Jarek

by Rigby Taylor

Chapter 27

Developments

Meanwhile, back in the wop-wops, the police investigating Bindi's murder had been as resourceful as Violet, and discovered the probable destination of their major suspects. However, as they had no one qualified to take on a murder investigation and all suspects had left their jurisdiction, they sent a report with all necessary details to the Regional Headquarters, where it was processed and passed on to the correct department in the City. Unfortunately, as the summer holiday season was underway, bringing with it the usual swag of problems from foreign backpackers, wealthy tourists and more southerners than usual, everyone was overworked and stressed. The young detective charged with the case was already embroiled in a confusing and suspicious death on the beach, and everyone's tempers were frayed by heat, humidity, worry about a predicted cyclone, and annoyance that all Christmas and New Year holiday leave had been cancelled.

While the dossier lay unopened on a desk, Jarek and Sebastian were sprawled ten kilometres away on deckchairs, relishing the balmy evening while gazing at the moon and stars.

'There's no TV in your house.'

'No.'

'Mobile phone?'

'Nope. Only landline. You?'

'No. I borrowed a simple mobile for the camps, but normally there's no one I want to phone and I'd hate to be available twenty-four seven.'

'I've a computer, satellite dish and internet.'

'I noticed. So you're aware of all the news.'

'Not usually. You?'

'Too depressing. Porn?

'Occasionally—but very soft.'

Jarek grinned. 'Me too.'

'You said Zeno's the only man you've been sexual with?'

'I did.'

'Did you fuck?'

'No. We were both too shy and nervous. Buggery was the last thing on our minds. We only touched, kissed, stroked and jerked off. That was adventurous enough for both of us, I think. At least Zeno said he wasn't interested in anything else. It probably sounds insipid to you, but it was heaven after…' Jarek paused, wondering how much he should reveal of his unadventurous past.

'After?'

'After Bindi. At first we were only flatmates—sharing rent, but when her boyfriend dumped her she started making subtle insinuations about my manhood. I was very confused, not to say concerned, about my sexuality—masturbator not being the alternative descriptor to either heterosexual or homosexual, although I can't see why it isn't. Anyway, to quell the rumours I screwed her, and ended up being screwed.'

'Did you like it?'

'Not after the first time. Once curiosity was satisfied it was a bore. She didn't care about me. All she wanted was long slow fucking so she could scream and moan in constant orgasms that I reckon were often as faked as mine.'

'How many women have you had?'

'She's the only one.'

Condoms?'

'Always.'

'So you're healthy?'

'Very. I had a check before the camps to make certain I wasn't harbouring any nasties I might accidentally pass on to the kids. How about you? I suppose you've screwed hundreds?'

'No women, so you're ahead of me there. About twenty males. Started when I was fourteen. It was my mother's idea. Don't ask,' he grunted to forestall Jarek's interruption, 'I'll tell you everything one day. Then it all stopped suddenly when I realised I loved my school friend. I've been tested for every known disease and declared impossibly healthy. Reginald, the cleanest and healthiest young man on the planet, is the only person I've had intimate sexual contact with since I was sixteen. So you and I are both pure and clean.' His smile was tinged with nervous sadness.

'How do you fill in your time?'

'I went to an expensive and exclusive private school for boys. Rex, my father, was a teacher there. When the economy crashed, so many parents withdrew their sons that the place was no longer viable and was put up for sale. The government didn't want it and neither did any religion as they all had more schools than they could justify already. My stepmother is a financial wonder and in eight years had increased my already large accidental inheritance tenfold, so Rex suggested I buy the school, set up a foundation to finance it, appoint him principal, and then we could choose the students that suited our curriculum.'

'Which is?'

'In some ways similar to what you were doing with the boys over the last six weeks, that's why I've been wondering if you'd like to teach again. We need a good outdoor education specialist, and you could use this place for camps. It's huge and wild and dangerous. You've had some experience in the wild, haven't you?'

Jarek told Sebastian about his weekends in the National Park.

'Then you're ideal for the job! Please say you'll consider it?'

Jarek laughed. 'You're not supposed to sound desperate. It's an attractive offer, but I don't fancy teaching kids in uniforms with me in a track suit.'

Oh! There are no uniforms, everyone wears whatever they want—teachers too. The school grounds are totally private. The whole place is surrounded by hedges concealing two-metre-high cyclone netting fences. Most kids swim starkers. They'd be pleased if a teacher joined them. You can wear as much or as little as you want for all sports, and in the classroom too if you want.'

Jarek smiled his disbelief. 'How many kids?'

'Several seniors left at the end of the year. Next term there'll be about thirty, I think.'

