This story contains sexual situations between males. If material of this nature offends you then you should not read this story. If you are under 18 years of age you are probably not legally allowed to read this story. This story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely coincidental. The author claims all copyrights in this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed (except by the web sites to which it has been posted) without the consent of the author.
I woke on Sunday morning and even before I opened my eyes, I was smiling; great sex will do that! And man, it had been great sex! My guy had been smokin' last night and I didn't know whether I'd knocked his fillings out as I fucked him -- as he'd requested -- but I surely must have loosened a few.
I opened my eyes and looked at the clock. 7.32am. I was still waking up when I felt Ty turn in the bed, and reposition the front of his body along the back of mine. His arms encircled my chest and he rubbed lazily up and down.
"Morning birthday boy," he yawned.
"It's not my birthday anymore," I sighed.
"Nah, but it's your `birthday weekend'," Ty laughed. "It's all about you, all weekend. You can have whatever you want."
I turned and lay side by side with Ty, and cuddled him. "I've got everything I want, right here."
"Aw, you're just saying that because you want slip it to me again!"
"No really, mate," I frowned. "I don't need anything except you. I love you."
"Everybody loves me, baby!" he grinned, citing one of his favourite Don McLean lyrics.
"I'm being serious, Ty," I said. "I need to say this. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. It makes me happy going to sleep with you at night and it makes me happy to start my day waking up next to you in the morning. If I could, I'd spend the rest of my life just lying here, holding you."
Ty smiled. "Well, don't let me stop you. But I should remind you that eventually I'll get hungry and if I don't eat I'll get cranky. And there's no George, so we'll have to call for room service."
"You're not taking me seriously," I sighed, and rolled on to my back.
Ty was quiet for a while, and then said, "You wanna kiss me?"
"No."
"Are you sure? I'm a great kisser."
A few seconds passed. "Yeah, you are," I laughed.
"Well come on. Kiss me."
And kiss him I did. And then we kissed some more. And just as our cocks lengthened to the point where they were bumping, there was a knock at the bedroom door.
I froze, and looked at Ty.
"Oh, just another little surprise!" Ty grinned. "Come in!"
The door opened and in walked George with a breakfast tray of toasted muffins, croissants, cheese and fruit, juice and fresh coffee.
"Good morning sir," George said, as he set the tray down on the bed covers.
"Well this is a surprise, George!" I laughed. "Where did you come from?"
"From home, sir," he said. "Wrenched from my bed on the first morning I might have had a sleep in, when Mr. Hill rang with this ingenious light-bulb moment."
"You came all this way just to serve me the breakfast that room service delivered?"
"Yes sir, Mr. Hill's extraordinary idea. Isn't he a gem?"
"Well, yes he is," I chuckled. "How did you get here?"
"Lachlan drove me here with Scott and Simon and they've gone off to have breakfast at the Quay. Sitting in the sun and looking at the harbour. But I'd rather be working, apparently."
"Well I certainly appreciate the devotion to your job, George," I grinned.
"Of course you do, sir," he said and, as he returned to the lounge, he started softly singing, `Old man river, he just keeps rollin' along ..."
I looked at Ty and said, "George has got a pretty good voice!"
"I know, mate!" Ty replied. "I heard him teaching the guys the harmony backing vocals for the song I wrote for you, and he was pretty much pitch perfect!"
Ty and I made quick work of the hotel breakfast, and once it was finished, we took a piss together. I'm not a `water sports' kinda guy, but there's something intimate about sharing the bowl with the love of your life. We'd just climbed back into bed when George returned to see if there was anything more we needed.
"No thank you, George," I smiled. "I'm dismissing you for the rest of the day. You can go and have some breakfast with the guys."
"Ready for a `nap' then, are we sir?" he asked.
"Don't be ridiculous, George," I retorted. "We've only just woken up. We won't be napping. We may however, play with each other's penises before lunch ..."
"Then I'll be on my way, sir," said George, rolling his eyes. "I'll call housekeeping on my way out and ask them to come up with a mop and bucket in about half an hour ..."
"Be gone, old man," I ordered, pointing my finger towards the door. "Something's come up and you're no longer needed."
George bowed and walked out of the bedroom backwards, closing the doors as he left. Ty and I laughed as we heard him depart the suite singing, "He must know somethin', but he don't say nothin', he just keeps rollin' along ..."
I sat up in bed and called out, "Hey George! You know you're next in line when I get sick of Ty!"
"Yes, sir," he called back. And as he closed the door, we heard him say, "Like, you'd ever be able to keep up...!"
I rolled back on my side and faced Ty, who slipped his hand under the covers and cupped my balls. "Where were we?" ...
For the next two hours, Ty and I used our bodies to show how much we dug each other. I swear there was not a single spot on my body that Ty didn't lick at some point. Knowing we had to shower and get dressed for lunch at Kables, we ended our session with a kiss that was worthy of an entry in the Guinness Book of Records.
We showered together and still we were hot for each other. We stroked each other's hard cocks under the spray, but we knew there'd be no outcome; we were both temporarily out of semen. We dried and Ty sang fragments of random rock songs. Whenever he absent-mindedly sang, I knew he was happy.
We checked each other out. I looked every inch the casually-dressed lawyer, and Ty looked every inch the smouldering rock star.
"Fuck you're hot!" I grinned.
"I know," Ty said, rolling his eyes. "It's a curse!"
"Sex On Two Legs, according to `Cosmopolitan'," I laughed.
"Yeah, still doesn't beat the Dolly' reader's poll," he smirked. "They voted me most shagable'!"
"Only `cos I sent in all the entries!"
"Yeah, you and Scotty!" he laughed. "Gotta go. Love ya!"
Ty headed for the lifts and I stood in front of the lounge room window, looking out across the harbour. It bothered me that I was about to see my only brother for the first time in months and instead of eager anticipation, I was feeling dread. Experience had taught me that whenever Steve showed up on the radar, trouble wasn't far behind.
I waited for five minutes before taking the lift to the lobby and strolling across to Kables. I was seated at a table on the opposite side of the restaurant to Ty. I occupied myself with perusing the menu while I waited for my brother.
I figured my own meal; the scallop, Jerusalem artichoke crêpe and hazelnuts, followed by risotto with butternut squash, walnuts and sage. And then I figured Steve's - lobster ravioli, duck foie gras with pastilla and spiced pear chutney followed by pear trifle and chocolate beignet. It's not that I know his taste so well, more that they were up there with the most expensive meals on the menu ... and I was paying. It was another game he played.
Without looking up I knew Steve had arrived from the commotion at the door. Steve had seen me and wanted to walk in and sit down, but this was a `wait to be shown to your table' establishment. The policy was being patiently explained to him, but he wasn't being gracious.
"Hey, I'm saving you the trouble," I heard him mock. "I know where I'm going!"
The Maître d' gave up and waved him in my direction. I stood as he swaggered towards me, dressed completely inappropriately for the venue. Ripped designer jeans, tee shirt and neck chains, tattoos proudly on display. He'd beefed up a bit since the last time I'd seen him and his tan told me he'd been in the sun a lot. Unemployment gives you plenty of time for that.
