I had, so far, grown up in suburban Sydney in Australia. My name is Gerry Hanley, and I am 15.
Then, a life-changing event happened.
I had an Uncle, one of those who were no relation but instead had been teenage friends of mother and father, and you always called them Uncle and Aunty.
He was a favorite of mine, also being my godfather and one who always came up with interesting presents for birthdays and Christmas, a well as being interesting, very successful in business and a very welcome visitor to our humble house, which was so different to the one that he lived in, a veritable mansion.
Well, Uncle Jim called one evening and the adults were in deep and meaningful conversations of which I could only overhear parts most of which I did not understand till all was explained by mother later.
It appears that Uncle Jim had purchased a farm property on the outskirts of Sydney, it had been a horse stud owned by a famous bookmaker, but he wanted it to be a dairy farm, and furthermore, he wanted my father to manage it. It means Dad had to give up his boring government job where security was guaranteed but any financial well-being was impossible. It would mean selling our house, and investing that money, as the farm had a two-bedroom cottage for the manager, which would be rent-free.
For Uncle Jim, the farm would just be a hobby, one he envisaged to be a very profitable one, but for my father and the family, it would be a whole new life as never before.
After many hours of discussing the pros and cons, my parents decided to take up the offer, to us kids it sounded like an amazing adventure.
It was, and it wasn't.
100 acres was a small farm out in the country, but in an outer suburb of Sydney, it was a very expensive piece of real estate. It consisted of a large impressive house for my Uncle, his wife, and their two kids and a plain brick cottage for us, not that different in size from the house that we had been living in, except that our own backyard was very small, just an area for the chooks, of which we had about12, so plenty of eggs, which we shared with our Uncle .. Uncle Jim had a daughter my age and a son, Sean, a few years younger, and a very boring bossy wife who did not like me nor me her. Having been born naughty, I had introduced the young Sean to little games in the bedroom on our many visits to their previous house over the past few years, but their kids were now going to go to boarding school so would only be at the farm during their holidays. They had one saddle horse each and were very jealous of sharing them. After the forced chore of teaching me and sis to ride, the horses were afterward considered off-limits.
So now it was going to be just me and my boring little sister, She happened to also be Daddy's pet, who could do no wrong, unlike me who was always doing wrong, according to him. Needless to say, we were expected to help out on the farm. If I had previously thought that mowing the lawns with a mechanical mower was the pits, I soon found out that working in a dairy was a thousand times worse. As soon as, the cows were tethered in their allotted stall and the milking gear attached, they thought it was time to shit, so most of the time what you were doing was shoveling it, and washing down the area.
The farm itself fascinated me and I would roam the paddocks endlessly, lost in my own world. The cows I did not mind even though they were all stupid, the calves I quite liked, but they were also stupid. The Friesan bull was interesting and I often stroked his head through the rails of his yard, but no way would I go inside, he weighed a ton but had a nose ring so he could be controlled.
My main fascination, though, was the two broodmares that had remained unsold at the previous clearance sale and so remained on the property now owned by my Uncle. One of the mares, was a well-bred named Wellmead, by Ajax, but she had given birth to twins so was considered useless, as twins were never any good as racehorses, whilst the other mare, Mary Jane, was very unfashionable being of staying stock and in foal to a not so successful New Zealand sire of stayers, Finis. I thought that racehorses were majestic creatures, as I still do today.
In fact, the whole horseracing industry was becoming a fascination for me. My Uncle had no such interest, although the thought of owning a Melbourne Cup winner appealed to him, more socially and financially rather than from any passion for the industry, so one day he created what was to become a lifetime dream for me. As an owner of broodmares, Inglis the major horse agents sent him the catalog for the next Yearling Sale, of which he had no interest, so he gave it to me. I treasured it and studied it marking all the lots that I thought were interesting on their breeding. On Sunday before the sale began they had a parade of the select lots, so I went to watch in awe To me, they were all magnificent, but I added an extra cross to the ones I thought were the best, finally selecting my Top 6. Then I watched the papers when the new two-year-olds began to gallop in trials. I only ever saw two of them, the others had either gone interstate or overseas or were not good enough to race. One of them, a chestnut colt by Jambo, out of Seros, had been bought by Sydney's leading trainer, T.J.Smith for 1600 guineas,, and was later named Movie Boy..He was a potential champion, but as a three-year-old, after winning the two lead-up classic races, and just before the third for which he was the odds-on favorite, he broke his leg in a track gallop and had to be put down.. I was devastated.