'In the entire school?'

'Yes.'

'What levels?'

'We don't have levels; they make kids think learning is a series of packages instead of a seamless, continuous process. Every student works at his own pace—that's simple with computers. In every subject area there's a full range of levels from beginner to HSC. Rex has arranged for university and other specialists to be available via video link for any advanced students who need extra tuition or explanation. The tutors get a good hourly rate so there's competition for the work.'

'What's the pass rate in external exams?'

'A hundred percent. Not strange as we only accept super intelligent students who are motivated to succeed scholastically as well as physically, because if they don't put in maximum effort they return to the state school system—and after being at our school that would seem like hell.'

'So you don't have a top student. No Dux and all that malarkey.'

'Exactly.'

'How about sports, are they competitive?'

'Not in the usual sense. Starting a 'ladder' or keeping the scores of other kids is forbidden. Each pupil competes against himself by trying to improve against previous performances. Only ad hoc team games are played, and the scores are not recorded. Organised teams and games mean competition for places, and then you have to compete against another team and it becomes a source of pointless warlike conflict. We have athletics and tennis, archery and self-defence—all those individual sports, but the results aren't recorded. The purpose of sport in our opinion is the pleasure of learning skills and the enjoyment of honing the body into an instrument as fine as the brain. Sport, like intellectual pursuits, should not be a tool for asserting dominance or superiority.'

'Are the kids all local?'

'Only a few. We draw from the whole country. That's why it's residential.'

Jarek sighed. 'Sounds like heaven. What about afterwards? Can they find jobs?'

'They all go on to tertiary education, and the ones who've completed their degrees have all been snatched up.'

'I'd love to teach in a place like that, but will your father want me?'

'When he knows I'm in love with you and will pull the financial plug on the place if he doesn't, he'll come into line. No, seriously, he's as keen to have someone like you as I am. He'll love you, and so will Fee, my stepmother.' Sebastian paused and nervously scrutinised Jarek's face. 'What is it? What have I said? You look unsure?'

'You said you're in love with me.'

'Yes! I am! I believe in love at first sight, don't you?'

'Not until yesterday when you shook my hand and held it for a second longer than normal. Now I can't imagine why I was so happy being alone every weekend in the forest.'

'It amazes me that you did that for two years.'

'Me too.'

'No tools? Not even a knife?'

Jarek frowned, embarrassed, which was odd as he hadn't been shy to show Leon where he kept his knife, nor to produce it. Then he realised why. He wasn't in love with Leon so wasn't worried if he was shocked. Sebastian, though, was too precious to lose. What if he thought it dirty, kinky or obscene? Fortunately for his future, an important truth about love and relationships dawned on him. Both partners must feel free to be themselves, otherwise it won't work. If he was always going to worry about offending Sebastian then he'd be better off alone. With a shy grin and a sigh he described his defence of bullied kids at school with a weapon he'd secreted up his backside.

Sebastian laughed in delight. 'That, I'd love to see!'

'Then watch carefully.' Jarek's arms were but a blur as he squatted then leaped forward pressing a vicious-looking dagger against his potential lover's ribs. The entire manoeuvre had taken less than three seconds.

Sebastian didn't move a muscle. 'I am very impressed,' he said slowly, obviously meaning it. 'Have you been wearing it all day?'

'I never go to new places without it.'

'Is this the one you used to…?'

'The same.'

'Doesn't it get uncomfortable?'

'For the first week or so it did, but now I forget it's there. At first if I lifted anything heavy or farted I risked losing it, but you soon learn to control that. It's a bit like wearing contact lenses I suppose.'

'It looks clean and doesn't stink. Why not?'

'I polish the silver regularly and coat it with hand cream before inserting. That seems to prevent anything except diarrhoea from sticking.'

Sebastian admired the workmanship. 'The handle looks a bit thin, but apart from that I can't fault it.'

'Believe me it seemed quite large enough when I first shoved it up!'

Sebastian sat back on his heels in admiration. 'It's wonderful,' he said with a slow smile. 'I wonder if you'd be averse to me putting my dagger in there from time to time? It's a trifle larger, but I'm sure it wouldn't cause you the slightest discomfort. It might even give a little pleasure, and would certainly give me a lot.'

Jarek pretended to think about it. 'Would I have to remove my dagger first?'

'It would seem prudent.'

'I guess you're right. And after that maybe I can return the compliment?'

'I'm counting on it. Meanwhile it's getting time to retreat and leave the ants to bite someone their own size. Which raises the questions, where did you sleep in the forest, wasn't it cold, and how did you cope with ants and other vermin?'

