Westpoint Tales
by Kiwi
A Fragment of Dwayne's Diary
Okay. So, my name is Dwayne. Dwyane Williamson. That's right 'Dwyane' with a D as in Dane with a WY , or Wayne with a capital D.
That's not hard is it? I don't think it is - seems pretty simple to me. But nobody ever gets it right. I get called Wayne or Dane all the time and it annoys the S--- out of me.
On second thoughts, I can say that it annoys the shit out of me. This is my journal and I can say whatever I like - Shit! Shit! Fuck'em. It's not like anyone's ever going to read this.
This is my own personal and private journal for my eyes only. So, if you are reading this, and you're not me, well - BUGGER OFF!
Right. So I'm Dwyane and this is the journal that I'm supposed to write my story in as it will help me to figure out who I am and what went wrong. That's what my touchy-feely counselor says anyway.
So. Who am I? - Me. What went wrong? - Every frigging thing. End of story. That was a short journal, wasn't it?
But, no. I'd better write some more as that didn't help a bit.
Who am I? - Dwyane, no second name, Williamson. My dad says that the only purpose of a kid's second name is so that he knows when he's really in trouble. Then they didn't give me one. Did they think that I was never going to get into trouble? Hah!
I'm 15, 5'7" tall and 140 pounds of studly muscles. I've got wavy white-blond hair and pale-green eyes, but really dark eyebrows - go figure. Actually, the eyebrows are the same color as my pubes. My skin is pinky-white and, thankfully, zitless, even though I LOVE junk food. The nose can get pretty red though, especially when it's cold.
I'm long and lean and trim and a pretty cute package all up. Let's not be modest here, I am gorgeous. Well, maybe.
I've got a really thick dick. It's 13.5cm, or 135mm, which looks longer, and I can barely wrap my fingers around it. Peter said that if it gets any longer, I'll be a donkey-dick. But that's another story.
We live at Fairfield, which is a tiny place - six houses and a pub, and nobody's ever heard of it. I tell people that Fairfield is twelve kilometers north of Westpoint, but no-one's ever heard of Westpoint either. It's on the West Coast - northern west coast.
I live with my parents. They've got a dairy farm - 200 hectares and 430 cows. My Nan, Dad's mother, lives with us too, and my brother Kerry who is 16 and a first-class jerk-off. We do NOT get on and if he ever reads this journal, I'll frigging kill him. Seriously Kerry. (I know all about your Penthouses, your favorite websites and your special sock too.)
Back to me. What else? Oh yeah - I'm gay. There, I said it. I am gay. Well I think I am. Mrs. Touchy-Feely says that it's just a stage that I'm going through, but I think she's full of it. I'm gay. I think. Oh, what the hell, even here I'm confused.
I have been acting like I'm gay. I had a boyfriend - Peter - and we did it. Man! Did we do it! Over and over. And it was great, before it all went to hell that is.
My first day at High School. I didn't get a wink of sleep the night before, just lay there watching the angry red numbers tick over on my bedside clock/radio, for bloody hours. That's not like me, usually I hit the pillow and I'm gone, but not that night; I just couldn't sleep.
The long summer holidays were over and tomorrow it was back to school, and that's a pain. But this wasn't just back to school, this was going to be a new school, a big school, High School, and it was in town even. A whole new stage of my life.
My life so far had been spent in the same small country school at Waimari - 3 classrooms, 2 teachers, about 50 pupils. The senior class was a whole six students, most of whom I'd known all my life, and we were the big kids in a small school.
Tomorrow it would be all turned around. Instead of catching the north-bound schoolbus 6km. to Waimari, I'd be on the south-bound bus, 12km. to Westpoint, and we would be the new entrants - the small kids in a big school.
There must have been three, maybe four, hundred kids in Westpoint High School. Big buggers some of them too - adults in kids clothing. They say that there's a lot of bullies there too. Would I be all right? Would I get picked on? Would I be popular? Would I have a girlfriend? Hell, would I have any friends at all?
My two best friends at Waimari School, the twins, Kevin and Karen, were both going to boarding schools in Christchurch. Lynette and Graham were going to travel into school in their parent's cars as they worked in town. That just left me and dorky Ricky McGee catching the bus into town.
