms round him and hugged, laying his head on his chest.

"The plane ride was awesome!" he said. "Thanks so much for that." Marty watched Dary's arms squeeze round his Dad, a little disconcerted with his friend's boldness. But then, that had always been Dary. His Dad gently pushed the boy away, his hands on Dary's bare shoulders, his face a little unnerved.

"Are you done with the windows?" Dad asked, and Marty nodded, hoping Dary had done a good job of the insides.

"Good, can you two grab that seat from Hangar One and lug it over here for me please? Then I think we're done here."

***

"Hey, you okay?" Dary asked. They were pedaling along the Utopian route with their surfboards to Channel Beach again, the llamas and alpacas and horses and border collies all greeting, or ignoring them, along the way. "You're not saying much."

"Thinkin'," Marty replied, standing on his pedals to breast a little rise ahead of them. He was still wrestling with Dad's comments this morning about Dary, and how they seemed to tie in with what Mairie had said to him yesterday on the water at Pleasanton Beach. And how Dad didn't really seem to mean them now, after their encounter this morning at the airport and allowing the two boys to return to the beach together. He needed to confide in someone; but the only someone he really trusted besides his Dad was with him right now, and he was afraid how Daryl would react to his revelations. Confide, or not? Risk a friendship, the only friendship he had? Or take the risk and maybe bind them closer together? Which way would Daryl jump? Then Marty realized his friend would always take the bold course; meet trouble head on, as he had in the confrontation with Barracuda the other day. So he'd probably help him with this dilemma. It was worth the risk.

He spotted a little park off to his right, a fountain spraying water surrounded by some wood and iron benches. The park was deserted, the benches empty. "Come on, I wanna talk to you," he said, turning onto a path leading to the fountain. They leaned their bikes against a bench and sat on the concrete beside the fountain. The water in the fountain splashed and gurgled beside them, oddly soothing, a tinkling counterpoint to the shush and swish of the surf not far from them.

"I nearly screwed up this morning," Marty began, eyes on his toes in his sneakers. "Dad said something an' I nearly said we're boyfriends."

"What'd he say?" Dary asked, curious.

"Ummm… dunno if I should say…"

"Come on, we're friends, aren't we?" Dary prodded. "What was it?"

"He's not sure we should be friends. Says you're a bad influence on me," and suddenly Marty was terrified. There was a pregnant silence for a few moments. Marty kept his eyes on his sneakers, unwilling to meet Dary's eyes.

"Oh am I?" Dary finally replied, though seemingly unsurprised. "Like how?"

Marty shrugged. "Pushy, wanting your own way, needing to be in charge; some of the things he said."

"What's wrong with those?" Dary exclaimed, almost hotly "I just go for what I need. You're such a wimp sometimes, Marty. You give in soooooo easily. Like that Barracuda… she's got you so scared, man! I wouldn't take that shit from her!"

"I know, you told her off good and proper," Marty admitted, wishing he'd thought of what Dary had told her. "I dunno what to think. You're my first friend here in New Cee; I can't seem to make friends here, and Dad wants me to have more friends. I dunno what to do!"

"You don't meet people," Dary said succinctly, and Marty knew it was true. He was basically shy, reserved, afraid to express himself; even now, he felt like he was letting out great secrets, but Dary, it seemed, had already read him for what he was. And was okay with him despite all that. "Look, we keep surfing, alright?" Dary continued. "There's kids from school at the beach; we'll make sure we hook up with some, and you get to know them. When school starts again, we'll join a footie team, one of the school ones. Some of the same kids'll be there, but there'll be new ones too. You'll meet them, I'll help you. But remember, you're my boyfriend!"

"Yea, okay," Marty sighed, somewhat relieved Dary hadn't slugged him, or worse, deserted him as he was half afraid he might. Once again too, Marty noticed, Dary had taken the situation in stride, and had assumed the lead. Never blaming, not pissed off at him or at Rainer. But it was time to get something clear. "Tell me something; I need to know."

"What?" Dary asked.

"What's that mean to you?"

"What's what mean to me?"

"Being boyfriends. Being my boyfriend. What's that mean?"

"Boyfriends!" Dary said, exasperation sounding in his voice. "You know, like, if you were a girl, we'd be…"

"Yes, that" Marty said, "of course I know that. What does that mean to you, being my boyfriend? Like, besides having sex and sticking up for me."

Dary stared at him dumbstruck, his blue eyes glittering under his dark brows and curls, trying to work his way through these new demands of Marty's. Didn't he understand boyfriends?! Why didn't he get it? Why was Marty always so stupid about some things? It was plain, wasn't it? Boyfriends were boyfriends. His brow crinkled as he thought, face sober and serious for once as he tried to make sense of Marty's obtuseness.