If it was cold I used sheltered places with more or less flat stone floors on which I'd build a fire to cook my meal, then make a low wall of ash to enclose me. Lying on the warmed stone after a full day looking for food, hiking, climbing, living, meant that sleep came quickly. Creepy crawlies seldom breached the ash barrier.'

'Fires? In a National Park?'

'The resident Ranger and his wife are good friends, I always told them what direction I was heading. They trusted me.'

'You're a wonder. Are you sure you wouldn't sooner hive off into the forest to sleep tonight?'

Jarek's laugh was tinged with the sadness of self-awareness. 'I'm beginning to realise I only did it because I was dissatisfied with my life. There were so many things missing—happiness, contentment, peace of mind, self respect—not to mention love. I blamed myself for my melancholy and imagined the cure lay in becoming a fully natural creature. After all, male kangaroos are mostly solitary. Yes, I know, a ridiculous notion. Perhaps I have a masochistic steak and was punishing myself for not being like everyone else.' He stopped and looked at Sebastian for a few seconds as if wondering whether to continue. Then with a diffident smile he admitted that after meeting Sebastian, the thought of a cold night in the bush didn't appeal at all. 'I've realised that sharing a clean bed with a sexy man who says he loves me is exactly what I was looking for,' he admitted shyly.

A feeling of lightness—of floating—enveloped Jarek. Jarek's innocence, straightforward honesty and unpretentiousness had magically lifted his self-imposed burden of guilt and sorrow. With a sudden short laugh of delight he led the way to the bedroom.

Irma and Amanda had reached the road before realising Violet wasn't with them. A sense of duty forced Irma back to see what had happened. The sound of young men laughing and splashing in the pool prevented her from going too close.

'The silly cow's stuck,' she informed Amanda.' She's hidden behind the hedge, so she'll have to wait till dark to leave by the front.

'Then let's go home. We can come back later to pick her up.'

Relieved at not having to slow down to accommodate Violet, they jogged back to the car. Later, settled in Amanda's lounge with a glass of vodka they giggled like schoolgirls.

'Poor old Violet.'

'Yeah. She's too old for this game. What about you, Irma, do you get much sex?'

Irma couldn't conceal her nervousness. She'd been half expecting this and had her response ready. 'You mean with women? No, I'm not interested in that.'

'Neither am I! I mean with men.'

'Oh! I thought you were a lesbian? You met us at that bar and…'

'No way! Other women's bodies leave me cold. I can't stand those prissy, eager beaver lizzies. They're too bloody serious; demanding marriage rights, having babies and living in domesticated bliss. I only go there to frighten them. They hate it if straights see me because they're trying to prove they're normal; just like everyone else. Silly dykes. Can't they see no one's normal? Everyone's fucked up.'

'Yes... but lesbians keep demanding equality with men, that's good, isn't it?'

'Fuck no! I don't want equality, I want superiority! Men have had the upper hand too long. It's our time now! I want to shove men's masculinity up their bums, let them see they're no use except as a source of cash and pleasure for women.'

'So that's the reason for your campaigns! You're emasculating them.'

'You're not stupid, Irma. And when they feel guilty enough, guess what? They come crawling to be punished. If you haven't enjoyed that, you haven't lived.'

'So it's OK to have sex with men?'

'Only if you're the dominant partner and they're your slaves. Want to try it?'

'How?'

'There's a club in the city, Momma Dommina. It's for women like us and pathetic guys begging to be thrashed. It's too early to go yet, but if you're up to it I'll give a couple of guys a call. It'll keep us occupied till it's time to go and get Violet.'

Irma was terrified; still a virgin at twenty-six because she'd refused to allow herself to be dominated by any man. However Amanda's challenge was clear and she wanted to prove her worth, so she nodded with what she hoped looked like enthusiasm.

The two men lived several kilometres away across town, so the women had plenty of time to prepare before they arrived. Irma nervously put on a pair of Amanda's crotchless leather shorts, a boob-exposing harness, leather cap and high heels, and listened carefully to her hostess's instructions in the art of male abasement. Then she practised with a little whip while Amanda prepared fake handcuffs, a couple of strap-on dildos, a mask and other bits and pieces that might prove amusing. For herself, she wore nothing but the mask, heavy boots and nipple rings. Irma was almost paralysed with apprehension by the time the men arrived.

They were in their thirties. One had a paunch, the other needed a good feed. Neither were fit or looked very healthy. Both were pale and the skinny one smelled unwashed. However, with the curtains drawn and a single red bulb in the standard lamp they looked tolerable and were clearly delighted to have two attractive and athletic younger women to punish them.