As we had been used to attending the Church of England at our previous home, it was automatic that I had to go to the new Church up on the hill from our property. Most of the kids my age were very boring, way too religious for me. There was one exception, Walter, who only went there to check up on the girls, with evil intent. He was my kind of boy, so we became instant friends, although Mother was not impressed with him when I brought him home one day, How can they always suss out the naughty ones?. That did not deter me, I just never took him inside the house, instead, we went down to the hay shed, which was far better anyway, totally private and perfect for naughty games. The first time I took Wally, as he preferred to be called, to the hay shed we lay on some lucerne bales and talked bullshit. Wally offered me a cigarette, no way was I going to admit that I did not smoke, so I took it and had my first cigarette, not drawing back just blowing smoke, but he did not notice. Now it was my turn to corrupt him.
Wally was saying that the hay shed was a great place to bring girls, so the subject of sex came up as it often does with boys in their early teens, we were both 15 at the time, and I was constantly horny. Not being very experienced in the art of seduction, everything was very basic and crude. I said I needed to have a piss as I wanted to havw=e a look at Wally's cock, and Wally said that he needed one too. So just standing side by side, we pulled them out and pissed on the dirt floor of the shed. I had a good look at his and he at mine.
Wally commented,"Wish there was a girl here to play with this," whilst stroking his gently, totally without inhibition. I was just watching him and getting hard very quickly. When Wally saw what was happening he grabbed my cock, so I quickly started playing with his. Masturbation was all I had discovered at this stage of my life, so that is what we did, spilling our seed across the floor where we had earlier pissed, boy games!
Why do mares always seem to foal in the early hours of the morning? Well, Mary Jane certainly did, as my Uncle excitedly informed us one night. He, my father the Vet, and I camped out in the paddock where she was, up near my Uncle's place. It was cold and quite wet. She had quite some difficulty in foaling and it took hours. I was fascinated and immediately fell in love with the young colt that was born. It took him some time to stand up without falling over, whilst his mother licked him all over, while he had his first feed of mother's milk.
I looked after him exclusively as he grew up and later on whenever he came back to the farm to spell. He was the most important thing in my life for years, even though the little bastard nibbled [bit] me repeatedly on the fleshy part of my upper arm whenever I was leading him in or out of his stable.
Two years later he was sent off to Rosehill trainer Maurie Anderson to train. Finishing a long last in his first trial, the trainer sacked him and told my uncle to have him gelded as he was too 'colty' [fancying the girls]. So he was gelded and he came home for a long rest, feeding on grass in the paddock and hard feed in his stable, always groomed by me. It was the only thing I ever wanted to do on the farm, apart from roaming the paddocks and having an illicit cigarette, or doing naughty things in the hay shed, both far from prying eyes.
Later. he was to go back to Rosehill, this time to a young trainer, no doubt charging lower fees than Anderson had. This time Stay to Win, as he was called, was much more successful winning a string of races, often at big odds. I still looked after him whenever he came back for a spell, and he was just as naughty as ever.
As I continued to attend my old school I now had to travel one hour each way. Wally had a job in the city as an office boy so we usually traveled together in the mornings but came home separately in the afternoon. The trains were always packed in like sardines. One afternoon coming home I was standing near the open door, with the cool wind blowing in, my favorite position, but this time quite cramped against a young guy. He was about my age but not that attractive, in fact, he had considerable facial acne. His full-length overcoat was unbuttoned all the way down the front, and in the crush, my arms were often inside his coat. I was soon gently touching the front of his trousers. He did not mind and he too was soon groping me. No one else could see us, also the coat was perfect camouflage for our arms and hands. When the train got to Pendle Hill, he got off, and I never saw him again.
Ever since we moved to the farm some of my mates at school wanted to visit me there. This Sunday my friend Barry was coming to visit. I met him at the station and we walked the 20 minutes up the hill to our house. I took him inside, introduced him to Mother and we had a cool drink after our hot walk. Then it was out to the farm. First I showed off our future champion racehorse. I warned Barry that he was a bit naughty and sometimes bites, but Barry kept a careful distance, only giving him a cautious pat when I had hold of the colt's head. Then I introduced him to Fred the bull, he was happy to give his head a good scratch but that was through the fence, same as I did.
