Tom the Grocer

Prologue

Tom was lost.

His two remaining kids had shut him out of their lives years ago. His wife of 20 years was long gone. Not that he had many fond memories of their last few years together as they had grown apart rapidly, particularly after the accident, probably because of the accident.

He had a reasonable but strained relationship with his daughter, Jane, until she married that upstart real estate salesman, and moved into his grand villa on the North Shore. As for his son, Graeme the less said the better.

Then there had been Jeremy. Sweet and loveable Jeremy. Jeremy, who everybody loved. That love of fellow kin had seemed to hold his family together until the accident. After the accident, it was as if no one wanted to even acknowledge each other let alone talk. Did everyone blame each other Tom had often wondered, him more than most?

Now he was facing a new life. A new life in his 40's without family, past or present. He had sold the family home, set up a company funded by the proceeds of that and investment from his personal super fund, and pursued his dream of a simple life in the only industry that he knew and understood, grocery. The Corner Grocer was a relic of the past, now in the day of the giant supermarket, but it was all he knew. He had found this small shop, well actually two shops combined, rooms behind suitable for dry store and cool rooms with a small apartment upstairs above the two shops. The son-in-law real estate expert had told him he was crazy to even consider buying this relic but Tom had been fascinated with it from first sight, and proudly displayed the simple sign that he had commissioned; Tom the Grocer.

He had searched for an old inner-city location, one without giant supermarkets and he was confident that in the Australian suburb Stanmore, with just an IGA on the other side of the railway station and just 10 minutes west of the City of Sydney, he had found the perfect spot.

The only part of his old life that he will miss is of coaching the Under 16's soccer team, but every year the keener ones kept continuing in older teams whilst others who develop different interests sadly drop out, it doesn't even have much to do with ability just the mindset. He had not known much about soccer till little Jeremy showed so much talent, following his progress through the age groups, and that progress, seemingly to stardom, had stirred his enthusiasm.

Maybe he will find a new team to coach in his new home, but probably not. Much better to lead a more reserved private life, but he will miss those mischievous boys, and the adrenalin rush of winning, sharing with them the unbridled elation of success!

As for women he wants no more of the possessive intrusions, the mood swings, the feeling of being owned. He remembers his carefree teenage days and the friendships without strings he enjoyed with his boyhood mates, what a simple life that was?

But in life, it is no good looking over your shoulder. Tom believed that it was far better to always look ahead with a smile and a clear head. This is the new life he plans for the new Thomas, as Tom the Grocer.

Chapter 1 -- The last weekend.

It was Tom's last free weekend, Monday morning and the shop would be open, then it would be working seven days a week with just Saturday, and maybe Sunday nights free as he intended to close at 6.00. instead of at 8.00, on the weekends.

So, as it had been the norm during the renovations, it was off to Kings Cross for his normal weekend break, just a few nice dinners and a couple of drinks to unwind after all the pressure of getting Tom the Grocer ready for operation.

Most, but not all, of the expected deliveries had come and he was sure that the few that remained now at 6.00 would not come before Monday, so he went upstairs to ready himself for his final weekend break.

An experienced traveler, it only took a few minutes to pack his small bag and be off. He quickly walked the 50 meters to the railway entrance for the Stanmore station, walked up the ramp, and then down the steps to the platform for trains to the city. There were many train lines but only two were for trains stopping at Stanmore, one to the city where Tom was headed and one to the inner western suburbs. Most were for the longer distance through trains which roared through regularly, without stopping.

As Tom walked down the length of the platform, there was much noise and tomfoolery as handfuls of schoolboys from Newington College were jostling each other in normal boy fashion. As he walked past a group of 4 or 5, in their summer uniform of khaki shorts instead of trousers, one rather pushy type, a real all-round sporting specimen had caused a minor commotion by just grabbing one of the other boy's genitals and was laughing whilst the victim was seeking revenge

Newington College was an elite school for boys, established by the Methodist church back in the 19th century. It is a fee-paying school, for rich kids.

Boys will be boys, as they say, rich or poor. Memories came flooding back of Tom's own teenage years and the games that they played as well. Mutual groping was an almost all-day-everyday process that just happened, in class, in the corridors, on the bus, or when just walking along anywhere. More serious groping also sometimes happened in the showers after sport, particularly if the teacher left early and left one of the naughty boys in charge.

In the showers it was flesh against flesh with no clothing to get in the way then sometimes things got a bit more serious and the groping became mutual wanking. Things that he had not remembered for a long time, maybe that is normal when boys become men and even fathers of their own, those memories are filed away never to be re-visited or even remembered.

Tom also recalled his weekend sleepovers with close mates Matt and or James, sometimes with all three of them enjoying their games, at night, being naughty. Always sharing a bedroom at whichever home it was their turn to stay at, sometimes even sharing one large bed.

The mutual wanking had begun in 1st Year and continued, with a few additions, through to 5th Year, from around 12 years of age till 16 or 17, from when they had small finger specimens until they had, with maturity, become large throbbers. It had all been relatively innocent till the weekend that Mark's young cousin Joey was included in the games, and it all changed. At first, Tom had been disappointed as Joey took over a position in the bed between Tom and Matt, but Joey was more precocious than any of them and, Tom could still remember the giggling boy asking him if he wanted a gobble' while squeezed in the bed between Tom and Mark. Tom had not answered but Mark had whispered go on'. Only turkeys gobble but Tom was sure that he knew what Joey meant. The boys had often talked about oral sex and all were waiting for someone to do it to them, no one ever considering offering to do it themselves.

So, Joey took no answer from Tom for a yes, and then it happened. Tom's cock was suddenly wrapped in warmth and wetness, his body reacted with a violent twitch and a wave of trembling ran up and down from his head to his feet. He had never before experienced anything like it and his resultant orgasm was accompanied by a fireworks display with colors exploding in the sky. He came very quickly as if the dam had burst.

The following sleepover, with Joey back to his home in the country after the school holidays, was a game of cat and mouse.

"If you do it for me, I will do it for you"

"No fucking way, I am not going to suck your cock."

"Didn't you like it when Joey did it to you?"

"Of course, and you can do it to me if you want?"

"It has to be each way or not at all?"

"No way!"

"Come on, it feels fantastic, I tell you what, I will do it for you, just a teaser to remind you, only for a minute or two. But then you have to do it for me if you want me to continue doing it for you?'

Tom did not answer but made no attempt to stop Matt from going down in the bed and doing it. It was almost as good as when Joey did it the first time, fantastic just not sensational. Perhaps the first time would always remain the best ever. He knew he wanted it done again, and again, so he was resigned to reciprocating, so he did. The three of them loved it so much it became their main reason for getting together. One scary day they even did it in the showers at school when no one else was around.

Tom was quite horrified to now be reminded of his old teen games, all caused by watching those Newington boys groping each other. He had never fancied boys or had a crush on a boy, as they say, he had just, with his teenage hormones raging, constantly fancied sex, and that had been the only alternative at the time. He had subsequently progressed to girls, then women, and finally marriage and fatherhood. Funny though, that very first head job still remains in his memory as the best one ever, perhaps boys do it better than girls?

Tom's memories of his naughty teenage years were halted by the arrival of his train. He boarded and sat just inside the door of the Tangara. Four stops later he alighted at Town Hall station, climbed the stairs to the concourse, and then went down the long escalator to the depths of the lower platform for his train to the Eastern Suburbs. Another two stations on the new train and he would be at his destination, Kings Cross.