Cowering under physical and verbal abuse, they knelt and begged forgiveness, cringing in delight at blows rained on heads and bodies as they stripped and crawled round the room whimpering like dogs as whips stung their sensitive bits. Squirming between their tormenters' thighs, the slaves' tongues worked overtime until their mistresses tossed them condoms and kicked them onto their backs. Astride and squealing in ecstasy, the two women impaled themselves and rode their victims to orgasm.

The excitement and novelty of her first fuck made Irma forget the time. It was so much better than even her largest electric vibrating dildo that she also forgot to collect Violet. Amanda had never intended to remember.

Violet, exhausted beyond anything she could ever have imagined, had literally staggered the last hundred metres to Amanda's house, let herself in during the final noisy episode, and sank, all reserves depleted, to the floor in a corner, too horrified to look, too curious to look away.

Lusts satiated, Irma and Amanda climbed off the men and told them to fuck off. They laughed, collected their clothes, said to call them any time, dressed and left, unaware of Violet huddled in the corner.

As the door closed, Violet let out a long wail of pent up misery, horror and despair. Amanda and Irma froze in shock. Amanda turned on the overhead light, saw Violet keening and tearing at her hair, and slapped her viciously across the cheek. She stopped and began to sob. Irma sat beside her and apologised for not coming to pick her up, but Violet wasn't listening. Amanda brought a tumbler full of what looked like water and told Violet to drink it. Her thirst being so acute, Violet downed the vodka in one go, then leaped to her feet as if her throat and chest were aflame. Eyes popped. She grasped her throat. Whispered, 'You've poisoned me,' and collapsed.

Amanda dragged on a pair of jeans, shoved a bottle of vodka into her pocket and drove her two guests back to their motel where she guzzled while Irma put a comatose Violet to bed.

Appetites aroused by the recent experience, Irma was impatient to go to the club, but Amanda, who was a short of cash, had lost interest.

'Come on, Amanda,' Irma pleaded. 'It's far too early to go to sleep. Anyway, I'll never sleep! This afternoon was fantastic. Take me to Momma whatsername's! My shout.'

Amanda never turned down a free ticket to anything, and Irma seemed to be loaded so they returned to her house, showered, put on leather gear and heavy makeup, and spent the rest of the night in an orgy of whips, moans, fucking and torturing every pathetic male who'd let them—and there were a surprising number.

After three hours, Violet woke with a dreadful headache. A wave of nausea sent her scurrying to the toilet where she dry heaved till her throat was aflame. After a long drink of chlorinated tap water that increased her nausea she sat on the bed and attempted to think. The pain and semi-paralysis due to overworked muscles after such a long walk, convinced her she had been poisoned and was about to die. The thought calmed her. At that moment death seemed preferable to her present state. However, if she was going to die she'd bloody well drag the others down with her.

Taking pen and paper from her bag, with a supreme effort she managed to write in her usual neat script an apology to Stephen for her failure as a wife and lover. She made no excuses, knowing in her heart there were none. Her confession of regret for assisting Irma to drown Bindi in the bath, also lightened her burden of guilt. After folding the letter and placing it on the table, she offered a prayer to her god, begging for mercy when he sat in posthumous judgement. After popping all her remaining valium tablets from their foil, she crushed them to a powder in a tumbler, topped it up with vodka, gave it a stir, tossed the lot down and sagged onto her back on the bed, gazing up at the ceiling.

As her eyes closed a guilty smile twitched her lips. She knew she couldn't kill herself with valium—she'd just fall asleep and wake hours later feeling better. It was a token gesture; a way of showing god she understood she'd been a bad girl and had repented. In the morning she'd tear up her silly confession, renounce revenge, and try to make it up with Stephen—she should be able to get him away from the clutches of that scrawny old woman she'd seen him with. At this point Violet's thinking stalled. Consciousness began to slip away. She retched, this time successfully, spewing foul-smelling goo. Mentally aware but physically unable to move, Violet drowned in her own vomit.

Jarek and Sebastian's sexual delights differed from Irma and Amanda's in that theirs excluded pain and dominance, concentrating instead on gentle caressing while learning how to please their lover; desiring only that the other should experience the greatest enjoyment and satisfaction possible. Neither could derive pleasure from administering or receiving pain—that emotionally damaging and spurious solution to impotence advocated by foolish men who imagine that sex without strings is all they need for happiness.

Being physically and mentally fit, delighting in their own wellbeing, contented with their abilities and secure in their masculinity, they had no need to trample on others to feel superior. They didn't even want to feel superior. They wanted to share their lives with an equal.

A few kilometres away, Stephen and Chloe's lovemaking was very similar, and so was that of Zeno and Cador. Each dedicated to the delight of their lover; each having their love returned with interest.

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