"Hey Mikey," he grinned, as he arrived at the table and, ignoring my outstretched arm, hugged me. "You're looking wealthy! Sorry, I mean healthy!"
"G'day, Steve," I said as I broke the hug and sat. "You're looking good."
"Yeah, been takin' real good care of myself Mikey!" he smirked.
A waitress arrived with menus and asked about drinks. Steve ordered a Heineken and I ordered a Crown Lager. As we skimmed through the menu, Steve whistled and said "will ya look at these fuckin' prices? You're paying, right?"
"Yes Steve," I sighed. "Order whatever you like."
When the waitress returned, I ordered my meal and, as predicted, Steve ordered the three most expensive courses. Through our entrée, we talked about ... Steve. How tough life has been for Steve. How unfair life has treated Steve. And how no-one ever gives Steve an even break.
Through the main course we talked about me. And in particular, about how lucky I'd been and how well I was doing.
"Lynney tells me you've bought yourself a nice little mansion on the water," he said.
"I haven't bought it. I'm just renting."
"And whatcha driving right now? A BMW M3?"
"No, I've got a Mazda 6 sports."
"Ah yes, of course," he laughed. "Mazda. Nice and safe. And dependable. So you."
I poured us each a glass of wine, and changed the subject. "So, you got a job, Steve?"
"Nah," he laughed. "I go for interviews but see, the prison record puts the kybosh on it every time. Don't guess you thought of that when you turned me into the cops."
"I didn't turn you in, Steve," I sighed. "I'd been robbed so I called the police. They investigated and it turned out the burglary was an inside job."
"A guy's gotta have money," Steve said defiantly. "It's alright for you. You got the lucky breaks."
I sighed again. "So, got a girlfriend Steve?"
"No one special," he chuckled. "I can usually find some temporary pussy if I turn on the Stewart family charm. How about you, bro? Still sucking other guy's dicks?"
I heard an audible gasp from the well-dressed woman at the table next to us, but didn't dare look. "Can you keep your voice down?" I groaned.
"Oh come on Mikey," Steve mocked, a little more quietly. "Aren't guys like you supposed to be `out and proud'? I just wanna make sure my big brother's getting his fair share!"
I had no reply. I'd run out of things to say to say to the stranger sitting opposite me. "Mate," he said, leaning towards me. "I gotta take a wicked piss. Where's the dunny in this joint?"
I pointed to the door in the corner of the restaurant that led to the toilets and Steve set off, weaving his way through the tables. I poured myself another wine and glanced at my watch. Another half hour perhaps and we could wind things up. Steve would go ... wherever it is Steve goes. And I would return to our suite and enjoy another night with the man I loved.
All too soon Steve was back, brimming with excitement. "Mate," he enthused, "just over there, that's the chick who reads the evening news."
I looked. "Yes, Miranda King," I nodded.
"Man, I wouldn't mind slipping it into her! Rattle her bones, y'know?"
"She's having lunch with her husband," I replied.
"And see, in the corner over there near the dresser? That's Tyson Hill isn't it?"
I looked, and feigned disinterest. "Yep," I said.
"Why the fuck's he eating on his own?"
"Huh?"
"Mate, he's a babe magnet. Imagine the amount of pussy he gets!"
"He's in a relationship," I said, before quickly adding, "Apparently."
"You know him?"
"The firm I work for handles his legals."
"I'll bet you wouldn't mind handling more than his legals, eh Mikey?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Well, he kinda looks like your type, Mikey. He's got the whole pretty boy thing goin' on!"
"Like you'd know what `my type' is," I sighed.
"I met Aaron, and apparently he was your `type'."
"Aaron turned out to be trailer trash."
"Trailer trash you fucked on a daily basis for two years!"
There was another sharp intake from the adjoining table. I wanted to punch him.
"Coffee?"
"Yeah, and maybe one of them fancy liqueurs."
From the corner of my eye I could see Ty settling the account and, as arranged, he was preparing to leave. Steve was watching the shapely ass of the waitress glide across the room when Ty deliberately passed our table.
He stopped and looked at us. "G'day Mike!" he said. "Long time no see!"
"Tyson, hey," I replied, standing and offering my hand. "Good to see you. This is my brother Steve."
Ty turned and smiled at Steve, and the two shook hands. "Good to meet you mate," Ty said enthusiastically.
"Hey, the pleasure's all mine," said Steve, turning on the charm. "I went to your concert in Melbourne and mate, you fuckin' rock!"
"Thanks Steve," Ty laughed. "I love those Melbourne audiences! Anyway, gotta get going."
"Got a hot date, I'll bet!" Steve grinned.
Ty smirked and leaned down so that the whole restaurant couldn't hear him. "Mate, I'm catching up this afternoon with a piece of ass that's so fuckin' hot I'll have the fire brigade on standby!"
Steve roared and punched the air. "Way to go, man!" he snickered.
"Anyway, I'm outta here," Ty said, as he stood to leave. "Mike, let's catch up for a drink soon?"
"Sure Tyson," I said. "Give me a call."
"Oh I will!" Ty smirked, winking at Steve. And then he was gone.
"Man, he's so cool," said Steve, wide-eyed with admiration. "I'll bet the fucker's got a big cock, too!"
"I wouldn't know," I mumbled, as I finished my coffee. "Steve, I've gotta get going."
We made our way to the front desk where I settled the bill with a card. "You gonna drop me at the backpackers in your fancy Mazda 6?" Steve asked.
"Can't mate, sorry," I said. "Gotta do some work at the office this afternoon."
Steve's eyes fell to my open wallet. "You couldn't spring for a cab, could you Mikey?" he asked. "Didn't bring me wallet."
I sighed and handed him a $50 note.
He looked at me. "That's it?"
Without looking at him, I handed him another $50. We made our way to the front of the hotel, and shook hands as I saw him into a cab.
"We gotta do this more often, Mikey," he smiled. "I'm gonna be staying in Sydney for a few weeks so let's catch up again soon, eh?"
"Yeah Steve, that'd be great," I smiled as the cab drive off.
Once it was out of sight, I turned and walked towards the hotel lifts. 34 floors up, a hot rock star was waiting for his piece of hot ass ...
As I slipped the card into the door lock and entered the suite, I could hear Ty at the grand piano with his back to me, playing and singing. I walked up behind him, wrapped my arms around his chest, and nuzzled his neck. He registered no surprise as he kissed my hands.
"I thought you wouldn't hear me come in?"
"I didn't," Ty replied. "I could smell you. Mint and tea tree shower gel and Viktor & Rolf's Antidote. I always know when you're nearby!"
I pressed closer and nibbled his earlobe, as I ran my hands over his shirt and teased his nipples beneath the cotton.
"So that's your brother eh?"
"Yep, that's Steven Stewart," I sighed.
"He's a good looking guy."
"Yeah, he's looking pretty fit and tanned at the moment."
"Who paid for lunch?"
"Who do you think?"
"You didn't give him any money did you?"
"He touched me for 100 bucks," I sighed. "Cab fare and all ..."