Kings Cross had quite a reputation but Tom had always been comfortable there. Originally a bohemian-type village, consisting of late-night restaurants, cafes, pubs, and a mix of cheap and very expensive accommodation, it had exploded into something else as a result of the Vietnam war and thousands of American soldiers arriving from their near-death experiences for their final, very wild R & R leave with a pocketful of $US.

There had always been discreet prostitution, but suddenly there were girls everywhere, professionals and amateurs, all willing to sleep with a `yank' and have a good time, sometimes that even led to a marriage, other times just an unwanted child. The arrival of the Americans also brought hard drugs to Australia and Kings Cross. Marihuana had always been a part of the local scene but now more serious options abounded, all driven by the $US, and the servicing needs of the visiting soldiers.

With so much cash flowing freely every scam artist in creation also now walked the streets of The Cross, as it was known, these days. Tom's early recollection of The Cross was visiting small cafes where the jukeboxes played foreign pop songs. Dream time for the Aussie youth of the day as all planned to go `overseas' at some time in their life, preferably soon. A night at The Cross was almost like pretending that you were already there

When Tom stepped off the escalator at Town Hall station, a train was already there and waiting, with its doors open. He quickly boarded and as it was already very full, and he was only going two stops, just stood inside the door with his back against the wall between the seating and standing areas. He had just enough room to shove his bag on the floor between his feet. The train continued to just stand there as new passengers kept boarding the already full train. Tom watched as a smartly dressed young man skipped off the escalator, looked down the platform. Obviously thinking of going further along to less crowded areas but then decided to push his way into where Tom was standing, He squirmed his way in, and as a result, he and Tom almost rubbed noses as he did so, finishing with his body firmly against Tom's right hip bone, the boy grinning, and nodding to Tom, as if in apology.

The warning buzzer sounded and the train's automatic doors closed, and the train began its journey. It rocked as it entered the tunnel and began going around a tight bend, As it did so, Tom realized that the young man's right arm was locked in between their two bodies. Worse still the back of his hand was firmly pressed against Tom's genitals, and that pressure was starting to cause Tom to get an unwanted erection.

How embarrassing! The young man will think he is an old pervert. He hopes that he will not notice it. As the train pulls into the next station, Martin Place, maybe some passengers will get off. They did, but only from the other side and more of them boarded, so all in Tom's section were still glued together.

As the train recommenced its journey Tom's horror had become complete as it was now not the back of the boy's hand pressing against him but the front and his fingers were pressed hard against Tom's now full erection, worse still the fingers were wriggling and there was no way Tom could escape without creating a scene by verbally abusing the boy. As the train pulled into Kings Cross station almost everyone in the crowded compartment alighted so at last Tom was able to retrieve his small bag from the floor and with it placed firmly in front of him leave the train with no one able to see his embarrassment. The boy had quickly departed and Tom believed that at least for the moment his situation was over.

The journey from the platform to the concourse was by way of two long steep escalators, the left one going up the other coming back down. As Tom stood on his step on the escalator he absent-mindedly watched those who were descending, a mix of characters who lived, worked, or had just been visiting The Cross. The 24-hour action of the area attracted all sorts, including the down and outs. First into view were a pair of mature-aged indigenous Aborigines, both poorly dressed and the worse for wear. The lady was alternately loudly berating the man and glaring at the ascending passengers such as Tom, as if to dare them to interfere or comment.

The man just stood there taking it all in without comment as if he was used to this daily tirage. A few steps behind them, was a smartly dressed young man, no doubt just having finished his shift at one of the many real estate agents in the area, behind him another young guy who was still wearing his distinctive chef's trousers. Ten or so steps behind him was an Asian lady, in her 50's or so, in a strange white dress that had multi-colored layers overlapping; greens, blues, orange. To cap off this technicolor display was her vivid pink-colored hair that matched one of the layers.

At The Cross nothing was considered unusual.

Now at the top of his escalator, Tom moved to pass through the ticket barrier, still holding his bag in front, with his Opal card automatically opening the entrance gate for him. Across the concourse to another bank of escalators, that would take him up to the street level at Darlinghurst Road, and his entry to the famous Cross, and all that entailed. He was faced with three escalators this time, two going up and the other coming down. Tom chose the left-most one and only then looked up ahead. The boy from the train was standing on the central escalator and instead of facing upwards as all of the other passengers were, he was facing back down his eyes firmly on Tom who stared straight ahead not making eye contact but keeping him in focus in his peripheral vision. He had no wish for any further confrontation just wanting to escape and book into his hotel which was conveniently situated directly above the train station.

At the top, the boy walked straight ahead but kept looking back as if willing Tom to follow him which he had no intention of doing. Tom turned left at the station entrance and noticed that the boy had crossed over to the other side of Darlinghurst Road but still kept glancing across towards Tom. He had no wish for the boy to see where he was going, so he stopped at a street-side café for an essential coffee break and to get his breath back. The boy stopped at an entrance to an upstairs place, no doubt a sex shop as it was named Pleasure Chest. The boy looked across one last time, saw no interest from Tom, he seemed to shrug and give up, ascending the stairs to who knows what? Tom had explored such places before and had a good odea pf what it would contain.

Tom was surprised that the encounter on the train had quite shaken him up, he did not quite understand why he did not just laugh it off. After he finished his coffee, he walked back along the street to the Crest Hotel and went in, registered at reception, and went up to his assigned room on the 10th floor, overlooking the city of Sydney. Needing a quick shower to refresh he did so, whereupon his erection re-surfaced but this time he got rid of it in what had become the normal way of recent years.

Now relaxed, he set off on his adventures of the night. First, a leisurely dinner. The choice at The Cross was immense, from cheap and nasties to the best of fine dining. Tom settled for one of his usual places. Maggies. The food was OK but nothing special but as a long-time regular customer the staff had become almost like family and it was always a super relaxing experience, a bit like eating at home!

He crossed the park at the El Alamein fountain, in front of the police station, and approached the restaurant, still mostly empty at this early hour. He had only just taken his seat at a small table when waiter Dave arrived with a hot bread roll in one hand and a glass of white wine in the other, obviously having seen him approach through the park opposite, and had come prepared with Tom's usual starting order.

"Good evening Tom, how are you today?" asked Dutch Dave.

"OK Dave, but a bit shook up. Just been groped on the train."

"Not bad, a cute girl I hope?"

"No, that is the strange part it was done by a boy!" Tom confided, knowing that nothing would shock Dave.

"Always thought that you were the other side of the fence." Replied Dave rather matter-of-factually.

"So did I, I mean I am." answered Tom.

"It all happens at The Cross." Mused David as he returned to the bar.

The restaurant was famous for its giant-sized schnitzels, and Tom was very hungry so he ordered the Chicken Jaeger. two large slabs covered with a mushroom sauce which he was able to add at the table in order to keep the meat crisp.

After dinner Tom went for a few drinks at his usual late night bar in The Cross, Barons, an illegal drinking place the haunt of just about every night owl in Sydney. It was operated by two very police-savvy Austrians nicknamed by the regulars as Hitler and Jesus. The former being an extreme right winger, the latter a failed seminary student who had been unable to suppress his love of women and having sex with them.

Chapter 2 -- Greg

The months of frustration were finally over.

Rising early in his upstairs apartment Tom quickly showered, shaved and whatever, before preparing and eating a hurried breakfast at the small bar he had installed between his open kitchen and the main living area. After his healthy fruit cocktail of kiwi and passion fruit were thrown in the blender along with a couple of heaped tablespoons of oat bran and goji berries adding a sprinkle of chia seeds and quinoa, he devours two slabs of whole-grain rye toast, one covered with peanut butter, the other with Australia's Vegemite. A small quickly turned omelet, not so healthily stuffed with ham and cheese and a long black coffee from his kitchen espresso machine, Italian beans from Illy, completed his hearty breakfast.