"It means we're first friends, you and me," he replied, slowly. "I'm there for you, you're here for me. All the way man; that's what it means. You before anyone else. I promise."

"When does love come into it?" Marty asked, and Daryl looked taken aback. Is that what this is all about? We're supposed to be in love?!

"When love comes along on a Cupid's arrow," Dary replied, nuzzling Marty's nose and slipping a kiss onto his lips. "We'll know, trust me. You're already my best friend, Marty McKinley. I promise you."

"And mine, Daryl Werland," Marty said, returning the kiss. But he was still mindful of Mairie's warning yesterday, and Dad's this morning. Despite his best effort, he wasn't totally reassured with Dary's answers just now; he needed more time to work through it all. Why did he think there was still something missing between them?

***

They were late arriving at the already crowded beach, and they were forced to wheel their bikes along the boardwalk as riding along it with surfboards wasn't permitted, until they found a free spot on the sand they could claim. Then they had to find space in the bicycle racks for their bikes as they weren't allowed on the beach proper, either. They pulled their boards, folded the board racks and Dary locked their front bike wheels together; New Cumbrians weren't ALL honest, but the more tourists there were, the more sense it made to be prudent about one's possessions.

"I'm hungry," Dary announced, Marty nodded in agreement.

"Let's get lunch first then," he suggested, glancing at his watch. "It's one twenty," he added.

"No wonder," Dary quipped. They laid their boards against racks provided for them and wandered the boardwalk. "Hey," Dary pointed, sun glinting on his arm hair, "that's new! Wasn't here before; wonder what they got?"

Marty followed Dary's pointing finger and spotted a new food purveyor, a bright red and yellow hut with a large brick fire oven. "Looks like pizzas," he remarked as the proprietor pulled a large, long-handled paddle from the oven's depths with a steaming pizza on it.

"I could use some pizza, wanna split some?"

"I only got ten dollars," Marty said, displaying his bill. "This is supposed to last me awhile."

"Let's see how much he wants," Dary suggested, leading the way. As they approached, they recognized Robbie, Joel and twins Colin and Dylan, all from their year at school waiting in line.

"Hey!" Robbie beamed, and the others smiled at them as they approached. "We're just about pool some money and get a pizza and pops; wanna ante up?"

"How much are they?" Marty asked, and Joel nodded his dark head at large sign above their heads.

"Large would do us," he said. "That's 10 pieces, a couple each, and a pop each?"

Large pizzas were twelve dollars, actually a bargain given where they were.

"Single topping," Dary pointed out.

"More toppings cost more, two dollars each," Robbie said. "We figured we'd try one topping one first, see how we like it; then another time get more. Besides, none of us has much money, right?" And Marty suddenly respected Robbie's reasoning. He nodded.

"Fine by me," he said, proffering his ten dollars. "But only my share out of that, right? Don't be using the whole thing, please!"

"Okay, so pay the man your share when it comes time to divvy up," Joel said. "That way you don't get cheated."

"Done."

Two pieces of pizza, one larger and one smaller and a pop for three seventy wasn't a bad deal at all, Marty reflected, as he munched his way through his lunch. Robbie and Joel sat opposite him at the round concrete table, the cement bench hard and cool under his bum as he sat. Watching them clown around and interacting proved instructive to Marty as it became evident with small signs the other two were more than friends. He suspected had he, Dary and the twins not been with them, they might have sitting a lot closer together. He wondered if he and Dary gave off the same signs, which others picked up; it was an interesting revelation, which made him realize no matter how secret he thought he and Dary were being, they may not always be completely secret about themselves.

Robbie caught his eye, smiled slightly at him and winked, nodding toward Joel as if to say, See? We are too! His message was loud and clear, and Robbie smiled again, his head indicating Dary. Marty, disconcerted at having been figured out so quickly, could only acknowledge Rob's hint.

He had the rest of afternoon on the water with the other five boys to wonder and worry about the incident at lunch. Dary was blissfully unaware anything was bothering Marty at all as they paddled, duck dove under the waves, turned and caught rollers in the hot afternoon sun. Marty always followed the others, rarely leading unless by chance he happened to be inside man of the group, and then it was always with a gulp and feelings of trepidation that he set off. But he seemed as skilled as the rest, neither outclassed by any of them, nor outclassing them himself. Once he realized they were all of the same relative ability, he relaxed and enjoyed himself more. It was about time, he reflected; he was getting tired of being so uncertain about himself; about his life here in New Cumbria.