Ty didn't reply, but started to play the opening chords of "Right From The Start". I poured us each a glass of wine, placed Ty's on top of the piano before standing back and listening to him play. He finished with a glissando.
"It's such a beautiful melody," I said.
"Yeah" Ty grinned, turning to look at me. "I'm pretty proud of it. They're big, fat juicy chords."
As I sipped my wine, I watched Ty's eyes roaming over my body.
"Take off your clothes," he said suddenly.
"Pardon?"
"Take off your clothes!"
"Why?"
"I wanna see something else that's big, fat and juicy."
I grinned as I put down my wine glass and began unbuttoning my shirt. I pulled it off and let it drop to the floor. I kicked off my shoes and started moving slowly towards the bedroom as I unbuttoned my jeans. I stood in the doorway as I dropped the jeans and my boxers to my ankles and stepped out of them. Naked, I turned to Ty and said, "Goin' to bed now!"
As I slipped beneath the doona, I heard a chuckle from the lounge room followed by the unmistakable sound of Levi buttons being popped ...
Needless to say, our cuddly afternoon turned into a reasonably dirty early evening. Sated, we sat up in bed and called room service. We watched night fall over Sydney Harbour as we feasted on Caesar salad followed by Nasi Goreng and a selection of homemade ice creams.
As we ate Ty took calls from Lachlan and Scott, both of them ringing to check that their big brother was having a good time. He laughed and joked with them, told them he loved them, and handed the phone to me.
"Ellie's coming for dinner," Lachlan told me happily. "She gets here at 7.30. Think of me at 7.35, you know where I'll be!"
"Yes mate!" I laughed. "Remember though, weight bear on your elbows, not your wrists!"
Scott was equally bubbly and he rattled off a series of one-liners about how Ty and I had been occupying our time between meals. "So how many times have you and Ty done it?" Scott giggled.
"I don't keep count, mate!" I laughed. "But heaps!"
"Simon and I did it four times yesterday!" he boasted. "And twice today so far!"
"Well good for you mate!" I replied. "You Hill boys are insatiable!"
Ty cuddled up and rested his head on my chest as I filled him in on my conversations. "Six times?" Ty whistled. "He and Simon have a bit of a way to go to beat our weekend record!"
"And the weekend's not over yet!" I grinned, as I gently pushed Ty's head down over my stomach towards my one-eyed superhero.
Late in the evening, we fell asleep after agreeing, reluctantly, that we were finally too fucked to fuck!
It was a different story next morning, though, when I woke Ty by sucking gently on his low hanging nuts. Breakfast in bed was followed by a hot 69 and a shower, before I dragged myself away from him and headed for the office.
With a full schedule of meetings and court hearings, my week flew by quickly. Ty spent his mornings in a small local recording studio cutting demos of several of the songs he's been working on, and his afternoons and occasionally his evenings were occupied with writing new material.
Ellie spent three nights at the house and except for brief appearances at meal times, she and Lachlan were usually ensconced in Lachlan's bedroom, doing what it is that straight couples find so addictive. And Simon and Scott were usually hidden away in Scott's bedroom, doing what it is that gay couples find so additive! I took advantage of solitary time, sitting in the lounge reading `Against All Enemies', the latest Tom Clancy.
On those occasions when the guys came out to watch TV on the big screen, I'd relocate to Ty's music room to continue reading. But I found it difficult to concentrate, so seduced would I become by Ty's voice as he tried to piece his songs together. Many times I'd put the book aside and simply lie back on the couch and watch him, amused by the way his brow furrowed and how intensely he concentrated on getting his chords right. Occasionally, he would ask me for words that rhyme, but mostly songwriting was his solitary pleasure.
Some evenings his inspiration would wane and he'd wind things up early. Those nights, if it wasn't too cold out, we'd take Scruffy for long walks along the beach. Otherwise, we'd play some pool with the boys or simply enjoy an early night. On those occasions, it was early to bed, but not necessarily early to sleep!
At the start of the week, I had an email from the real estate agent in Stanthorpe advising me that an auction date had been set for the property that Ty was keen to add to his portfolio. He suggested that I arrange an inspection of the property prior to that date, in case I wanted to put in an early offer. The same day, Vince called me and asked if I could convince Ty to fly to Brisbane on Friday and sing one song as the special guest at a fundraising ball for the Cancer Council.
"There's no fee," Vince sighed. "They're only covering travel and accommodation."
"You know Ty will do pretty much anything for charities," I replied. "If it's for a good cause, he'll do it. Can he choose the song?"
"I've made sure he'll have veto on the song choice, but they've requested `Don't Give Up', the Peter Gabriel song."
"Yeah, I'll have to run it past him Vince, but you can tell the organisers he's in."
"Fuck mate, how do you do that?" Vince asked. "If I put it to him directly, we'd have to have an hour's discussion about it."
"I have a secret weapon," I chuckled. "In my jeans ..."
Vince groaned. "I'll get Monique to email you both flight details and an itinerary in the morning. You'll go with him won't you?"
"A filthy night in a hotel suite that someone else is paying for? Of course I'll be going with him!"
"You two are gonna burn in hell you know!"
"Yeah, yeah, Vince," I shot back. "And you're going to go through your whole miserable life thinking girls can satisfy boys more than boys can satisfy boys, and that's just sad!"
Ty and I discussed the calls, and agreed that an inspection of the property was a great idea. I made some enquiries about building inspectors in the Southern Downs region, and actually managed to arrange for someone who would be able to give us a report on the same day.
That done, I mentioned the charity dinner, and Ty was more than happy to be involved. He shrugged when I mentioned there was no fee; he said he'd have donated it back to the organization anyway. I wasn't so sure how he'd feel -- having only one song to sing - about being asked to sing someone else's composition.
"Man, I love Peter Gabriel!" he enthused. "I know 'Don't Give Up' backwards! It'll be a blast, and a great message for the cause, too!"
Fuck, could you not love this guy? Caring. Sharing. Philanthropic. Big heart. Great ass. Ticks every box!
It was Ty who came up with the idea we could tie everything together over one long weekend. We agreed we'd head off on Friday if I could get home from work a little early. We would fly to Brisbane and go straight to the ball. Once Ty had performed, we'd hire a car and drive to the farm. On Saturday we would inspect the property and Ty would spend the rest of the day showing me around his hometown. We'd stay on Saturday night and leave for Sydney after lunch with Dot and Frank on Sunday.
Ty rang Dot and Frank to ask if we could stay at the farm for the weekend, and reported back that not only would they be delighted to see us, but they would pick us up from Brisbane airport and would come along to the ball to see Ty sing.
On Friday morning I received a text message from my brother Steve, wanting to "catch up" again for lunch at the weekend, and I was relieved to be able to tell him truthfully that I would be out of town. But I knew I wasn't putting him off, only shuffling deckchairs on the Titanic.