He was surprisingly nervous. He had led a major corporation for years but this was different. He was now doing his own thing, a journey all had advised was doomed to failure. Now at the 11th hour, he wonders if they all may have been right and he may have been wrong to take this gamble, so late in his life?

Optimism was Tom's second name so he soon overcame his one minute of doubt and bounded down the rear stairs to make last-minute checks and open the door of Tom the Grocer, and the door to his new life. He walks outside and gazes up at his building the clean new white exterior offset by the multi-colored flowering plants hanging from the two balconies outside his apartment. He unfurls the blue and white striped awnings above each shop window to keep out the harsh Australian sun. He is very satisfied with the finished product.

The shops had been totally re-modeled to Tom's design, the corner shop becoming the main grocery room for packets, tins, bottles, and the cashier counter whilst the adjoining one had been fitted out with freezers and chilled display counters for all the fresh food he was stocking. Unlike traditional small grocers, Tom had decided to fashion a mini supermarket and include serving portions of meat, fish and pre-packaged meals, with a delicatessen range of processed meats and cheeses, all vacuum packed to retain maximum freshness and to extend their shelf life for as long as possible. Fresh fruit and vegetables were a more difficult option but he knew he must provide all the last-minute essentials to build a steady return trade.

The shop entrance was a pair of glass-paneled doors set into the actual corner, a small step between them and the footpath, covered with a blue overhead canopy to protect incoming customers from any rain. The corner was where the main and side streets met. Large display windows on the main street showed an array of product including a Today's Specials board which he intended to use to lure customers to enter by offering prices almost at cost. He wanted rapid turnover with zero wastage, his overheads were low so any profit was a good profit.

No sooner than he had unlocked the front doors, switched the CLOSED sign around to show OPEN, and settled on the small stool behind the counter and a mature-aged lady appeared, gently pushing the door open as if she was not sure if the shop was actually open or not.

"Are you open?" she inquired.

"Just this very minute and you are the very first person to walk through that door on this, our first day. Welcome to Tom the Grocer."

"I will have a look to see what you have, always good to check out any new place in this old neighborhood, usually places close down around here, so rare to have a new one."

"Feel free to look and don't forget the next room where all the fresh stuff is kept."

The old lady pottered around for almost 10 minutes, picking up many items and checking their prices. Tom had seen her before and they had been on nodding terms. During the 3 months of renovations, he had lived in the upstairs apartment and frequented all the other local businesses in his block to learn more about the area and meet as many locals as possible. Lunch at the `Greasy Greeks' owned by his new friend George, and dinner at Jimmy Choo's, the local Chinese restaurant, had become regular habits. Tom had eventually been accepted as a local, though as a new one and slowly at first.

"As you have only opened today, I guess the fresh is really fresh?' she inquired as if still doubting that fact.

"Is and always will be, I keep the markups to a minimum so as to turn all over quickly," Tom replied with a smile.

"I might just take a couple of things and try," she said as if she was doing him a major favor. And she was, as she was about to become Tom's first customer. After a frustrating further 10 minutes of poking around, she presented her small green plastic shopping basket, the same style as the major supermarkets, to Tom at the cashier post. The princely sum of $17.96 was the first sale.

After that there was a steady trickle of customers, sometimes 20 minutes or so in between, slow but sure! A couple of late deliveries arrived, today instead of last week, but he just had them dumped in the dry and cold stores to unpack later as he was afraid to leave the counter unattended, service first was his motto.

The bell jangled yet again and Tom looked up. A primitive small bell hanging from a chain behind the front door of the shop warned of any incoming customer.

A youth, not very well presented in fact almost scruffy, strolled in and began checking the sweets on display, before selecting a couple of Kit-Kats and bringing them to the counter where Tom was standing beside his brand-new computerized cash register.

"$3.60 please"

The boy looked at Tom and smiled. The smile totally transformed him. He had such an open smile that it suggested he was not lacking any self-doubts or embarrassment. He handed over a $5 note and patiently waited for his change.

Tom suddenly felt an urge to make conversation, something he only rarely did with total strangers and this young man he had never met nor even seen before. The boy had seemed uninteresting when entering the shop but that smile changed everything as if he was two different people.

"I haven't seen you around here before, are you new to Stanmore?" Tom inquired.

"Staying with an uncle while studying at college. In fact, I have just come from the railway station after spending half the night and this morning in a train. A bit of a mess I am afraid?"

"I come from the bush, Dubbo" he added "My dad owns a cattle and horse stud in Dubbo but I want to escape and have come to Sydney to study then work in IT, they seem to be the ones who make all the money!"

"Computer Technology?" Tom inquired to make sure he knew what the boy meant by IT.

"Yeah, I want to become a computer man" he answered, again with that open smile.

Dubbo was a large country town in northwestern New South Wales, a thriving community surrounded by hundreds of miles of prime land farms, mainly beef cattle and horses, with some sheep. Tom had driven through Dubbo once, stopping to enjoy a Mixed Grill, the country Australian meal of choice; steak, sausage, liver and bacon with an egg on the side and a mound of potato chips or French fries as they say in the posh places.

"I was in Dubbo once but only for an hour or two to have lunch, seemed a nice town," Tom offered as a conversation piece.

"Maybe nice for you as a stranger but for me, it is very boring, Sydney is much more exciting!"

"Sydney, but not Stanmore I assure you, but the big city is not far away."

The boy showed no wish to depart. He hesitated not knowing whether he had already overstayed his welcome, but as Tom was hungry for the company he was finding this simple exchange relaxing and sensed that Greg was an interesting young man. He also did not wish their meeting to finish.

"So, what will you do with your time here? Do you already have any friends here?"

"I only arrived earlier this morning. I know no one in Sydney except my uncle. I start college next Monday so I have the rest of this week to look around."

"I do not think that you will find anything very interesting in Stanmore, most of the people who live around here seem to keep to themselves. They all seem to be on tight budgets or are just shrewd with their money, judging by the prices in the local shops."

"That sounds like me, a poor student," the boy responds, with that infectious smile.

"You should be rich coming from a large farm"

"I guess my dad is but he does not shower the riches on me, says I must make my own way in life"

"By the way, what is your name? Mine is Tom, Tom the grocer!"

"Greg, only my mother calls me Gregory, Mr. Tom"

"No Mr. please, just Tom. I am too old to stand on any ceremony. I like simple things and honest open people."

"I feel very comfortable chatting with you, almost as if I have known you for years not just minutes," and then adds rather sheepishly "Tom".

"If you are ever looking for a little bit of part-time work after you settle in here then come and talk to me?"

Tom wondered why he had just said that after just a few minutes talking with the kid? Though he had often before made snap judgments in his life and normally they turned out OK, but this was verging on the ridiculous, particularly as he did not need any staff yet.

"Really? That would be fantastic! I definitely will need some work in order to survive, Sydney is so expensive!"

"It will be very boring work though, just helping by unpacking and storing all the things, and then re-stocking the shelves."

"No problem, I would love it, but are you serious, could I really work here with you? My college hours are from 8.00 till 4.00 on weekdays, the college is on Broadway at the University of Technology, so I should be back here before 5.00, and I would be free anytime at weekends, barring homework which I am sure they will give me plenty."

"Probably just bits and pieces, whenever I needed someone, it is not as of it would be regular full time, or even regular casual, just sometimes."