It was hot outside so we went into the relative cool of the hay shed. and relaxed lying on the bales. Barry and I regularly played games at school, in the classroom, in any secluded corner, and once in the showers after gym..so it was only a matter of time before we started to do things here, and the cooler hay shed was the perfect place. It started, as usual, with mutual groping, we quickly rose to the occasion then zippers were undone and the little monsters removed. As we played, Barry shocked me.
"Have you ever had it sucked?" he asked.
"No way, that is disgusting.' I answered, truly shocked that anyone would do such a thing.
"It is fantastic, I work at the Butchers on Saturday mornings, and the apprentice showed me, do you you want to try?".as he said this he started to put his head down there, but I pushed him away. I could not imagine anything so awful and dirty. Barry just smiled, no doubt feeling sorry for me and amazed at me being too scared to do it, after all, that we had done together, often in very dangerous places. so we stuck to the manual method, as per normal, soon over, just physical relief. I was satisfied, whilst Barry was amused, and no doubt disappointed.
We continued to just wander around the farm, Barry joined us for lunch, and later in the afternoon I walked with him back to the station for his trip home, but not before another visit to the hay shed where he again implored me to try tt but to no avail..However, he had sowed the seeds and I began to wonder what it did feel like.
Back at the old house, I had started to breed budgerigars, with the money I got when I sold them I had bought a trio of Silkies here at the farm, and was anxiously awaiting the first chicks to be born. I intended to show them at the local agricultural shows, and of course to sell the offspring to make money.
My chicks weren't yet old enough to show, so I entered the cock I had bought and the better of the two hens, in the local show at Blacktown. Things were going to happen there that weekend to change my life. The first thing started out very innocently, I needed to go for a piss, an occasion that I usually welcomed as I quite liked looking at whatever scene there was. in such places. At the rather basic facility, there was a row of cubicles along one wall and a long crude concrete urinal along the other wall. As usual, I stood at the urinal waiting for anyone interesting to join me. not that I would do anything if they did, just look, rather enviously, at what they had in their hand. A few did enter but all, after walking towards my end, would go into one of the cubicles. I heard some strange noises and my sixth sense recognized something was out of the ordinary, so I went to investigate. I approached the nearest empty cubicle and tentatively pushed open the door and went inside, The first thing I noticed was that there was a gaping hole in one wall and I could see someone sitting in the next cubicle. Instinct took over and I dropped my pants and sat on the toilet seat even though I had no need to do so. I was fascinated as I could see the guy next door playing with his erect cock, I watched in awe and quickly became aware that the guy was watching me also, so I flashed mine as well. He quickly motioned for me to stand up and put n through the opening. I quickly did so and could soon feel his hand and fingers stroking me. Then I knew what was going to happen next, even before it did..
He leaned forward as if he was just looking at my cock and the next thing I was engulfed with sensations that rippled through my body. The guy was sucking my cock. Now I knew what Barry was talking about and why he was so disappointed that we had not done it. It did not take very long and I felt the oncoming explosion about to happen. I did not know what to do, should I pull away from him or not? So I did nothing. I had been experiencing regular orgasms since just before my 12th birthday but never had I ever experienced anything like this one. I was completely shattered/ I quickly redressed and left. During the remainder of the afternoon, I was tempted to return but was too afraid to do so.
My Silkies did not win but I got a 3rd place certificate and ribbon for the Cock and a Highly Recommended for the Hen. The only other thing of note was that I bought a charity raffle ticket
[$1],, for a 2-year-old Pacing Filly.
At home the next day something happened that was destined to change my life, now at 17, for both the better and the worse!
The telephone rang, I answered it.
"Can I speak to Gerry Hanley, please?"
"Speaking," I answered.
"I am pleased to inform you that your ticket in our raffle has won 1st Prize, You are now the proud owner of a 2-year-old pacing filly by Sydney Ayr. You can collect her from her breeder at Kellyville."
Whilst horseracing was my passion of the moment I was more than happy to consider owning a champion pacer instead for the time being. Little was I to know just how much there was between owning a horse and winning a race.
So the first thing to do, after bringing my filly home to the farm. was to go to The Trots, as they were known, and find out what all this was about.