I finished work at lunchtime on Friday, and as we'd agreed, I drove to the airport to meet Ty, who'd been left in charge of packing for a whole weekend. That worried me! Ty and `thinking ahead' don't always go together. On the drive to the airport, my mobile rang. It was George. I pulled over to the side of the road and smiled to myself when he explained he was calling to reassure me that he'd gone through the suitcases Ty had packed and had made some "adjustments".
"That's funny, George!" I chortled. "I was just starting to worry about what he'd packed!"
"You have six clean pairs of boxers and six pairs of socks. A suit jacket, two ties, a change of jeans, three shirts, two tee shirts, two pairs of shoes, two warm jackets, a dressing gown, a fully stocked ablutions bag and a box of chocolates for Dorothy. Very expensive ones, too. I charged them to your credit card!"
"I love you George," I laughed. "I have told you that, haven't I?"
"Constantly, sir," he replied.
I saw Ty as soon as I walked into the crowded Business Class lounge for the 2.50pm flight to Brisbane. He has a way of just ... standing out. He turned and caught my eye and I swear there was an electrical current that instantly connected us. That must be how it is with real love ...
We boarded the flight and sat together. I knew I couldn't kiss him in such a public place but fuck, I wanted to. For much of the flight, Ty sang `Don't Give Up' softly in my ear, wanting me to reassure him the lyrics were correct. I had to remind him that I'm a lawyer and we don't pay too much attention to lyrics ...
By the time we touched down in Brisbane, we realised there was a bit of a buzz about Tyson Hill being on board, so at the steward's suggestion we remained seated until the whole plane had emptied before making our way to the gate lounge. By then, only Dot and Frank and a few determined fans were milling around.
Ty went directly to the fans and signed autographs while I greeted Dot and Frank, who had been worried we'd missed our flight. I nodded in the direction of the fans. "Airports are the worst," I explained. "But he always takes the time to say hello."
"I'm glad he does," Dot said proudly. "The boys were all brought up to be polite. And the people always seem so excited to see him and speak to him!"
"You're looking well, son," Frank said, looking me up and down. Did he just call me son?
"Yes dear, I must say you're looking good," Dot nodded in agreement. "And what about our Lachlan? Is he looking after himself? He's not overdoing things is he? And what about Scott? He's behaving himself I hope? You will let us know if he's getting in the way, won't you? He can be a bit of a handful! And what about dear George? Is everything still good with his hip?"
Dot was still rattling off questions and giving me no time to answer them when Ty suddenly strode up and literally swept her up in his arms and kissed her on the cheek.
"Oh Tyson!" she giggled. "Put me down! Oh it's so good to see you, son. Your father and I have missed you all so much. It's so good to have you and Mike back home."
"We've all been missing both of you too, Mum," Ty smiled. He turned away from Dot and immediately embraced Frank. "Hey Dad!" he beamed. "Man, it's great to see you!"
The catch-up over, we made our way to the car park and I noticed the big smile on Ty's face when he spotted the family car -- Frank's 1990 silver Mercedes 300SE -- which, despite its age, looked immaculate. We all climbed in and Frank drove out of the car park and headed towards the city.
"Hey Dad!" Ty chuckled. "I can't believe you're still driving this old relic! How about I buy you and Mum something that was built this century?"
"None of your cheek, Tyson," Frank replied good-humouredly.
"This is like, 21 years old now Dad! It's probably only worth a couple of thousand. You and Mum could have a car like Mike's, a Mazda 6 luxury sports. Or even an HSV Maloo like mine. It's so hot!"
"I'm perfectly happy with the Merc, Tyson," Frank said. "It's safe and reliable."
"But it doesn't have a CD player, Dad! Just a cassette player! Who plays cassettes these days?"
"You father and I play cassettes, Tyson," Dorothy smiled. "Scott put your first album on cassette for us and we play that a lot when we're driving!"
"Imagine how much better it would be zipping around Stanthorpe in your flashy new car, with your Number One son thumping through your sub-woofer!"
"Tyson!" Dot gasped. "I have no idea what you just said, but it sounded rude!"
"Oh mama, as if I'd ever say bad words," Ty said. "Seriously, I'd love to buy you and Dad a new car. If it's the money you're worried about, the accountants will know a way I can claim it on tax. And I've got to actually get rid of some of my cash, Mum. The guys at the Tax Office look at my file and start to dribble!"
"Oh Tyson, that's so lovely of you son," Dot sighed, "but this car has so many memories for us. You were nine when we bought it. Remember when you were 12 and Scott was born? He'd be in the back in his baby capsule. You and Lachlan would sit either side of him and make him giggle, and you'd sing nursery rhymes to him!"
Ty laughed. "Yeah, I remember, Mum! And I remember that time we couldn't find the car after that picnic and Dad went spare! And that time when Lachie was 16 and he got pissed at Pete Murphy's party! Dad had to go and get him and he chucked in the Merc on the way home!"
"Yeah, I remember that too!" Frank reminisced. "And I reckon Lachlan's backside remembered it for a long time, too!"
"So can I buy you guys a car?" Ty asked hopefully. "Anything you want?"
"Your mother says we're keeping the Merc, so we're keeping the Merc," Frank replied. "End of story."
"But Mum didn't say that, Dad!" Ty replied, exasperated.
"Don't argue with your mother, Tyson!" Frank retorted.
Clearly, Ty wouldn't be buying his parents a new car! He slumped back in the seat and threw his arms in the air.
We pulled into the driveway of the Stamford Plaza and when Frank asked Ty where he should park the car, Ty rolled his eyes. "Get them to valet park it for you, Dad!" he sighed.
"That's expensive, Tyson," Frank replied. "Besides, they might have an accident."
"They won't have an accident Dad," Ty explained patiently. "And the valet parking has been thrown in by the hotel."
That sorted, we got out of the car and waited while Frank put the amused parking guy through the hoops. We were met in the lobby by Helen, one of the organizers of the event.
"Mr. Hill," she beamed, extending her hand to Ty, "we're so grateful you agreed to take part in this very important night."
"It's Tyson," he smiled, "and it's my pleasure. These are my parents, Dorothy and Frank, and this is my lawyer Mike Stewart."
Hands were shook all round and Helen introduced us to the stage manager and the sound engineer.
"Do you know what you're going to sing?" Helen asked.
"I figured I'd do `Don't Give Up', since that was the request."
"Oh that's wonderful," she said, clasping her hands together. "That's the `theme' of the night, but we didn't think you'd want to sing someone else's hit!"
"A great song's a great song," Ty grinned.
We were led to the auditorium where the event was being held and Dot, Frank and I sat on the side as wait staff bustled around setting tables and arranging balloons and flowers. Ty was on stage with the band, working out keys and sound levels. It took a while for him to get his happy face, but once the arrangement was settled he was ready for his sound check.
Ty had tweaked the lyric slightly to make it more apt for the occasion and I shivered when he started to sing ... "Don't give up, 'cos you have friends, don't give up, you're not beaten yet, don't give up, I know we can make it good ...".
I swear I don't know how he does it. He opens his mouth and this God-blessed sound comes out; rich, full, and pure. He stopped and started once or twice while the engineer fiddled with the sound levels and then he sang it all the way through before jumping off the stage and joining us at the side of the room.