Then as an afterthought, he shocked himself by asking, "What are you doing later today? I have a big load of new stuff that just arrived a few hours ago and it must all be put away after I close at 8.00 tonight?"

Greg smiled, no more like beamed, "I would love to, you really are serious?" not fully believing his luck at possible solving his severe lack of pocket money from father, and had taken an instant liking to Tom. He may be as old as his own father but he comes across more like a big brother, he feels very comfortable with him and is sure that it would also be fun working with him.

"Tonight? Fantastic, I will be here. What should I wear?"

"Just any old thing, shorts, and T-shirt are Ok in fact they are probably the best as it may be a bit dusty in the storerooms."

"Great, because that is just about all I have apart from these jeans."

"Maybe wear your jeans and bring your shorts to change into, that way you can have a shower after if covered in dust."

Greg did not want to leave but knew he could not stand there and anyway as another customer had just walked in, announced by the jangling bell. He also needed some sleep after the long journey, so he would not make any stupid mistakes helping Tom later.

As Greg started to leave Tom said, nonchalantly, in a business-like tone of voice; "OK, see you later then?"

"For sure!" said Tom with a smile.

Chapter 3 ...Reflection

Tom felt both elated and a bit apprehensive. In some ways, Greg was like a breath of fresh air. The months he had so far spent in Stanmore, this inner suburb of Sydney, had been so quiet and peaceful It had been just as he had wanted. Now he also realizes that the human contact had been missing. Chatting with Mrs Jones about her chilblains is hardly the human contact that perhaps he needed.

Greg had that innocent air about him, honest innocence even though you knew he probably was anything but innocent as he appeared to also possess a quiet confidence that suggested he did what he wanted and was comfortable with that.

What did he want from Greg, he did not really need any staff or even part-time workers, so far he had been able to manage everything himself in the existence that he had carved out for himself. It would be more companionable to work with someone young and eager. He recalls from his soccer coaching experience that the daily contact with that effervescent youthful enthusiasm for life rubs off, it almost makes you young again. He also knows that he can contribute to such a friendship too, by offering advice, words of wisdom gained from his much longer and varied life experiences.

Although it had zero connection with the current situation his mind raced back through the years, pre-marriage when he enjoyed the carefree comradeship of other teen boys in his youth.

Naughty boys, they had been too when viewed from an adult perspective, their parents would have been horrified if they knew, but to them, at the time they just kept doing what came naturally. He wondered why we change our views of life and our behavior as we get older? No, he decided, we do not really change anything we just harness our desires and needs to conform with the so-called society and what everyone thinks of as the `norm'.

Perhaps it would be fun to pretend that he was a teen again, even though the body denied it! He knew he would have zero problems thinking like a teen but perhaps with just the slight restraining hand of his subsequent maturity.

Greg walked home with a spring in his step. How lucky he had been to venture into that corner store, and how incredible was the result. Tom seemed OK, no more than OK. He had felt so comfortable chatting with him his inclination was to stay there talking but knew that was not the right option.

His pecuniary plight was a bit of a worry not that he expected to earn thousands at Tom the Grocer, but at least it may be enough to pay for his incidentals. His Uncle Harry had assured him that no payment was expected for his unlimited board, although he felt sure that his father had made some arrangements without telling him. He and his father had problems having man-to-man discussions, as he still thought of and treated Greg as a little boy most of the time, much to Greg's constant frustration.

Greg believed that there was no valid reason for this as he had always acted in a responsible way at home, ever since leaving high school 2 years ago. Hell, he gave up the first year after school to work on the farm as his father had to cut down due to those heart murmurs and stints in hospital. How he hated that year, everything he did was never good enough, his father always finding some grounds, real or not, to complain.

What a contrast, Tom, and his Dad. Of course, he does not really know Tom, what can you learn about someone in just a few minutes? He will just see how it goes, certainly from the beginning, he feels surprisingly comfortable in his company, the age difference meaning nothing, in fact, he had always felt comfortable talking with, and in the company of, older more experienced people.

Greg is sure that working with Tom will be fun, hard work never daunted him, as long as the rewards were there, and sometimes all the rewards he ever needed were just a genuine `thank you, well done'.

He decided, that at least for the time being, he would say nothing to his uncle and certainly nothing to his parents about doing some part-time work with Tom. He just did not want any negative comment to spoil his mood, who knows what the locals thought of Tom. Locals often give newcomers a hard time if they ever gain acceptance. Uncle Harry had been living in Stanmore all his life, born in the same house, one of the grand ones still left in the area that had not been converted into offices or apartments. He wondered why his father did not share in the house ownership, but perhaps his father was now getting a small payback with the provision of Greg's housing during college. Maybe his father had received his share of the family fortune back when he bought the farm all those years ago, before Greg was born.

Greg was staying in what used to be the Granny Flat. It had been built for his father and uncle's mother, Greg's grandmother, but she had passed away a few years ago and the flat had since remained empty, except for the occasional visitor staying overnight. It was referred to as The Granny Flat even though it was, in fact, a small stand-alone cottage, amongst the trees and shrubs of the extensive garden area, behind the grand main two-story house where his uncle lived.

Now, Uncle Harry told him to call it his own, suggesting even that he could do some limited entertaining, meaning inviting girls home he assumed. In fact, it was a house in miniature. Inside the front door, nicely protected from any view from the main house, as he could enter from the side street, was a small living area, sofa, easy chair, coffee table, and shelves. A TV and DVD player sat on two of the shelves, they looked so new [hardly something that Grandma had used] that he suspected that they had been installed just for him, more secrets between the two brothers.

In the back corner was a mini kitchen. It comprised just a 2-burner gas stove, sink, small oven, refrigerator, and many cupboards. A one-meter breakfast bar separated the two areas. Although he had been told that he could join for meals in the house, as long as he warned them beforehand, he appreciated the ability to be independent. To the right was the good-sized bedroom with surprise, surprise, a large queen-sized bed. Greg had always dreamed of having an enormous bed in which he could sprawl, considering that to be the height of luxury. The fact that the bed was in fact big enough for two, or maybe even three with a bit of a squeeze, only flitted through his head without attaching any importance. The large windows on the outer wall of his bedroom looked out over gardens and shrubs, almost retaining a country feel, with which he felt very comfortable. He may be a country boy in the big city but he was still a country boy.

He had a feeling that Tom will be able to teach him much about city life. He wants to explore everything and anything. Greg was very ready for the next stage of his life!

Chapter 4....Working together

Tom could not help himself. He kept looking at his watch, checking the time. It was stupid but he was looking forward to seeing how he and Greg would work together, a pair of new boys in a strange town.

There had been a steady trickle of customers all day, some just to look and chat, there was certainly no shortage of local gossip, of which he was sure that he would now be a part of over many dining tables that night.

It had just gone six o'clock, the bell jangled and a smart well-dressed boy walked in. He bore little comparison to the scruffier version that had been there earlier.

"Sorry it is so early, but I had nothing to do and I thought I may be able to help you with something?" Greg said, sheepishly, almost as if he was afraid of being rejected.

Tom was pleased, very pleased. He did not understand why the mere presence of young Greg had this effect on him. He tried to be formal and not let his pleasure show. This was also a strange reaction, in fact, this boy was causing him many strange reactions.

"You are very early but no problem, yes there is quite a bit to do, the shop has been busier than I expected for the first day and I have not dared leave it for more than a few minutes."

"You said to bring these to change into," he said holding a folded set of shorts and T shirt in his hands, "where can I change" and he added with that cheeky grin returning, "right here?"