What if I slept in and missed the bus? I supposed that Mum would drive me in, but she wouldn't be happy about it. This was scary and exciting, I had to wake up early in time for the bus, and I couldn't get to sleep.
And then I woke up. The sun was shining, (that's good), and jerk-off Kerry was yelling at me to get out of bed - that's bad. I hate mornings.
I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower. Cold water, some jerk-off had used all the hot. I dressed, ate breakfast and stumbled out to the road out the front to wait for the bus. ("I sit at the back with my mates. You can sit up the front, well away from me.") Suits me - I don't want people knowing that I'm related to Jerk-off anyway.
I sat on the bus with Ricky - well it was someone to talk to - and we went to school. Looking back, it was just a small school really, not even half the size of the boarding school that I'm at now. But at the time, it seemed huge! Big and busy and loud. There were hundreds of kids milling around, yelling and laughing. I stuck to Ricky like he was a life-preserver. Neither of us wanted to be alone in all that chaos.
Eventually we got sorted out and went in to our first class of the day. The teacher started with the standard welcoming speech, then did the roll-call, and then she started on about her plans for the year ahead. In about five minutes I was bored.
I sat looking around at all these new kids, thirty-four of them including Ricky and me. (I counted during the roll-call.) Most of them would be townies, but some, like us, would be country kids from the surrounding district. There seemed to be an even number of boys and girls, and some of the girls were HOT. There were all sorts, some bigger, some smaller, some cute, some dorky looking.
Then it happened. I looked at this kid sitting over at the other side of the room, and he was looking straight back at me. Our eyes met and, Kapow! It was like an electric spark jumped across the room. Suddenly it seemed like we were the only two living people there - the rest were all just lifeless dummies - and he smiled at me. I smiled back, quickly, and then snapped my attention back to the teacher up at the front.
Wow! What the hell just happened there? What was he looking at me for? Was he gay? Was I gay? No! I knew all about sex, about the birds and the bees and all that. I lived on a farm after all - horny animals everywhere doing what nature intended, including the gay behavior of groups of young bull calves.
I knew about it. I'd talked about it, (well you have to), but I'd never done it. I had never even wanted to do it, not really. I'd never felt attracted to anyone like that. But, suddenly I felt - I felt - I didn't know what the hell I felt, but something.
I risked another glance across the room. He was looking straight ahead at the teacher, and he looked good, so cute, and so hot. Whoa! Look at the teacher! Listen to the teacher.
My eyes seemed to have a will of their own and no matter how hard I tried to concentrate on the lesson, they kept glancing back at the kid across the room. A couple of times, I'm sure that he was looking back at me. Well it must have been me that he was looking at, surely not at Dorky Ricky McGee. I'm cute. I'm hot. But I'm not - I am not! Look at the teacher!
The next class we went to, he wasn't there. Lynette was, but she looked right through us like we weren't there either. Bitch. That'll keep. Then, at the recess, (not playtime now, remember that), I was sitting on the steps in the courtyard with Ricky. I was still sticking with my life-preserver, without him I'd be on my own and then I would look like a dork. When who should come along and sit down next to us? Well, obviously, Him.
Cool! Now I'd get to have a close-up look, and close up he looked good. He had short, spiky hair standing up like a blond hedgehog, huge blue eyes, and the cutest little snub of a nose. He had a big, friendly smile - big square teeth with little spaces between them, and the skin of his face was smooth and flawless but covered in a mass of freckles. He was small and thin, a bit fragile looking really, but he was SO cute.
He smelt good too. A sort of minty smell, surely he couldn't be wearing after-shave? He didn't look old enough to be in High School, let alone shaving. Did I mention that he was cute? Not what you'd call handsome or beautiful, but nice, really nice, and friendly and cute.
I guess I zoned out therefore a minute, just studying his face. I was brought back to earth by his hand waving in front of my face, like a windscreen wiper.
"Hello. Anybody home? Hello?"
"Umm. Umm, hello." (Yeah, real smooth talker, eh?)
"Hi. I'm Peter. You were in my geography class. What's your name and where are you from?"
"Uh, hi Peter. I'm Dwyane, Dwyane Williamson. I live out at Fairfield, on the farm and I used to go to Waimari School."
"Nice to meet you, Dwyane-Dwyane Williamson. Fairfield? That's not so far out of town. I haven't seen you around, I'm sure I'd remember."