The following Friday night, I went to Harold Park. I only had $10 in my pocket so just a couple of very small bets was what I intended. The amazing new spectacle of racing under lights was one that wowed me instantly. Not only did I find it exciting, I also enjoyed beginner's luck and kept picking winners, probably the worst thing that could have happened. By the last race, I had increased my $10 to almost $50. The final race had a very short-priced favorite, at even money. I thought that it must be a certainty, so I stupidly had $40 on it, then watched it break into a gallop just as it was taking the lead in the home straight and a win was assured, it finally came 5th, so I lost my money, and I learned my first lesson about betting on The Trots.
One of the regulars told me that to punt on The Trots you must follow the gymkhanas. These were trials held every Sunday, at suburban showgrounds, no betting just where the trainers got their horses ready to race. So the following Sunday, I was off to the Bankstown Showgrounds for my first Gymkhana experience and a day that was to have great significance on my life going forward, a day when I would fall in love for the first time in my life. There was one vast difference between the gallops and the trots. At the gallops all the partici[ants were professional, some small, some big, and some better than others. However, at the Trots, it was common for just about anyone to own, train and drive their horse. The percentage of trainers and drivers who were full-time professionals were probably less than half.
I was watching the races, not knowing any of the horses. but still enthralled by the racing action, and amazed at the speed differential as backmarkers sped around the field in just 100 metes or so. I was watching from a dirt banking just past the winning post. A bit further one I was fascinated to watch a young boy, maybe 16 or 17, holding court, so to speak. a group of 15 or so men were grouped around him, listening to him as if he was the most amazing oracle as he was confidently giving his impression of some of the horses that raced. I was curious to know who he was. Both as for why he was being given so much respect and also because he was such a spunk. He was so alive as he spoke that it gave me goosebumps. Maybe not that well-educated but with so much style and confidence, that further impressed me. One of the bystanders told me when I asked, that he was Darren Stacey, son of Sydney's undisputed king of trainers, who trained almost all of the current champions, in fact, he had won both the trainers and drivers championships at Harold Park for the past 8 years.
I went home and all I could think about was watching the so spunky Darren, I was in love, or was it just lust?
That was it, Frank Tracey was going to train my filly. I had never been shy, so it was all or nothing. I did not know if Darren was still going to school, so decided that Saturday morning would be the most opportune time to go and see Mr, Tracey. I knew that he trained his horses at Granville Showgrounds and I assumed that, school or not, Darren would be there to help.
Saturday could not come quickly enough. Every night I had fantasized about Darren and had dreamed of many different possible ways things could play out.
I was quite nervous approaching Mr. Tracey when the time came. I had already seen Darren taking a pacer out onto the track for a trial with 6 others. His father lent on the railing, watching the trial. When it was over I. introduced myself, told him about winning the filly, and asked if he would train her for me, having zero understanding that that was not the way it was done, Pre- training always came first. It is a long slow process the first time in, a bit like breaking in a galloper.
He recognized that I was a novice but he was very kind even though I was interrupting his training of 60 horses. He suggested that I take her to his eldest son's place at Menangle for the first stage and when and if she progressed enough she could be transferred to him here at Granville.. It was a sensible solution but it meant that Darren would not be involved. I agreed to do that. At this stage after bringing the horse he had been driving in the trial back and handing him over to a strapper, Darren had come up to his father to report on the horse's performance. I was impressed hhow Mr. Tracey seemed to respect Darren's opinions. Then he made my day by introducing me to Darren and telling him about me winning the filly.
"The only thing I ever seem to win is a kick up the backside," said Darren, jokingly. He then made my day by suggesting I go with him to watch the next horse being saddled up for the following training trial. He was doing PR, as I suppose I was a new stable client, even though we were about the same age. Because of the age thing we were able to chat freely although of nothing of importance. Still thinking and scheming, I tried to find some common ground, so I asked him if he played squash, my new and favorite sport at that time.
"'Yes, but I have no one to play with. I tried with a few from the stable but they can not even hit the ball." he said, and sent my heart racing into overtime.
"I'll give you a game, just tell me when you want to play?"
"Tuesday night is always a dead one, so that would be best.""
I promised to book a court at Parramatta and let him know what time I would come and pick him up.
I never do anything by halves, so when I left Granville I immediately drove to the new Olympic squash courts in Parramatta. and instead of just booking a court for the next Tuesday, I went all the way and made it a 13-week permanent booking, paid in advance, a half-hour at 7.30 every Tuesday, just praying that our one time would be repeated. I was already dreaming of the changing rooms, undressing, and naked showers, it was all I could think about.