"And give all the old ladies a heart attack? Come I will show you."

With that Tom led Greg out through the rear door of the shop, the one with the TOILET sign above it. It opened onto a narrow corridor, a dry store on the left, and the cool room on the right behind overlapping heavy plastic doors. At the rear of the building, they swung right, past the customer toilet towards a vanity mirror and hand washing basin. An opening on the left was like the head of a `T', shower to the left, and a small bench seat with wooden clothes hanging pegs above it to the right.

As they entered the area Tom said, over his shoulder, "We must be the only small shop to provide toilet facilities for customers" then he added, "And it has been well utilized today already."

"The shower has hot and cold water, on the ledge are shampoo, soap, and things, just help yourself if you ever need a shower after working here?"

"Leave your jeans and shirt hanging there on the pegs, no one will steal them, no one can get in here as the outside gate is locked."

A few minutes later Greg came back into the front of the shop, looking completely lost. The change to a well fitting T-shirt and shorts changed his appearance from a smart young man to more of a standard teen, even though Tom guessed he was a bit older than that.

"What do you want me to do?

"Much fresh fruit arrived this afternoon, should have been here last week but that is how it goes, it has to be prepared for sale."

Tom showed him how the fruit and vegetable weighing and pricing machine worked, and they carried a carton of Kiwi Fruit in from the cool room, a stack of small rectangular cardboard trays, and some plastic glad wrap.

On the way, Tom opened the door to show Greg the dry storeroom. He stood at the entrance, quite shocked. "I can not believe it," he said. As all the shelves had previously been carefully packed by him on Friday, he immediately noticed a couple of empty spaces at the front of a few items.

"Someone has helped themselves to a few free samples!" he said, disgusted

It had to have been one of the half a dozen ladies who had been allowed to use the toilet, as none of the few men who had been in the shop had asked to do so.

"My fault as I had not bothered to lock the door. I will always do so in the future."

Tom explained, "Whenever you add anything here you always place the new items at the back so that we use the oldest stock first and reduce any possible wastage due to expiry dates. That is even more important in the cold storage as we do not want anyone getting sick from what they buy here."

Greg just nodded and added, "You mean that someone has stolen stuff from the store?"

"I am afraid so, that is the price of dealing with the public. Sometimes it can be the most respectable looking ones who cause the biggest problems."

"Now take three kiwi fruit out of the box at a time, wipe them with this moist cloth, weigh them on the machine, selecting number 36 for Kiwi Fruit, and the adhesive price tag will automatically appear. Lay them on the cardboard tray and cover tightly with glad wrap and stick the price label on the front of the plastic wrap."

"But first bring me the delivery docket so we can enter the cost price into the computer system."

Greg handed Tom the docket that was stuck to the top of the carton, Tom entered the code for Kiwi Fruit and entered the cost price opposite that bar code, pausing so that Greg could watch as he explained what he was doing.

"I put the new cost price for the item and the system automatically calculates a per kilo with a 25% mark-up, that next column says `special price' and if I enter anything here then that price will override the calculated retail price. Sometimes I round the price up or down and sometimes I create a very special price for one day, particularly if that item is not selling well and I want to move it quickly rather than throwing them out."

"These Kiwi Fruit come to $1.77 per kilo, we have many and I am not sure how they will sell in Stanmore so I will enter $1.49 as a special price."

Greg did as he was told, took three kiwi fruit from the carton, wiped them carefully so as not to bruise them, weighed them as the machine spat out a sticky tag, placed them in a row in the tray, covering them with the plastic wrap and affixed the sticky label that said `Kiwi Fruit, and thew price', looked at Tom and smiled, seemingly proud that he had been able to follow Tom's simple instructions perfectly. In return, he got Tom's nod of approval.

Tom showed Greg the space he had reserved for the Kiwi Fruit in the chilled fruit display unit, and they placed the first of the trays at the front, with room for another 9 trays behind it. Just then Greg jumped and Tom laughed, as the automatic cool water spray unit squirted a fresh wave, as it did every 10 minutes to keep the fruit as fresh as possible and maximize their shelf life.

"What do I do when this section is full?"

"Keep going till you have done them all just place the rest back in that carton and put the carton back in the cool room."

Greg worked steadily, a few meters from where Tom sat behind the counter, using the 2nd counter stool, every now and again looking across and smiling, obviously very content to be doing something useful.

They mostly worked in silence, Tom glancing at Greg to check that all was ok, the silence strangely companionable. Tom smiled to himself, thinking that no woman ever born could just sit there, content and work silently as Greg was doing, More than likely there would be a constant stream of inane chatter.

Customers kept coming in, not many but a steady stream every five minutes or so. Greg finished doing the Kiwi Fruit, then the Oranges, putting them in plastic bags of four, the same with the Jonathon Apples. Dragon Fruit, white and red, were wrapped and priced individually. Plums he did on trays same as the Kiwi Fruit.

Every time Tom served a customer Greg watched carefully, step by step, until Tom said, "Think you can be the cashier for the next customer?"

Greg was surprised by Tom's request but pleased as he was eager to show off to Tom, wanting to impress his new friend.

"I'll try but you watch me to see if I do it all OK? But first, tell me why you place the customer's money on the counter before handing them the change and only then putting it in the cash drawer?"

"You cannot guess?"

"Not really."

"Well suppose the customer gives me a $50 note, I give him his change and then he says `but I gave you $100'? You can say no you did not this is your $50 right here. A simple system, as an argument over the money tendered and you lose, money and probably a possible customer as well."

The wait for the next customer seemed like an eternity to Greg but eventually, a young professional-looking guy came in, wandered around both rooms of the shop, and brought his basket to Greg at the cashier's counter. Greg carefully passed each item past the bar code reader, waiting for the beep each time to show that it had been recorded, pressed the sub-total button when finished but the customer tended no cash, instead, he tapped his credit card on the small terminal at the front of the counter and like magic, the cash register recorded it and spat out a docket detailing all the purchases.

After the customer left Tom said, "Now if he had paid cash, you would have entered the amount he gave you and the machine would have displayed the correct change to give him back. Very well done, you were certainly watching me more than I had realized."

With this little pat on the back Greg relaxed, feeling that he had passed another test, comfortable both in the shop and working with Tom. He once again thought how different Tom was from his father. Tom explained everything slowly and carefully, not bridling at any questions, and even said well done, afterward. His father just barked instructions and screamed when anything was not done to his satisfaction.

Eight o'clock came quickly and it was time to lock up the shop, wind the outside awnings back, and re-stock the shelves with what had been sold. Whilst Greg mopped the floor and wiped down the shelves Tom closed off the day's transactions printing a series of reports that showed what had been sold, the amount that should be in the till and on credit cards, even the day's profit being the difference between the cost price of goods sold today and what they sold for. If any items had to be binned, he would have added them as wastage, but for the first day that was not a problem, he would work out later how to record the stolen items so the stock numbers remained correct.

"Not bad for a first day, 16 cents short of $2,000, with $388.22 gross profit. I think that might pay your wages and buy us some dinner, Are you hungry Greg? I feel like a Chinese at Jimmy Choo's, and maybe a glass of wine or two. What do you say? I think we have earned it."

Greg was too embarrassed to say yes' and too eager not to say no', so he just grinned and said, "I could eat a horse!"

"Cats and dogs maybe, but I do not think Jimmy serves horse meat," Tom said with a laugh. "Go and have a quick shower outback and change into your glad rags whilst I go upstairs and do the same." He added, pushing Greg ahead of him along the corridor, giving him a friendly pat on the bum to help him on his way.