Helen walked up and tentatively explained that while someone of Ty's stature would normally be the closing guest, she was hoping he'd open the evening so that `Don't Give Up' would reinforce the message of hope. Ty put her out of her misery immediately. "That'd be great Helen," he smiled. "We've got a three hour drive ahead of us so it would be great to be able to get away early."
Helen explained that the dinner would officially start at 7.30 and show-time for Ty would be 7.45. That way, he'd be done and on the road by 8. That gave us time to have a meal before Ty needed to be in his dressing room.
While Ty and I remembered fondly the great food we'd had at the Stamford on the night of his 30th birthday - and everything else about that special night - he suggested that we wander up the road to one of the pubs, presumably because he figured his parents would be more comfortable in a less formal setting.
Being a Friday evening, the pub was jumping, but the manager found us an out-of-the-way table, and aside from an occasional fan stopping to say `hi' or to get something signed, we weren't bothered much at all.
As always, the look on Ty's folks' faces was priceless; the whole `celebrity' thing overawed them. They seemed constantly amazed by how well known their son was, and how, to them, he seemed to be treated like some sort of royalty.
When the waiter arrived, Ty ordered for us all. Without consultation, he went for traditional `farm family' pub fare -- schnitzel with three veg -- chips, pumpkin and broccoli. Halfway through his meal he smiled at Dot, "Not a patch on yours, Mum!"
We had some dessert (apple and rhubarb pie, of course) and wandered back to the Stamford. We'd been given a suite to share before Ty was required on stage and we busied ourselves freshening up and getting dressed for the start of the show. Dot took over the bathroom, leaving us men to get ready in the suite.
At 7.15, we were in Ty's dressing room and while he paced and did some vocal warm-ups, we pretended not to sneak items from his backstage catering. At 7.30 he got his 15 minute call, and at 7.40 we were all ushered out of the dressing room. Ty was escorted side stage and Dot, Frank and I were shown to the "band" table at the front of the room.
I decided I really liked Helen when she tiptoed over during the speeches and made sure Dot and Frank got the complimentary female and male "gift bags" that had been left on the placemats of the high-paying guests. For Dot and Frank, it was like Christmas and they all but missed the speeches as they ferreted around in their treasure troves, marvelling at the perfume and after-shave samples, the free CDs, the packets of free food and the bottle of water, the free double movie pass, the mini bottle of Moet & Chandon, the key tags and fridge magnets.
They only stopped their rummaging when Ty was suddenly announced and, opting as he usually did for no fanfare, he strolled on and sat on a stool centre stage. He spoke about the need for money to fund medical research, encouraged the audience to dig deep for the silent auction, and made a heart-felt plea to the parents and siblings of cancer sufferers who were in the audience to not give up, before he started to sing the opening verse of "Don't Give Up" `a cappella'. When the band kicked in, it turned into an anthem. By the time he'd finished, people were on their feet cheering. He just manages to do that somehow, and I know it baffles him. He still hasn't realised that there's something about his voice that really, really touches people ...
It was 15 minutes before we were ushered backstage, and Ty was packed and ready to go. As we made our way to the foyer of the hotel, he stopped and indulged the people who wanted to congratulate and thank him. He posed for photographs, signed menus and shook a lot of hands. Dot and Frank were ever the proud parents in the background, still bewildered that their boy Tyson was so much the centre of attention. "He was such a shy boy," they'd often tell me, shaking their heads.
And finally, we were on the road. Ty had offered to drive, given the lateness, but this was Frank's car and apparently, only Frank drives it. The journey to Stanthorpe was a long one. Frank tuned to a local country radio station and it made Ty fall asleep. Frank and I talked for a while and realised that Dot was also asleep.
Is that Dot snoring?" I chuckled. "I thought it was Ty!"
"No, it's Dorothy," Frank said smugly. "I'm glad I've got a witness. She wakes me up in the middle of the night and tells me I'm snoring, but it's her, and she's woken herself up."
I laughed. "Not getting into that debate, Frank! I want Dot to like me!"
"Never worry about that, Mike," he replied earnestly. "She thinks you're Christmas."
It was after 11 when we finally hit Stanthorpe and when Frank's car pulled into the driveway, I shook Ty awake. "You're home," I said. He sat for a moment and rubbed his eyes and then jumped out of the car and welcomed two dogs I didn't know, Rufus and Her Majesty (`Madge' for short). No mistaking they were happy to see each other.
Frank helped us get our luggage into the house, which was exactly as Ty had described it; a rambling, Federation-style timber home, with old-style furniture. We put our luggage down in the lounge room, and while Dot went to make tea and Frank lit the pre-laid open fire, I walked around and looked at the many photos hanging on the walls or in frames on the tops of furniture. Along with several photos of Dot and Frank on their wedding day, there were dozens of photos of the boys, individually and together, as well as a couple of studio shot family portraits. Ty as a toddler was every bit as cute as his mother had described him, and I chuckled at the photos of him in school uniform. Lachlan, as expected, was a devilishly handsome teenager but it was clear he was the mischievous brother. And Scott hadn't really changed at all, but for growing taller; he'd always had those long dark eyelashes and that impish grin.
In front of the fire was Frank's comfy chair, and next to it, a worn couch with Dot's knitting bag tucked in the corner. I was still looking at photos when Ty came up behind me and planted a quick kiss on my neck.
"You were hot as a teenager," I said, and it was only when I heard Frank clear his throat than I realised he was still in the room. Flustered, I started to say, "What I mean is ...," but Frank held up his hand.
"Tyson and his brothers are all hot!" he grinned. "They get it from their old man!"
Ty rolled his eyes and was about to flop on the couch when Frank said, "let's get your luggage sorted."
We picked up a suitcase each and followed Frank down the hallway to the first bedroom, which had clearly been Ty's when he lived at home. The double bed was surrounded by shelves crammed with books and CDs, topped with school awards and the nick-knacks common to all teenage boys' bedrooms. The walls were covered with rock star and movie posters. While I looked around the room with Ty, Frank tossed both our suitcases on the bed and headed out the door saying, "your mother will have tea and cake ready, so don't be long."
Ty and I looked at each other in surprise. "We're sharing a bed?" I asked, astonished.
Ty shrugged. "Looks that way!" he grinned.
"That's a huge step for your Dad."
"You bet it is," Ty agreed. "You get why we all love him?!"
"I get!" I smiled.
We headed back to the lounge where Dot had arranged sliced tea cake, a teapot and cups and saucers, all sitting on doilies. It was a scene straight out of `The Waltons'! We relaxed by the fire and by the time we'd finished our cake, we were both drowsy. My eyelids were drooping when Dot suddenly stood. "Come on boys, off to bed now," she instructed. "It's late and you're falling asleep."
I stood and was about to stack our used dishes when Dot cut me off. "I'll do that, dear," she said.
Ty stood and stretched before enveloping his Mum in a bear hug. "'Night Mum," he said, before embracing his father the same way. I felt no awkwardness when I did the same thing and got hugs back from both of them.