The only thing that scared me was if one of us was way better than the other. The best solution was if we were evenly matched, or maybe me just a little bit better as that would earn respect.
If Darren had any idea of the things I dreamed of doing to/with him in the showers at Olympic, he would start running now. Fortunately, he had no idea, and they probably would not eventuate anyway?.
The following day, Sunday, this week's gymkhana was at Fairfield Showground. Darren welcomed me, almost as an old friend which made my head buzz, and he introduced me to his elder brother, Jamie. We discussed arrangements about my filly and Jamie organized to come and collect her the following Wednesday. He would bill me at the end of each month.
I watched as Darren drove three winners. That excited me enormously, I even thought of cheering but they were only trials after all. Darren's drives were being assessed by the stewards so he could get enough points to start driving in real races. He then has to win 4 races at provincial and/or country meetings with no adverse steward reports to get an 'A' ; license, and be allowed to drive in the city at Harold Park, his immediate aim in life. However driving one of hod father's young square gaiters, she was headed for an easy win but broke into a gallop, Darren lost his cool and used the whip heavily, not allowed at gymkhanas, so maybe no signature from the stewards today?
Tuesday eventually happened and I was outside the Tracey stable complex in Granville at 7.00. I sat for a few minutes wondering if I should .go in ask for Darren. I did not have to, as he soon walked out, dapper in his tight-fitting blue jeans, carrying a small bag, and a squash racket. He looked immaculate and my heart jumped. His own racket did not augur well, I hoped that he would not thrash me and as a result think I was useless?
I drove to the squash center, parked nearby, and Darren and I walked in with our bags. Now I was getting nervous, the big moment was only minutes away.
Minutes later we were standing side by side in the change rooms, just in our jocks. Darren's body was amazing, with no false gymnasium-fed muscles, just strength from a lifetime of hard physical work, as a result perfectly toned muscles on the most perfect body I had ever seen. Nowhere was he too big, or too small. Well, so far I had not seen the magic muscle but I was certain that it would be wonderful too. That I would take on trust. Darren was shorter than me by a couple of inches, but I did not mind, as it just made him cuddlier! We dressed in our squash gear and went to our allocated court. Darren was relieved that it was not a glass-back court, which showed the first chinkt in his armor, he was self-conscious. To cut a long story short, we were quite evenly matched but I probably had more experience and a bigger range of shots including my lobs which he could not handle so I stopped playing them, so as not to embarrass him.
At the end of our half-hour, we were both exhausted, we had run and laughed a lot, a very enjoyable experience. At the counter, we both drained large cups of a mix of icy cold Staminade and orange juice and had to cool down before we hit the showers. That came about eventually and the tormenting strip tease began. Darren showed zero inhibition and was stripped off completely within minutes no doubt as a result of working and living with so many stable hands at his father's complex. I tried not to look but could not help but do so, perfection personified. I had also stripped naked and we walked to the shower complex, eight open-fronted shower booths, four on each side facing each other, skimpy plastic curtains hanging down in front of each, most in need of repair.
Darren took a middle shower on the left, and I immediately took the one directly opposite. He pulled the curtain across, but it hid nothing, and I could not keep my eyes off him, trying hard not to be looking any time he looked across to me. We talked and soaped at the same time. He gave his beautiful genital set a thorough soaping and I almost swooned. We finished and toweled ourselves, Darren wrapping his towel tightly around his waist, which left an enticing mound at the front. I left my cubicle at the same time and I attempted to orchestrate a slight bump as we exited the shower aisle. Perhaps the back of my hand grazed ever so slightly that magic mound, but it was not enough for him to notice, although it was enough to send an electric shock right through my body.
We dressed slowly, he more so than me, as we had nothing else planned. I was seated, putting on my socks, when Darren dropped his towel to pull his jocks on, his full set was just a few inches from my face. I stared at it in all its beauty.
Fully dressed we exited.
""What do you have planned?" I inquired.
"Nothing to do, Tuesdays are always dead," he replied.
"Fancy a flic?"
"Why not, what's on?"