Marty noticed his arms getting browner and browner this summer, he'd always tanned well, legs and arms at the end of summer a deep tan from exposure to the elements. Sometimes he liked to try and even up his torso and back laying in the backyard on a chaise lounge, but this year there seemed little opportunity for that. When Dad was working, Dary seemed to expect him to go surfing with him. When Dad was on days off, he expected Marty to be home with him; doing chores, errands, and sometimes flying. Maybe that was to the good, he reflected, as the boys all prepared for their last run of the day. He had little time to become lonely and alone.

"Ride home with us," Robbie invited, as the boys all changed on the beach after rowdy showers under the cold freshwater heads.

"Which way do you go?" Marty asked, and Joel described their route, Marty not comprehending as he did not know his way around very well yet.

"That way's longer for us," Daryl observed. "We go along Pottinger Lane up to Road Fifty-five, then west."

"So, we'll go with you then," Rob offered, turning to Joel, who shrugged and assented. The twins had already departed.

"Okay, let's roll then," Dary said, pushing his bike along the Boardwalk, the others following. They finally got clear of the crowds on the Boardwalk, edged into the slow moving traffic on Ocean Parade which led to the city, enduring the honks and beeps of impatient drivers when they cut across the four lanes at Pottinger Lane and finally left the beach commuters mostly behind. They all chattered, riding four abreast on the quiet avenue; they hadn't reached Cottage Country yet, and they enjoyed the quiet away from all the people on the beach.

Marty only got an uneasy feeling when Dary turned left off the road, down a familiar path for fifty yards then turned in to a meadow surrounded by trees. Marty recognized this spot, as Dary dismounted his bike and leaned it against a tree. The others, Joel and Robbie, had copied him. Marty sat his bike, balancing it upright with his toes.

"C'mon Mart, let's have some fun!" Dary invited, tugging on his tight tee, finally pulling it off. He stooped to his pack, and pulled his towel, then glanced at his friend. "Come on, aren't you coming?"

"What?" Marty demanded, nonplussed. Surely Dary didn't expect him to strip off and engage with him now, did he?! With Robbie and Joel here too?!

Both of the other boys had pulled their shirts, Rob had opened his shorts, but at Marty's reaction, he stopped, gazing between Dary and Marty with a serious expression.

"Didn't you ask him first?!" Joel demanded of Dary.

"Uh no, I just figured he would," Dary replied, almost nonchalantly.

"I would what?!" Marty demanded, still sitting on his bike, which right now, seemed the safest place to be. He didn't like how the others discussed him as if he weren't right there with them.

"Uhhhh…" Robbie looked between Dary and Marty, then jerked his head at Marty. "You'd better talk to him," he said to Dary, and Joel glanced in Marty's direction with what Marty thought was sympathy on his face.

Dary shrugged and walked to Marty. "Ummmm sorry about this, I shoulda warned ya," he began, but Marty cut across him.

"Warned me about what?! You guys gonna have a group fuck or something?! Is that it, Dary?"

"Well yea, sorta, but only with our own partners. I promised you, you before anyone else. Remember? Besides, there's two more cute guys! You wanted to get to know more guys, didn't you?"

"I don't remember anything about any group fuck, Daryl Werland!" Marty exclaimed, not caring that Robbie and Joel's faces turned toward them. "Nothing like this ever came up before! Why the fuck didn't you tell me?!"

"I fergot. It slipped my mind, I admit it. Sorry," Daryl replied, but his demeanour showed little remorse for Marty's predicament.

"No, I don't think you're sorry at all!" Marty responded hotly. "You just figured you could get me in here with you and them and I'd just go along with it! I don't like that, Daryl! Don't you ever think you can make decisions for me again! Just forget it!" Marty wheeled his bike away from Dary, front wheel catching on a root which nearly toppled him but he finally righted it, kicked a pedal back to place a foot on it, and Robbie spoke up.

"Marty, it's no secret about you and Dary, you know. We've known since you two first showed up." And at that, Marty glared at Dary with a killing look.

"Hey! Don't blame me for this!" Dary defended, putting up his hands. "I didn't tell them nothin'!"

"He didn't have to," Joel finally spoke up. "You see, Marty, we know Dary: inside out. Okay? That you're boyfriends with him is cool! We're cool with it, so should you be. Don't be pissed off with him. Yea, he shoulda told you, but he didn't, so that's that. Forgive him, okay? If you don't wanna play now, today, yea, okay, that's cool too. Maybe another time, huh?"

"Never!" Marty replied hotly. "No fuckin' way. Sex is meant to be private! It's perverted being with everybody else! Christ, and my Dad wanted me to have more friends?!" Marty was sobbing now at the betrayal. "Some friends you guys turned out to be! See ya."

And he rode home alone.

NEXT PART