Behind Ty's closed bedroom door, we stripped off our clothes and, after agreeing to leave our boxers on, slid into bed. Nothing was said, but I got the vibe from Ty that there'd been no intimacy under his parents' roof. We kissed goodnight and rolled on our sides facing away from each other. Some time later, when I was still wide awake, I felt Ty turn in the bed and spoon with me, his body moulding itself around mine and his arms enfolding me.
Now I could sleep ...
It was early when I woke, and I turned to see Ty's eyes fluttering open. Elsewhere in the house, there seemed to be a lot of noise. I looked at Ty as he yawned. "We're on the farm now, city boy," he grinned. "It's early rise and shine here!"
He pulled my head down to his and gave me a good morning kiss that ensured I was fully awake. We were about to enjoy another one when there was a loud rap on the door.
"Tyson! Michael! You boys awake?" Frank called.
We moved apart and Ty called out, "Yeah Dad, we're awake. Come on in!"
Frank walked in, and I couldn't help myself. "Where's the breakfast tray?" I laughed.
"You're in Stanthorpe now, son!" Frank shot back. "None of those Point Piper airs and graces around here. Dot's got breakfast underway in the kitchen so you boys need to get showered and dressed."
With that, he whipped the doona off the bed and dropped it on the floor. Yes, good decision to wear boxers. But he can't have missed the two barely concealed morning woodies.
Ty sat up and put his arms around himself. "Crikey, it's cold!" he shivered.
"Well, have a hot shower and come to breakfast. The wood stove's warming up the kitchen."
Frank disappeared down the hall as Ty and I got out of bed. I followed him down to the last door on the left of the hall, the bathroom. It was classic. Sixties-style vanity and a showerhead over a claw bath. Ty turned on a strip heater and covered his face with shaving cream before starting to get rid of his five o'clock shadow. I shucked off my boxers, climbed into the bath and turned on the shower. There was no curtain to pull around but with just Ty in the room, it wasn't necessary.
I started to wash myself, and when Ty remarked "great ass!" I knew he was checking me out in the shaving mirror. I was about to turn around him and wave my cock at him when the bathroom door opened and Frank walked in with an armload of towels.
"Dot's had these in the dryer so they'll be nice and warm," he said, placing them on the side of the vanity. Instead of leaving, he sat on the toilet seat and asked, "What's on the agenda today then?"
"Well first up, Dad," Ty answered, as he shaved, "you and me are gonna show city boy here around the farm. Then after lunch we're gonna go look at the Shaw's house up on Main Road. It's up for sale."
"So old man Shaw is finally selling, eh?" Frank mused. "It'd be worth a pretty penny!"
"He's in a bit of financial strike," Ty said with more than a hint of satisfaction. "I'm thinking of buying it!"
"Seriously, Tyson?" Frank asked, startled. "After the way he treated you?"
"I need to invest some cash in property, according to my accountant," Ty replied. "And even though old man Shaw was a prick, it's a damn fine house. Mike and I are gonna check it out and see what kind of deal we can do. You can come with us if you like?"
"I've got work to do, son," Frank said. "Imagine, one of the Hills buying the Shaw place!"
I turned the showerhead off and stood naked and dripping in the bath. Frank stood and handed me a towel and as I stepped out and started drying myself, Ty shed his boxers and had his shower. Frank was still on hand with a towel for Ty when he stepped out of the bath.
"What do you think about taking Mike into Warwick later for Jumpers & Jazz?" Frank asked Ty.
Ty's face lit up. "Great idea, Dad!"
"Jumpers and Jazz?" I asked.
Between them, Frank and Ty explained that the town of Warwick -- a 45 minute drive away -- yarn bombed some trees a few years ago. The idea caught on in the community and it grew into an annual festival where now, more than 150 trees were adorned with knitted jumpers. This turned into an annual Jumpers and Jazz Festival, where visitors come from all over the country to vote on the textile art adorning the cold winter streets. Around the town, jazz bands add to the almost carnival atmosphere.
"It sounds great!" I enthused. "I'm in!"
Ty and I went back to the bedroom with towels around our waists and quickly dressed before joining Dot and Frank in the warmth of the kitchen. The room was full of the smell of fresh baked muffins and sizzling bacon. Nothing store- bought here! And everything tasted as good as it smelt.
"This is fantastic, Dot!" I chirped, and smiled at the way she puffed with pride. Ty leaned in and gave his Mum a hug. "Mum's the best cook in the whole world!" he grinned.
"Oh Tyson, stop it!" Dot giggled.
"You prepared to tell George that, Tyson?" Frank asked.
"Are you insane, old man?" Ty guffawed. "He'd lace my food with arsenic!"
While Dot and I cleared the breakfast dishes away, Ty and his Dad went off in search of gumboots for our upcoming reconnoitre.
"It's so good to see you and Ty," Dot smiled. "It's so quiet around here with the boys gone."
"Doesn't matter where they live Dot, this is their home and it's where their hearts are."
"Some nights when Frank's asleep in his chair and I'm knitting, I close my eyes and remember what it was like having three young boys running around the house," Dot reminisced. "They were always playing, and making noise. And I miss tucking them in and kissing them goodnight after they'd said their prayers ..."
"Well, they still make a lot of noise," I laughed. "Speaking of bedtime, the um, sleeping arrangements surprised me."
Dot sat down at the table. "When we got back from Sydney, Frank went to see our local minister, Reverend Andrew Wall," Dot began. "He's a nice young man, about Lachlan's age, and full of great ideas for bringing people back to Church. Some of the older folk think he's gay, although we don't know that for sure. Anyway, Frank had a good, long talk with him."
"About Ty and me?" I asked.
"Yes, dear. He just needed to talk to someone about it. Anyway, Reverend Wall listened to what Frank had to say about having two gay sons, and then explained to Frank that it's not a sin, and what God expects of fathers is for them to love their children unconditionally and not judge them for the way they live their lives. It was what Frank needed to hear."
"So the minister knows about Ty and me?" I asked.
"Yes, Frank thought about that, but Reverend Wall's a man of God, dear. Nothing shared with him goes any further. And it did Frank a power of good. I told you he'd come to terms with this in his own way."
"Yes, you did, Dot," I smiled. "And you were right!"
"I usually am," she smiled back. "But don't tell Frank!" And we both laughed.
Frank and Ty returned with three pairs of gumboots and we headed out on to the veranda and pulled them on. And so began my introduction to the Hill family farm. First stop on the tour was the garage, where Frank's pride and joy was parked next to Ty's Commodore Ute with its bull bar and spot lights. We all laughed at how dented it was.
Dot and Frank's income came from growing market vegetables and apples, and their 16.65 hectare farm gave them plenty of room for crops. We wandered through the large apple orchard, noted the "hail netting" and the water mains running throughout the property from two dams. (I nodded knowingly; but honestly - no fucking idea!)
We stomped around in mud, trying not to distress the chickens or the family's three milking cows that Ty had named after great black singers -- Bessie, Billie and Ella.
I was shown the shed and cold rooms, the packing shed, the antique tractor and the old well. We squelched in the mud a while more, throwing sticks for Rufus and Madge, before squishing our way back to the house.