Parramatta had two cinemas, the smaller one, The Civic, was only a block, 5 minutes away. So we tossed our bags in my car and walked around to see which film was on tonight. It was Some Like it Hot with Tony Curtis and Jack Lemon. Neither of us had seen it and t was due to start in a few minutes so we agreed instantly, bought tickets and entered the cinema. We selected seats towards the rear in a less crowded section. The film was hilarious, a perfect choice. We both laughed continuously and enjoyed it enormously.
After the cinema, I drove Darren home, we were constantly talking about scenes from the film and laughing again at their memory. It had been a perfect first night out together. I parked in front f his place again but Darren made no attempt to get out and go inside, something that made me ecstatic. We wound the car windows down and enjoyed a smoke, and another smoke, as we explored each other's life. He was the son of a champion trotting driver and expected to emulate him, me a young executive supposedly on the way up. We were worlds apart but at this moment very together, very relaxed in each other's.company.
From this moment on, Darren filled my constant thoughts. I always knew how many days there were till I saw him again, and my dream fantasies were wonderfully erotic. The only problem was that Darren was completely hetro, his main interest in life apart from the Trots, was girls. To remain his close friend I had to play along although I never lied about my interest in them, which was zero. If I had told him that my only sexual interest in life, was him, I would never see him again. So we even went to dances together but even though he tried very hard he never seemed to able to pick any up. No idea what I would have done if he did?
It was at a Sunday Gymkhana, Fairfield again, that a new opportunity arose. Darren was driving a new colt that I had not previously heard of in one of the season's first two-year-old trials. It was called Great Tiger. I assumed that it was one of his fathers. The colt was very flighty in the warm-up but jumped quickly from the start and led them a merry dance, winning by an impressive five lengths. After the race, I asked him about it and he told me that it was from the bush, owned and trained by a bus driver from Lithgow, and he wanted Darren to drive it in the upcoming Golden Tiara at Bathurst. Racing had its big money Golden Slipper for 2-y-o racehorses, and the Trots had its Golden Tiara for pacers.
Darren was undecided. "Long way to go in the train," he said as it was probably a five or six-hour journey.
"I'll drive you there, we can stay over and come back early Sunday morning. You must take it, he looks sensational." I implored, already contemplating the alluring overnight stay.
"Maybe." he said, but I could see he was weakening. To win the $200,000 Tiara would be an enormous achievement for a 17-year-old novice driver, even with his almost royal breeding. It was lso one of the few major races that his father had not yet won.
Later that day he told me that he had accepted the drive, so my planning was to begin immediately.
"I'll book a hotel for the Saturday night then," I quickly confirmed as if to lock it all in."Bathurst is sure to be all booked out."
Monday morning and my first priority was to book a hotel in Bathurst for that Saturday a fortnight from now, for one night, wishing it was for one week. Of course, I booked a double room, I would tell Darren that was all that was available and hoped he would not make me sleep on the floor. Even the thought of just sleeping with him was a monster turn-on, It would be a case of counting the days. At squash the following night I told him I had made all the arrangements, we would leave after breakfast on the Saturday morning. From that day on, it was all that I could think about.
After squash, and again being mesmerized by his perfect body, we went to check on which film was now on at The Civic. It was still Some Like it Hot, held over by popular demand. Too lazy to walk to the other cinema, The Ritz, we went in to see the same film again, laughing just as much as the first time, knowing what was coming next, just seemed to make it funnier.
The day had come, and we were off to Bathurst for the heats of the Tiara. Qualify and we would be back again for the Final, the following Saturday, just a formality as far as I was concerned I would confirm a booking for the hotel for that week too, as soon as we knew for certain. Two nights sleeping with my boy was putting me in a euphoric state, I just hoped nothing stupid I did would ruin it. Slowly, slowly, I had two weeks, two bites of the cherry, so to speak!
The drive was noneventful. Darren was fairly quiet as he contemplated what was ahead of him. To win the Tiara at what would only be his 4th drive in a real race, would be a dream come
true. But first. they must qualify for the final by finishing in the first 2 in his heat. There were to be 4 heats, 8 to contest the final. I was quiet too, but for totally different reasons, I was scheming, as if my life depended on it.
We stopped along the way for lunch, arriving at Bathurst mid-afternoon. Darren wanted to have a look at the track as he had never been here before. We walked a full circuit of the tack, Darren took careful note of the corners, not happy with the lack of banking on the bends.
"Three wide around these bends and you run an extra fifty meters." he said.