('What does that mean? Nice eyes, great smile. I like this boy! He's real friendly too. Wake up Dwyane! Don't stuff this up.')
"Yeah well, I haven't noticed you either. We come into town often enough, I suppose, but I haven't seen you around. Do you live in Westpoint?"
And, so it went. By the time the bell rang for the next classes we were chatting away like old friends. We met again at lunchtime and sat together, eating our cut-lunches.
Dorky Ricky McGee was a bit of a problem, hanging around and trying to be included in the talking, but he finally got the hint and left. Not so much of a hint really, I just told him to "Fuck off."
Peter didn't like that much, but I told him that he doesn't know Ricky like I do. That's the only way to get through to him. Hell, we'd never get to be cool if we had a dork for a friend.
That was my first day at Westpoint High. The rest of the day was nothing exciting, just classes. Peter sat with me in English and in Maths, but we couldn't talk much - read, not at all.
I saw him one last time when the schoolbus was going up the river-road out of town. He was walking home with an older girl and he smiled and waved as the bus went past. He's so cool.
It was great to have a new friend in my new school. I couldn't wait to see him again tomorrow. High School was not scary at all anymore. His mum's a teacher too, but just music and stuff, not like a real teacher.
Dorky Ricky McGee didn't want me to sit with him for some reason. He spread his books and stuff out so that they took up the whole two seats. Well, screw him anyway. Not really - but, Peter, I wonder if?
That night, I was knackered. Went to bed early and slept like a log. Didn't even you-know-what. I was up early in the AM and was outside far too early, waiting for the bus. But it was a nice day and with a bit of luck, Jerk-off might miss the bus. That'd be a scream.
He didn't though, worse luck. The bus was running late and he came running out just in time to catch it. Damn!
I left Dorky Ricky McGee sitting on his own, and sat with, and tried to talk to this hot girl who had a spare seat. She didn't want to talk to me, just kept on reading her book and grunting at me. Screw her too. She was really old anyway. Probably about sixteen.
When the bus pulled up outside the school, who should be there waiting to see me? Nobody, that's who. Damn. I was going to have to work on this popularity crap. It shouldn't be too hard. I'm cute, I'm hot - I've just got no mates. Buggrit.
We were late into the first class - bloody bus. Got a nod and a smile from Lynette when I walked in. She's not so bad really. I looked around the classroom and, yes! Peter was sitting there with a spare seat next to him. I rushed over there in case Dorky Ricky McGee saw it too.
Peter picked up his books from the spare seat and grinned at me. When I sat down, he whispered, "I saved you a seat."
Cool, eh? I've got one mate anyway, that's a start.
At the recess, I was walking back to the same place where we were the day before when I saw Dorky Ricky McGee walking past with a couple of real nerdy-looking kids. Well good, at least he'd found some of his own to hang out with. Now maybe he'd leave me - us - alone.
I saw Lynette and Graham as well, but just kept going as it wasn't them I was looking for. Maybe later. Around the corner to the courtyard, and there he was, with books spread out on the step next to him too. Cool.
"Hey Peter, how's it hanging?"
"Wouldn't you like to know."
('Well yes I would actually.')
He said that he was going home for lunch and would I like to come with him? Hell yes. So we did.
It was just a ten minute walk from the school. Nice area too with the river and the estuary just across the road. It must be great to live in town, I never have. When you're stuck out in the country like we are, it's a major to go anywhere. In town, you could walk anywhere, or bike. Hell, Westpoint's not so big - you could bike across it and back in ten minutes. I think. Probably.
Anyhow, we got to his house and it was pretty cool. It was a big, long, one-storied place, cream-painted and tile-roofed. It looked fairly new, a lot newer than the big old barn of a farm-house that we live in.
Peter's house was set well back from the road and they had this huge concrete driveway, probably big enough to put a skateboard ramp in. They had a small paddock on the town-side, his sister, Claire used to have a pony, but it died. They just keep a couple of sheep in there now, to keep the grass down. You couldn't ride on them, though they say that some guys do, if you know what I mean. Nudge-nudge, wink-wink. Gross.
We went in through the front door. It was locked but Peter had his own key. Our house has got four doors but no keys, they were lost years ago.