I fell in line with the ritual, pulling my gumboots off, rinsing them under the tap and lining them up on the veranda to dry. Back in the lounge, Dot had finger sandwiches and freshly squeezed apple juice waiting for us. I was about to comment that it had only been an hour since breakfast, but I bit my tongue. This is how it is in Stanthorpe. The men must be fed.
Once we'd eaten, Ty and Frank strolled off again to discuss the problem Frank seemed to be having with his Royal Galas. I'd been with Ty all this time and I had no idea he was so well versed in malus domestica', nor that he might be concerned they were in any way blotchy'.
Dot and I sat on the couch as she proudly took me through the family photo albums. I normally hate that shit, but it was a joy watching Ty and his brothers grow up as the pages were flicked over.
An hour later, Ty and I were on our way to Main Road for our appointment with our real estate agent. Ty, as always, had gone to great lengths to make himself anonymous; shades, neck scarf, beanie pulled tight over his head.
We pulled up outside the house and it looked even grander in person than it did on the agent's website. We parked and while Ty fidgeted with his phone, I strolled over and introduced myself to Anthony, the local agent I'd first spoken to. No direct questions were asked, but I gave him the impression that I was looking at the property for a client and that the "guy with the beanie" was just a mate, along for the ride.
Anthony opened the house and took me through, pointing out the best features as we went. Ty just tagged along behind us, distant enough not to warrant an introduction. There were four bedrooms and two bathrooms over two levels, which were separated by a magnificent Tasmanian Oak stairway. I ran through my checklist; solar power, central heating and air conditioning, solid foundations, open fireplaces. The kitchen was granite with stainless steel European appliances, the bedrooms all had walk-in robes. Though I feigned indifference, I was mightily impressed. A couple of times I managed to glance at Ty, who gave me the `thumbs up' behind Anthony's back.
Half an hour later, back outside the house, Anthony went into his sales spiel, rattling off recent sales figures in the area and impressing on me the high level of interest in a house as well built as this one. A prior offer would be the way to go, he recommended with great sincerely, which only meant he had no idea of how much the house might be worth and an offer from a lawyer would give him a starting point.
As we shook hands and I assured him I would get back to him after consulting with my client, Anthony casually mentioned that the two adjoining properties were also an option. One had a large house, shed and cold room, the other was 32.16 hectares with hail netting, a massive packing shed, four cold rooms and an office block. I showed disinterest, but as Anthony climbed into his car and I walked towards the Ute, Ty started walking up the road.
He was standing at the front of the adjoining properties scanning the horizon when I pulled up next to him. "Don't even think about it, mate!" I chuckled.
Ty grinned. "Not a bad chunk of real estate, Mike!"
"The Shaw house I see value in!" I replied. "But if you're seriously thinking of a place for Dot and Frank to retire, there's no point in thinking about farmland that needs work."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," he said, scratching his chin. "But if I've got to invest in something, farmland's a good option. And land around here is valuable."
"Mate, we'll build your empire one block at a time!" I laughed. "Hop in. We're going to see some Jumpin' Jazz in Warrigal!"
Ty rolled his eyes as he belted up in the passenger seat. "Jumpers and Jazz in Warwick, sunshine!" he chuckled. "Get it right!"
Back at the farm, Dot and Frank were waiting for us and we were quickly herded into the Merc. Ty's parents asked a few questions about the property and then chatted between themselves about how ironic it might be that the Shaw house could end up owned by a Hill!
As we drove through the town, Frank slipped into tour guide mode for the benefit of the city boy. Stanthorpe was founded in the late 1800s, by tin miners. Until then, the area was known as Quart Pot Creek' and the private township was known as Stannum, which is Latin for tin'. The town fathers in their wisdom renamed it Stanthorpe', thorpe' being Middle English for `village'.
For a time, Stanthorpe was the largest alluvial tin mining and mineral field in Queensland but eventually the bubble had burst and tin prices fell, and many miners turned to farming. The sub tropical conditions made Stanthorpe ideal for growing cool climate fruits and vegetables.
As we headed towards Warwick, Frank pointed out the sites of local events, including the Small Winemakers Show, the Apple and Grape Harvest Festival and the Country Rodeo. We also drove past the two schools the Hill boys had all attended, Stanthorpe State Primary School and State High School.
Dot told me proudly that a number of famous people come from Stanthorpe, among them the television presenter Ben Dark and the Aussie test cricketer Greg Ritchie.
"Yeah, and Tyson Hill grew up there too!" laughed Ty. "And he's the most famous of all."
"Get your hand out of your pants, son!" Frank chirped.
"Frank!"
"Sorry Dot!"
We arrived in Warwick a while before we actually got to walk around Warwick, such was the time it took for Frank to find a spot to park the Merc that would guarantee it wouldn't be in danger of being bumped by another car. He eventually found a spot in a side street where nobody could park in front of him or behind.
The town was bustling with activity, and the reasonable day meant many families were out enjoying the sights and sounds. We strolled around for a while admiring the tree `jumpers' and the shops before we started strolling through parks. Music was floating through the air from different parts of the town and I instinctively knew that Ty was tuning in to the best of it and letting his ears lead him to the source.
And so we trudged behind the pied piper until he stopped at a small sound stage playing host to a trad jazz band playing authentic Dixieland standards. They were being widely ignored, but Ty stood to the side of the stage, watching them with a big grin on his face. "These guys are amazing, mate!" he said when I sidled up next to him. Far from being disheartened that people weren't stopping and listening to them, they were having a ball just doing what they do.
Ty turned to me and said, "I'm gonna ask if I can sing a couple of songs!" And as soon as they took their next break, he called the bandleader over.
"Mate, what's the chance I could sing a couple of songs with you?" he asked the trombonist.
The trombonist smiled; he'd obviously been asked this question often by would-be-if-they-could-be vocalists wanting to impress their girlfriends or boyfriends. "Maybe come back at the end of the day, sport," he said.
"I won't be here then," Ty replied. "I'm just visiting."
"Well maybe try next weekend?"
"I can sing!" Ty said hopefully.
"Yeah, they all say that!" the trombonist replied, rolling his eyes.
"Just one song then?" Ty said, refusing to give up. "Basin Street Blues in B flat major?"
The trombonist, who clearly had no idea who Ty was, was nonetheless impressed that he knew keys. "You've sung in public before?" he asked tentatively.
"Yeah, a bit!" Ty smirked.
"OK, then. One song," the trombonist agreed.
Once the break was over, the band reassembled on the stage and the trombonist filled the other players in on what was about to happen. Several pairs of eyes turned towards Ty and several of them rolled. Doubtless, they'd been down this road before. The trombonist beckoned to Ty, who pulled his beanie further down his head before climbing on to the stage and standing in front of the main microphone.
The band struck up the opening chords and suddenly Ty was away. "Won't you come along with me?, down the Mississippi, we'll take a boat to the land of dreams, steam down the river, down to New Orleans ..."
I smiled to myself as I watched the jazz band members exchange glances, and I was aware that people strolling past were suddenly stopping.