"First out, first home," I said, rather simplistically.
"Maybe." he replied.
When the race came around, that is exactly what he did. One crazy driver tried to take him on but lost so much ground on every bend he was a spent force when they came into the home straight. The race was almost an identical copy to that gymkhana run. As everyone had seen his form I expected him to be a short-priced favorite but he was at surprisingly good odds of 8/1, as Darren was still an unknown, and untested driver even with his surname. So, I had no trouble earning my petrol money.
Even though we were both still underage we celebrated with a few beers in a quiet corner of the showground bar. A few of the regular punters up from Sydney recognized Darren and bought beers for us as well, so we finished up having a few more than was originally intended. As usual, Darren was checking out the girls, most of whom were old and ugly, except for one who was obviously with her father and i knew given any encouragement, Darren would be over there introducing himself. A constant problem for me whenever I was out with Darren. Then Leo, the owner/trainer of Great Tiger arrived, bubbling over with excitement, and he also bought us a round of drinks thus delaying further our departure.
When we finally got back to the hotel, I think Darren was too drunk to even notice the lone double bed. If not drunk, then quite tipsy, and very relaxed. I think the stress of the drive and its importance had got to him, and now he was unwinding..
"Do you want a shower?" I asked.
"Too fucking tired." was his answer, "the morning will do."
That suited me and I started to undress. Darren hesitated for a while, which scared me, but then he too stripped off. We climbed into bed just wearing our jocks. I claimed the right-hand side, Darren did not seem to care. We laid there in silence, side by side. I raved on about Darren's perfect drive, declaring that a win in the final was a formality though we both knew it was not.
I was as horny as hell, lying beside the boy I dreamed about, both of us almost naked. Not for the first time Darren ruined it.
"If that girl from the bar was here now then it would be perfect."
Hell, I thought it was perfect as is. So it was now or never?
"Then you will just have to imagine that she is, and she is stroking your cock." I said, whilst very lightly grabbing his cock and moving up and down a couple of times. I expected a quick 'fuck off' but instead he shocked me.
"Keep doing that and you will get sticky fingers?"
Did that mean I could? I had fully expected to get thumped. So I grabbed it again, this time a little harder, and said." then you will just have to do it yourself."
No answer, so I did it for the third time and said, "you really are horny tonight."
"I always am. If you are going to do that you may as well do it properly." and then he really did shock me, as he pulled his jocks down to his mid-thighs and suddenly I had his hot flesh in my hand. I could not believe it but I was not going to waste the situation. so I began to stroke him vigorously, with no playing around before he changed his mind. I really worked at it, thinking of going down on him but too scared that it would freak him out. Straight boys do wank each other off but only a gay would suck a cock, or so I thought.
It did not take that long and he exploded everywhere, over him and over me. Then he jumped up out of bed and shouted, "Shit!" he screamed and ran to the bathroom. I did not know whether the exclamation was because of the mess on his body or the realization of what we had just done. Then I heard the shower running but feared what his attitude would be when he returned. I timed the change over perfectly and passed him on his way back to bed with my exit to also have a shower. I stayed there a long time, wary of what his reaction would be back in bed? I should not have worried, he was fast asleep. when I returned. So I crawled in, careful not to wake him, and cuddled the pillow pretending it was him I slept dreamlessly and very contentedly.
In the morning not a word was said about the previous bed happenings, and business was as normal. The drive home was happy and carefree with both of us singing strange accompaniments to the various tapes I had in the car. We were still best of mates, and now I could look forward t next Saturday night, I wondered what would happen. If he did not win I am sure he would be as grumpy as hell.
At squash, on Tuesday I was careful not to overdo the checking out of his wonderful body, as I was sure that by now he would be having doubts about me, though he showed as if all was just the same between us, and no alternative was mentioned to me driving him up for the final and again staying over. I could not wait.
We were back again at the Bathurst Showground. This time i could see that Darren was as nervous as hell, so I tried not to bug him, as he could get quite stroppy when he was uptight. He went straight to check on the condition of Great Tiger, I just tagged along, staying in the background. Then I left him to it and became a poor lousy punter once more. I backed a few losses which made me angry as it reduced how much I could have on the Tiger, knowing full well that he would be much shorter this time after his so impressive heat win. I just hoped the Darren factor would still be in his favor. It was half and half, as he opened at 2/1, better than what I had feared, but that price did not last long, the Sydney punters having no fear about Darren's driving ability having seen him at the gymkhanas for many months. However he had never faced pressure like this before, and that is when mistakes are made.