Peter closed the door and he grabbed a handful of my nuts. He dropped down on his knees, unzipped the fly of my school pants and . . . No. He didn't actually; his father was home so nothing like that happened. Buggrit.
Peter's dad, Face, ('What sort of a name is Face? Weird.') He said, "Hey Peter. Lunchtime already? Who's this with you?"
"Hey Dad. This is Dwyane - Dwyane Williamson. He's come for lunch."
"Dwyane-Dwyane?"
"No, it's just Dwyane actually."
"Oh, okay," (with a grin), Hello Just Dwyane. Let's go and see what we can find in the kitchen.
('Honestly, some people think they're so funny. He seems pretty cool though, for an old guy.')
I had my own lunch, but I left it in my locker back at the school, it'd keep for a snack later. We helped ourselves to sandwiches and a slice of cold pie and went into the living room to eat. We weren't supposed to eat in there - white carpet and everything - but, what the hell. The mother wasn't at home anyway. Peter put some music on. And, Man!, did they have music! - thousands of it, of them? They had heaps of music anyway - CD's, tapes and records, old vinyl stuff. Crap, most of it, but thousands of them. Thousands!
His dad had gone off somewhere, doing whatever dads do when they're not working. We sat at opposite ends of the long couch, then Peter swung around sideways, putting his feet up on the seat, so I did the same.
As we reclined there, eating, Peter bent one leg up and I could see right up the leg of his shorts. Not that I could see much anyway, he was wearing tighty-whities underneath. But I could see that he had a fair-sized package bulging up in there.
I couldn't drag my eyes away. Then I looked up and he was grinning at me - he knew! He knew that I was looking, and he smiled. Did he show that on purpose? Does that mean? Is he thinking what I'm thinking?
So this is what the butterflies in your stomach feel like. I was really nervous but I thought, 'What he hell?', and I put one hand on his bent leg. He didn't say anything, but he didn't move either, so I slid it along a bit, and a bit more, slowly sliding up, (down?), the underside of his hairless thigh.
I stopped there, just holding his leg and feeling the warm, smooth skin. My dick sprung to attention and I was as hard as a rock. Peter said nothing, just kept looking at me and smiling, and then he sort of stretched and pushed himself forward, so I let my hand slide along and around to his crotch.
My fingers brushed the outside of his undies and I could feel his dick. He was hard too, as hard as me. He was big too! Maybe not as big as my own king-sized dick, but pretty big for such a little kid. I stroked him slowly, feeling his package through the underpants, and he just kept on smiling. Then he kissed me!
He sat up, leaned forward and he kissed me - right smack on the lips. Yuck! How girly is that? Boys don't kiss other boys do they? But - what the hell - if that's what it takes to get in his pants . . . He kept on kissing me and I kept on feeling him up.
But, when I tried to slide my fingertips inside the leg band of his tighty-whities, he broke away and stopped me.
"Whoa, Boy," he said, pushing my hand away.
"But, I want to Peter. You do too, you want it."
"Oh yes, I want to." He kissed me again. "But not here, not now."
"Right here, right now." I made another grab for his crutch, but he pushed me away and stood up. Probably just as well too, because his dad walked in right then.
"Have you finished eating, Boys? I'm going uptown now if you want a ride back to school."
('No!! I don't want to go back to school. Bugger school! I want to stay here and finish what we started.')
But Peter said, "Cool. Thanks Dad. We'd better be going or we'll be late."
All the way back to school, Peter was sitting in the front with his dad and I was behind him, looking at the back of his head and his slender little-boy neck. The kid was a tease, a cock-teaser, and my cock was hard again just looking at him.
But he's Soo cute, and he's hot. He was little, but he was ready, like an apple ripe for the plucking, and I was thinking, 'Oh Yes, I am so going to pluck you, Peter Lewis, or something like that.'
We got back to school with a few minutes to spare, so I rushed off to the toilets to take care of some business. Yeah, disgusting, I know, but I had to beat off somewhere or I was going to have a bad case of dickular rigor mortis all day. I really wished that he was in there with me. Then we'd see who could tease whose cock. But, he wasn't. But, someday, somewhere, we would.
I'm going to take a break now, my Journal. Just thinking about this, I've got some more hard business to take care of. At least I've sorted one thing out. Am I gay? Is the pope a catholic? Hell yes!
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