Upstairs Tom stripped off and luxuriated in a hot shower, only then realizing just how tense he had been about the first day in the shop. Now that was past and from his point of view, quite successfully so.

And then there was young Greg, he does look a natural. He works well, looks well, he even thinks! And he is fun to work with, just to be with. Tom dares not think any further on the subject but after the shower, he shaves and dabs the aftershave using the expensive Kenzo rather than his normal daytime Salvatore Ferragarmo. He glances at the full-length mirror, pleased that side-on there is still no paunch, and just the very slightest touch of grey in front of his ears.

Not so bad for 43 he thinks? Then wonders what the hell is happening? Anyone would think he was going out on a date, a first date, the way he is fussing about. Then, regardless, for good measure, he sprinkles a bit of his pleasant-smelling Talc from Crabtree & Evelyn.

He dresses, pretending to just throw on anything but still carefully selecting a pale blue cotton short-sleeved shirt to wear outside his white slacks. He wants to look smart but still cannot admit to himself as to the reason why.

He locks his apartment door and almost runs down the stairs to where the grinning Greg is leaning against the wall, smartly dressed once more in his jeans, not skintight but very form-fitting. They certainly showed his body contours off to perfection.

Chapter 5..Dining together

Tom and Greg walked along the 100 meters of footpath from Tom the Grocer at one corner of the street to Jimmy Choo's restaurant at the other end of the block.

On the way, they passed what Tom called `The Greasy Greeks' and his newfound friend, George, called out, "How was the first day?"

"Great," Tom replied." And I even got myself a new helper, Greg here," he said, pointing to Greg by putting his arm on Greg's back and pushing him to the front.

"Now we are off for a well-deserved meal at Jimmy's."

George waved them on their way and after another 50 meters, they entered the Chinese restaurant to a chorus of `G'day Toms' from Jimmy and his staff. They were all of pure Chinese origin though most were born in Australia. However, their good English was heavy with that iconic Aussie accent and usage of local slang.

Tom selected a table towards the rear of the restaurant well away from the other diners. After the routine of ordering their food, Tom added a bottle of Leeuwin Estate Riesling.

"Dry, cool, fresh, and crisp," he explained his choice of wine to Greg, as one of the young waiters, obviously a family member, brought the wine, uncorked it rather crudely, and filled their glasses almost to the brim. This was not a fine dining restaurant but just an eatery, but a good one.

"But before we eat, here are your wages for helping me today," said Tom taking a $20 note out from his wallet and handing it across the table to Greg. "Is $20 and a meal OK?"

Greg looked dumbfounded. "$20 plus a meal, I can not believe it. I would work in the shop with you for nothing!" Then rather sheepishly he added, `I do really need the cash though, it helps greatly, I cannot thank you enough."

Tom looked across the table and surprised Greg by asking, "Now tell me your life story?"

"You want my life story? I could write that on the back of a postage stamp!" he replied, with a smile.

"Well tell me anyway, I am sure it is more interesting than that?" Tom said, matching him, smile for smile.

"It has just been all work and school, and more work and school!"

"No fun times?"

"Very few, in fact, going to school was my escape from the constant drudgery of working on the farm. I was up every morning at 5.00, seven days a week, hot or cold, dry or wet. Then breakfast at 7.30 and off to school on my old trusty bicycle, all 10 miles of it. After school, it was straight home for the afternoon feeds."

"The ride was not that bad in fine weather but it was a cow with wind and rain or during heat waves in summer, of which we have many in Dubbo!" Then he added, "On lucky days if someone was going into town to buy supplies in the small truck we had I would get a lift, throwing my bike in the back. Unless my father drove the truck then he dropped me off at the turnoff to school, and I still had 2 miles to cycle."

"Your father sounds like a hard man?" Tom said. Greg just nodded, this time there was no smile, more of a grimace.

"I did not actually mind working on the farm it was just my father constantly griping about everything. I loved working with the horses, except for foaling time. Why broodmares always have to foal in the early hours of the morning I do not know?"

"You had to be there when the mares give birth to their foals?" Tom asked, innocently.

"When you have a valuable broodmare who has been covered by a stallion costing $20,000 a serve it is a big event on the farm."

"What, $20,000 for a stallion service?" Tom was shocked, not knowing much about the racing business.

"Maybe we should put you out to stud?" He joked.

"A good life, but it would not be much fun, eating grass all day!" Greg said which caused both of them to laugh at that crazy suggestion. The mutual laugh broke the tension from such a serious story.

Then their food began to arrive: Sweet and sour chicken, Prawns in honey and sesame and Jimmy's special dish Tom always ordered, crumbed Duck breast, cross sliced, with an orange sauce poured all over it. On the side was a serve of their special fried rice.

It had been brought by the only waitress, a normally shy teenage girl, obviously also a family member.

Tom was normally served by one of the sons who he continually laughed and joked with, or Jimmy himself, so he said, with a sly smile, "I think she fancies you!"

This seemed to embarrass Greg, who suddenly seemed shy about that suggestion, looking down at his plate. Tom looked at him closely, studying the almost perfect complexion, slightly tanned which gave him that wholesome healthy look. The only blemish was a few freckles across each of his high cheekbones, but even those looked as if they had been perfectly and evenly placed, as if by design.

"You are quite a spunk, you know?" Tom embarrassed him by saying. "I am sure that all the girls at college will be trying to be the first to sleep with the new boy, Greg from Dubbo?"

Greg smiled but rather awkwardly, obviously not totally at ease with the suggestion.

"I doubt it," he said quietly.

Greg looked over the dishes on the table, a bit mystified by all the food and even more so by the extra small empty bowl and chopsticks placed in front of him. Tom was ready to explain.

"The Chinese usually eat a plate of fried rice as their last course after eating all of the other food but we Aussies do it this way." He said as he lifted his own small bowl to demonstrate.

"Spoon some of the fried rice into your bowl then use the chopsticks to select pieces of different meat or a prawn, one at a time on to the top of the rice, eat it, and then some rice, and so on."

Tom showed him how to use the chopsticks, with one as a base and the other moving, but when using them to eat the rice holding them slightly apart, more as a little shovel. With the bowl held in his hand just under his chin to minimize any spillage. After a few misfires, Greg got the hang of it and looked quite proud with his newfound skill. He was scared of making a fool of himself in front of Tom.

"With the prawns, just stab them with one of the chopsticks," when eating in a restaurant you can do anything you like, as long as you look like you know what you are doing!" explained the experienced Tom to the doubting Greg.

As they slowly worked their way through the food, sipping the fresh young crisp white wine as they went, Greg reverted to his usual relaxed self.

"This is the best meal I have ever had," he exclaimed.

Tom just smiled then said, "Now the rest of your life story, what did you do when you left school?"

"I had planned to study Accounting at Dubbo Tech, thinking that working in an office had to be better than on the farm. Working in a nice air-conditioned office and no father watching my every move, sounded like heaven. But my father had a bit of a heart attack and I had to work full time on the farm. That was the worst year of my life."

"Is he Ok now?" Tom asked.

"Yes, back to his old grumpy self. He just does not smoke anymore, which makes him even grumpier! Towards the end of that year, he began to spend more time back working so I announced, much to his disgust, that I was going to get a job in Dubbo. I had no idea where or what but I just had to escape, or so I thought?"

"What did you do?'

"I got a job in the Blue Moon Café in Dubbo. Starting just as a busboy, carrying plates and clearing tables, then taking orders, doing the bar and even cashier which was unusual as the cashier was normally only a family member."