I kept well out of his way apart from wishing him 'good luck', he just grimaced, which was a sure sign of nerves. I moved to the small grandstand to get the best view of the race. Darren looked so serious when he paraded the horse I started to get nervous too. This time he was starting wideout on the front row. The horse who was drawn inside of him was the one who galloped in his heat but still got up late into 2nd place, obviously big ability but a problem horse. When the tape snapped back the problem horse galloped and went sideways almost knocking the Tiger off his balance. Brilliant horsemanship from Darren avoided a disaster, although it left him many lengths back from the early leader, into the first corner.
From four back on the outside, Darren was able to move up two spots as two of the drivers ahead of him tried to take the leader on which resulted in a hectic pace, much faster than the heats. With a lap to go, he was well-positioned for the final charge, if he was good enough. Down the back straight, Darren moved up behind the two leaders who were going at each other head to head. As he exited the bend he came out three-wide around them, but by the time they straightened up for the run home he was going much faster than any of the others, the result a two-length win with Darren raising his whip in the air in triumph. A perfect drive from the young champ!
I wasn't the only person cheering in the stand, but I was certainly the loudest. I raced down to the saddling enclosure and did not care what Darren or anyone else said, I hugged him and ruffled his hair. He is lucky that I did not kiss him, I was so excited for him, the birth of a champion and I did not mean the horse. People were coming from everywhere to congratulate him and I think it was just starting to sink in as to what he had done and how it would affect him going forward.
I lost track of how many beers we had that night, but I knew that we hardly bought any of them. For Darren, the after-race presentation and interviews were even more nerve-wracking than the race, now was relax time. Leo was over the top, constantly announcing that Darren would become Australia's no. 1 driver. He also said that as his group had won heavily on the punt he would add an extra $1000 to Darren's prize money percentage [5% of the $100,000 1st prize]. Evidently, they had won well on the heat and saved it all to put on for the final. No wonder that opening price disappeared so quickly..
We eventually escaped, Darren said he was hungry, so we stopped for burgers on the way back to our hotel. Then it was showtime again. At first, he just dropped down on the bed fully clothed totally exhausted. I considered offering to undress him but instead, I began undressing. Slowly, he followed suit.
As we crawled into bed, this time it seemed quite natural, if only it could become a regular occurrence?
I said, "You are going to be driving that race all over again all night."
The boy with the one-track mind said, "I know what I would rather be driving."
This time I had no hesitation, I grabbed him, he wasn't hard but it was getting there so I squeezed it and it twitched,"You horny bastard," He said nothing but also did not complain or push me away, so I fondled him with gentle fingers. I think he murmured something, but I was on a journey of discovery.
This time I pulled his jocks down, I was in control. "I think this deserves something special tonight."
I could not stop myself, I had fantasized about it a thousand times, I leaned across him and dropped my mouth around his wonderful cock, he almost whimpered. With that encouragement I went to town on him, I was still learning what to do as this was my first time doing it, rather than having it done to me, as well. Judging by the strange noises coming from Darren I was doing a good job.I wanted to blow his mind as well as his cock. I was not sure what was going to happen at the climax, but that was later.
As for tomorrow, who cares?
Relaxing later, I asked him what he was going to do with his $6,000 windfall?
"Buy a car," he replied, and my heart stopped beating for a moment.
"That means I cannot drive you everywhere?"
"Maybe I can drive you instead."'
I am not stupid, I knew the car would free him up to chase girls even more so, soon enough a serious girlfriend, and goodbye Darren for me, Sure, we would remain friends for life but there was a vast difference between the friendship we are now sharing, uninhibited teenage friends, now sharing a bed, and sex in Bathurst, and as man friends in later life.
I knew that this was the end of my old life just as I was getting used to it!
Another late-night meeting between my parents and Uncle Jim, and sounded serious.
In the morning I discovered just how serious it was. The farm had been in an area zoned as rural but that had suddenly been changed to residential so it meant that now it could be subdivided into building blocks. much more valuable. However, before my uncle could take advantage of that the government housing commission had placed a resumption order on the land which meant that it was effectively sold at not much more than rural prices.
No more farm, and we would have to move, another life change..
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