"The band's there to meet us, old friends to greet us, where all the proud and elite folks meet, Heaven on earth, they call it Basin Street ..."
Behind me I heard conversations. "Isn't that Tyson Hill?", "Sure looks like him", "Nah, can't be, he's not a jazz singer" and best of all, "Fuck, this guy's good"
By the time Ty had finished the song, the biggest audience the band had likely seen had gathered in front of the stage. He turned to the leader and said "Just A Closer Walk With Thee, in `D'."
I had goose bumps as Ty's crystal clear voice rang out across the park as he worked his way through the African American gospel. When it finished people started to cheer and looking around, I saw a swelling crowd of maybe 200 people, all entranced, and Dot and Frank beaming with pride, probably because their first born was singing a song he'd learned in Sunday School.
Nothing was discussed between Ty and the band, but they continued on with a repertoire of songs that Ty called out to them, including "Alexander's Ragtime Band", "Didn't It Rain", "When The Saints Go Marching In" and "Down By The Riverside".
By the time for the next break came, the audience had swelled to maybe 300. While the other players headed off for a quick beer, the trombonist approached us. "Mate, you're fucking kidding me?" he asked. "You're Tyson Hill, yeah?"
"Yeah, that's right," Ty grinned.
"Why didn't you say so?"
"Because I'd like to think you guys would give any bloke a go," Ty replied. "We all have to start somewhere. I love the way you guys play, by the way. Haven't sung jazz for years but it was a blast!"
While I wandered back to Dot and Frank, Ty made his way to the gathering of jazz players to thank each of them for the privilege. It took him a while to make his way back to us because he was stopped every couple of strides by fans and well-wishers, and locals who just wanted to slap him on the back.
"Mate!" I said when he finally got back to us. "That was awesome. I never knew you could sing jazz!"
"Oh, Tyson can sing anything!" Dot assured me proudly. "You should hear him sing opera. I end up in tears every time he sings `The Prayer'."
"That's not opera', Mum!" Ty laughed. "It's from the soundtrack of Quest For Camelot'. It's a pop song!"
Ty turned to his Dad and cocked an eyebrow. I knew he was waiting for a verdict.
"Very good, son," Frank nodded. "I like you singing that stuff. Shows off your voice."
"Thanks Dad," Ty responded, relieved seemingly. I was starting to realise that Dot thought Ty's farts smelt like strawberries, but if need be, it would be Frank who'd tell him just how rank they could be.
We made our way back to the Merc, Ty behind us with his arm around Dot and carrying her bags, Frank and me leading the way.
"Dorothy loves Andrea Boccelli," Frank remarked. "She's always saying Tyson should record an album of Boccelli songs, as a tribute."
"What does Ty think?" I asked.
"He thinks it's a load of bollocks," Frank replied. "And so do I. But we always agree with her. She always thinks she's right!"
When we got to the car, which was still intact and free even of bird shit, Frank turned to me. "Have you seen the cover of Andrea Boccelli's latest CD?" he asked.
"No, I haven't," I replied.
"Neither has he!" Frank grinned.
Back home in Stanthorpe an hour later, Dot busied herself in the kitchen making dinner while `the boys' took beer in the lounge in front of a roaring open fire. We were on to second beers when Dot joined us, the evening meal now in the oven, and Ty was immediately on his feet offering his mother a seat.
And fuck me if we didn't fill in the hour until mealtime, playing Monopoly! What had always seemed like a complete waste of time to me was suddenly fun, if only because I got to witness just how jokingly competitive father and son became when winning was at stake. When Dot put a hold on the game because dinner was imminent, Ty had just acquired `Mayfair' and Frank was pissed off. Luckily, Dot opened the saloon doors to the kitchen and the smell of food wafted in, a distraction always for every male I'd ever met whose surname begins with "Hill".
We ate in the kitchen and Dot's meal was amazing. Platters of perfectly roasted potatoes, pumpkin, parsnips, turnips, beetroot and field mushrooms, and masses of green vegetables, some steamed, some stir fried. And roast beef with Dot's amazing gravy. As he tucked in -- well, pigged out -- Ty caught my eye a couple of times and winked. No doubting he thought his Mum was the greatest chef in the world. Poor George.
Dessert was, as I expected, baked apple pie with Granny Smith's right off the tree. No ordinary pie, either. Painfully sweet, with the perfect blend of spices, although the only one I could identify was cinnamon. And the pastry? She must've rolled it, and folded it, and rolled it again! And to add to our cholesterol burden, it was served with home made vanilla ice cream and tablespoons of double cream. My mind told me don't finish it, you'll die!' but my stomach told me, we'll die happy'. Tummy won.
We adjourned to the lounge where pot tea was served with homemade shortbreads. More food. OK. Nice!
Discussion ensued about resuming Monopoly, but knowing how competitive Ty and his Dad were likely to get, I took a gamble and steered the conversation to the revelation that Lachlan had "met someone", and that Scott and Simon would soon be making travel plans. Gamble paid off. There ensued a million questions about "Lachie's girlfriend" and whether Scott really should be travelling overseas when all the terrorists were still on the loose.
By the time everything was properly talked through -- and all of Dot's fears had been allayed -- it was time to call it a night. Ty stood, gave his mother a hug and thanked her, and then did the same with his Dad. I followed suit and got the same gratitude and love in return.
Ty and I undressed quickly and hopped into a cold bed. We spooned straight away, for heat if nothing else. It didn't take long before we were warm and relaxed, but as much as I wanted to rub my hands all over the man of my dreams, I just knew that he really didn't want to have sex with me under his parents' roof. I understood that.
I cuddled him close and whispered "I love your family, Ty."
Silence for a moment and then he said, "Mate, they love you too, seriously. Now that they've realised I'm not wired for girls, I reckon they're secretly wondering how I managed to get so lucky."
It was my time to be quiet for a moment. And then I said, "You remember that first time, after Bedarra, when I said `I love you' for the first time?"
"Of course I remember."
"I meant it Ty," I said quietly. "It was a pivotal moment for me. I realised, for the first time in my life, I was actually `in love'. I'd never felt that way before. "
Ty unspooned us, and turned towards me. He made me wait for the endearments. "You just came up with three good song titles," he smirked. "'A Pivotal Moment", "For The First Time In My Life' and `I'd Never Felt That Way Before'. See! That's why I love you. You inspire me. You plant seeds."
"Speaking of which ..."
"Tomorrow night in our own bed at home," Ty replied, "I'm gonna give you the nastiest piece of ass you've had since ... well, the last time you fucked me I guess. But Dad's gonna knock at 5.30 so I've gotta sleep. I love ya Mike!"
I spooned him in the dark, holding him lightly in a sleepy embrace. I'm not sure how long we clung to each other in the dark, but at 11.43pm the silence was broken when Ty sighed, "Put it back in your boxers mate!"
Damn! I drifted off to sleep looking forward to having Ty back in our own bed in Point Piper. And blissfully unaware that once we got home, we'd be thrown another curve ball ...
Always happy to have your feedback. marcusis32@live.com.au