"They must have trusted you," Tom observed with some satisfaction, happy and a bit proud that his own judgment on Greg had been vindicated.

"I guess so, but then most members of that family were too lazy to work, apart from the boss."

"I still did not escape the farm though as I mostly worked from late morning till mid-evening at the cafe, so I was still up every morning at 5.00 to feed the cattle and horses every day, and then work there all day on my so-called holiday day off."

"My only way to escape was to leave Dubbo permanently, and here I am. So far this has been one of the greatest days of my life," Greg adds, a little misty-eyed and very serious for the first time.

"It has been one the better days of my life too," retorted Tom. "Finally opening Tom the Grocer, without any major disasters was great."

Then as an almost shy afterthought, he added. "As an extra bonus running into a crazy boy from Dubbo was not that bad either!" They smiled at each other across the table. Greg had an almost unnerving habit of making complete eye contact, so open, and so honest. His manner suggested total innocence yet with enough self-confidence to suggest that he was maybe not so innocent.

They had now finished the food and Tom suggested another bottle of wine. Greg just smiled and shrugged.

"Why not?" He answered, not wanting to do anything to spoil the moment, nor to end the evening.

"Want some deep-fried ice cream?" Tom asked.

"How can you deep fry ice cream, it would all melt?" Greg replied not sure if Tom was only joking with him.

"You will see," said Tom, calling the waiter to order one serve for Greg, whilst Tom just concentrated on sipping his wine, noting that Greg was not shy about drinking his share either.

When it arrived, Greg devoured his deep-fried ice cream. "That was a perfect end to a perfect night!" He exclaimed.

The night had to end and so it did. Tom paid the bill and they said their goodbyes to Jimmy and the staff who all seemed to treat Tom as their very special customer, but then they all knew that being everyone's best friend was the way to succeed in business.

As they walked back to the shop Tom felt like asking Greg if he wanted to come up for a final drink, but instead said. "If you want to you can come in tomorrow at the same time?"

Greg's eyes lit up, as did his face as a smile exploded across it. "Really? That is fantastic, I will be there."

"See you tomorrow then," said Tom with his arm loosely across Greg's shoulders, almost giving him a little push along on his way. He almost patted him on the bum too, but that would have been a bit too intimate in the dark laneway.

"For certain sure," replied a dazed Greg. "And thank you for everything."

"Thank you, for walking into my shop today!" said Tom as he let himself in through the side gate behind the shop. They gave each other small waves and went their own ways.

Chapter 6....Another Day

Tom had slept soundly, not realizing just how stressed he must have been prior to opening day. He woke with a start, coming out of a weird dream. He had been in a room, obviously a bedroom as he had been sprawled on his back on a bed. The weird thing was that there was a shower cubicle, maybe made from fiber-glass, in the corner of the room. The door of which opened and a naked Greg walked out of it, towel in hand, displaying all of his ample proportions, a big smile on his face.

Tom immediately dismissed the dream, quite embarrassed by its content, and tried to pretend that it had not happened.

Later, after he had again re-opened the shop, he tried to forget all about Greg, and just take the day as it came, welcoming many customers and chatting with them whilst taking their money off them, with a smile.

As it approached 12.00, midday, he began to feel hungry and realized that he had not thought about what to do about preparing and eating some lunch, working alone in his shop. In future, he thought, he must make some sandwiches upstairs at breakfast time and bring them down. Maybe he would help himself to a couple of apples to fend off the growing hunger pains.

Then in walked Greg!

As pleased as he was to see him, he said, "What are you doing here? Could you not sleep?"

"I slept like a log after all of that wine last night, but when I awoke, all I could think of was coming in here, just in case you needed something?"

"You miss me?" Tom joked.

"Actually yes, I could not wait till six o'clock." He replied, the usual broad smile creasing his handsome face. "Maybe you would like to go and eat some lunch while I mind the shop?" He asked, almost plaintively, scared that Tom would tell him to go back home.

"Well, I was getting hungry, but do you really think that you could handle everything? If so, I might just go to the Greasy Greeks for a quick bite."

Greg nodded eagerly, "I am sure that I can, and if a problem does come up you are almost next door anyway."

Tom decided to gladly take Greg up on his offer. The day had already become much brighter just by his unexpected presence.

He gave Greg his business card and said, "This is my mobile number, any problem just call me, and I will come back."

With that, he left Greg in charge of his pride and joy, and went to have a very quick lunch with George.

Twenty minutes later he returned, asking Greg, "Any problems?"

"It was simple, I think 6 customers, no problems. Three of them came at the same time but they all got served." He proudly said all matter-of-fact like. "And they all paid, of course, 5 with cash and one with a credit card, tapping again like that guy did last night." He added.

"Now it is your turn," Tom said to a mystified Greg. "You must be hungry too. I have already paid for your lunch and a milkshake at George's. Go now, he is expecting you."

Greg was embarrassed by the ever-thoughtful Tom, yes he was very hungry, but he had forgotten all about that with the excitement of working in the shop, all alone.

"Ok, fantastic! You are so kind, you are always doing things for me, I don't know what to say."

"Say nothing, just go and enjoy. Come back when you are finished but take your time and relax."

Greg just nodded his head, again mumbling his thanks, and went for lunch, his first-ever, at the `Greasy Greeks'.

After Greg returned, raving about his great Mixed Grill and strawberry milkshake, the day wore on and quite quickly now that there were the two of them chatting and joking in the gaps between customers. Tom thought how much he was going to miss this bright addition to his life when Greg disappears to college the following week, it will make the days seem long, but then there will always be the evenings to look forward to.

The day followed the same pattern as the previous one, again finishing with dinner at Jimmy Choo's. Once more Tom refrained from inviting Greg up to his apartment for a final drink but shocked even his own self when they were parting by asking, "If you enjoyed tonight then maybe you had better come with me on Saturday night? On weekends I close the shop at 6.00 instead of 8.00, so I can go out and relax away from the area.

"For sure, anytime, anywhere," Greg replied quickly as if he had to in case Tom changed his mind. "So where do you go on Saturday?" he inquired.

"Just to a little restaurant I love, up at The Cross."

"Do you mean King's Cross? That is one place that was high on my must-do list but I was a bit scared to go there alone. My parents would die if they knew I was going there the first weekend in big, bad Sydney"

"Is it really full of druggies, criminals, and prostitutes?" he added.

"I am afraid so but you just ignore them. It also has great cafes and restaurants, bars, clubs and expensive apartments as well as all the trash!"

"Wow!" was all Greg could get out.

Chapter 7...A night out

After closing the shop, balancing the cash and cards, and re-stocking the shelves on Saturday evening they locked up and left just before 7.00. It was only a 5 minutes walk to the station where they boarded an all-station train to Town Hall before changing platforms to go the extra two stops on the Eastern Suburbs line, alighting at Kings Cross.

As they approached the main street of The Cross by the ascending escalator from the basement station Tom advised Greg, "Everything you have heard about the Cross is probably true but it is also the most cosmopolitan part of Australia, and very special."

"Just a few words of advice, being an innocent country boy, you will see many things for the first time. Look everywhere but never make direct eye contact. That way no one will feel the need to approach you and you will be left alone. Not that you would be hassled walking with me." Said Tom, almost making Greg nervous about what was to come.

As soon as they left the station entrance and crossed Darlinghurst Road. Greg's first encounter with the infamous Cross area was a middle-aged prostitute painted and dressed up like a teen with caked make-up, a short skirt, and a bulging bosom that was almost falling out of her blouse. She gave Greg a big come-on smile and a `Want a lady?' greeting.

Greg was more amused than embarrassed. Further along the footpath, were a couple of poorly dressed Aborigines, amongst a group of down and out white teenagers, all perhaps on the drug scene, then some Hell's Angels bikers. In between this array of humanity were small fenced-off areas along the footpath in front of cafes in which were a variety of customers from all walks of life, enjoying their cappuccinos, lattes and a stray macchiato. These outside tables were the smoking ones so very popular.

They passed in front of the always busy Kings Cross police station, crossed the small park, and entered Maggies, an Austrian-Swiss restaurant, owned, not surprisingly, by an Austrian lady called Maggie.

Tom took an outside table so Greg could watch the passing parade. Waiter David soon greeted them and Tom introduced Greg and answered the expected questions about the first day at Tom the Grocer.

Tom suggested that Greg have the Chicken Schnitzel, knowing full well that the monster serve of tender meat would amaze him. Tom ordered the house special a Pork Knuckle, intending to offer Greg a taste, furthering his food knowledge.

The bottle of house white arrived and glasses were poured and filled to the top, no trendy fancy restaurant this, more a working man's place. Greg leaned across the table and said to Tom, "Now it is your turn!"

"What do you mean?" asked a puzzled Tom.

"Now I want to hear your life story?"

David the waiter returned with two hot bread rolls, butter, a pot of Dijon mustard for Tom's Pork Knuckle, and a small dish of coleslaw which he placed in front of the mystified Greg.

Tom explained that it was a side dish that they always served at Maggie's with the schnitzels.

Tom smiled and though initially wanting to refuse the request for the story of his life, relented. It was almost as if he wanted Greg to be a part of his life and know what had gone before, good and bad.

"I left school and went to work in the office at Goodlife, then a small 5-person company distributing healthy food, way before that became the in thing. The funny thing was the owner and boss, was called Tom Good, so Goodlife was a great name. I was always referred to as Tom Junior.

I worked in all sections, including sales and product selection over the years before becoming General Manager 5 years ago when the owner cut back his working days. I extended the company to include much-imported product so things were available all year long not just seasonally, traveling all over Asia, as well as Australia, sourcing product."

"Wow that sounds exciting, so how come you no longer work there?"

"The boss wanted to retire so he accepted a big multi-million dollar bid from General Foods of America, not my scene so I cashed in and left. Now here I am having dinner with you!"

"You never married?" Greg queried.

"Now that is another story completely."

"Well?" Greg asked, waiting for an answer.

"Long story, married young, which lasted just on 20 years, my wife died from breast cancer 2 years ago, a son and a daughter, son went bad years ago. My daughter hardly talks to me, not a happy story."

"Your kids never talk to you, they must be stupid."

"No, it was my fault really. I was always too busy with the company. I gave the family a great home, and money but never enough of what they needed."

"What else did they need?" he asked incredulously.

"My time, I never spent enough quality time with them, treating their wants as important, always too busy. I was an absent father and husband. The all-time recipe for disaster."

"But you would make a fantastic father. Hell, way better than my grumpy old one. And why won't your daughter talk to you?"

"That is the real sad story. We also had another son, a perfect son, Jeremy. It looked as if he was going to be the next soccer superstar. He was scouted by every club in Sydney, and even a few foreign ones."

Greg said nothing, waited as he instinctively knew more was coming.

"I normally picked him up from soccer training and after matches. I really enjoyed our small times together, just Jeremy and me, alone in the car. I was trying to make up for all my mistakes with the previous two. I always got the full story of the match, he had an instant recall of every ball movement, he was so enthusiastic about his soccer, in fact, his life. These were our special times together. But once again work and my selfish ambition got in the way and one night, I called my wife saying I was too busy, asking her to pick him up from training. She hated driving and was not a very good driver. I could have left my meeting and gone there but I was too obsessed with a new possible deal."

"To cut a long story short, it was a hell of a night with electric storms and wild wind and rain, she crossed to the wrong side of the road, maybe blinded by oncoming headlights, hit a truck head-on. She broke both legs, but Jeremy was killed instantly. Our lives together were never the same since."

Greg was shocked and so embarrassed. "That's me I always fuck things up! Sorry for asking those stupid questions, it was none of my business! Now I have made you sad, I have fucked up again, just when you are being so kind to me, bringing me here, and all."

Tom, slightly misty-eyed from recalling the awful memories, had rested his hands on the center of the table after putting down his wine glass, half emptying it at one go. Greg surprised him by placing his hands on top and squeezing slightly, comforting and quite touching.

"No, it is quite OK. Just that I have not talked aloud about all of that for a long time. I guess that I kept it all bottled up, now I am glad that I told you. It was all a long time ago and life is about the now and the future, not the past. So, we are here now, and I am very happy to be here with you showing you around, maybe offering you some new experiences."

Tom withdrew one of his hands and placed it on top of Greg's hands and returned the squeeze, just a bit stronger.

Then the cheeky David returned with two enormous plates of food and commented as he placed them down on the table, `What, holding hands already?"

That cracked them both up, both smiling almost shyly now, as they quickly removed their hands from the table to make way for the dishes of steaming food. It also put a natural finish to the melancholy mood that had descended, refreshing the atmosphere.

Eating and drinking now took pride of place, Tom watching with pleasure as Greg worked his way through the pair of over-sized schnitzels, served Jaeger style covered with a thick mushroom sauce, and sampled slabs of Tom's Pork Knuckle, covered with lashings of Dijon mustard.

He was curious about the Roesti.

"Potato?" he asked. "But different, I have never seen it like this before."

"Very traditional in southern Germany, and the German-speaking part of Switzerland," Tom explained. "Actually, it is not very good here, although everything else is."

"I think it is fantastic." Replied an enthusiastic Greg.

When they had finished Tom suggested a quiet drink in the bar back near the railway station, called the Goldfish Bowl. Greg was eager to accept.

They walked together inside the restaurant proper, to the cashier desk, and Tom introduced Greg to Maggie the owner. She saw that Greg was fascinated by the large witch on a broomstick that was hanging above her head at the cashier station.

"I know they all call me a witch behind my back but I do not care. So, I hang my namesake up for all to see." Maggie explained rather dryly.

Tom and Greg said their goodbyes, Greg enthusing about his meal and promising to return.

On the way back, they were repeatedly propositioned by an array of stoned street girls of all ages, the only common denominator was the slutty look that they imagined to be sexy? Perhaps it was to the trash who accepted their offers of quick sex.

As they passed one doorway, leading to an unknown upstairs, Greg read the sign that hung across and above the footpath, `Pleasure Chest'.

"What is Pleasure Chest," he asked, innocently.

Tom's rather flippant reply was, "I suppose it is where boys go to get sucked off!"

"What?" said a shocked Greg. "You mean like buying a packet of cigarettes?"

"Easier and cheaper, I will tell you about it later."

Entering the `Goldfish Bowl' they took seats at the glass window overlooking the street, facing out. Were they the fish in the bowl looking out or were the fish outside on the street? Greg wanted his usual Jameson's and soda and Greg asked for a beer, a Fosters, but Tom suggested what he thought was a better one, Cascade.

"It is made with the snow water of the upper Derwent River in the mountains of Tasmania. The water is very pure, water is one of the most important ingredients in beer." Tom explained. "And whisky," he added, holding up his glass.

They contentedly sipped their drinks, relaxing in each other's company not feeling the need for constant talk, even though Greg had so many questions. One question was paramount in his mind and he had to ask,

"What about that Pleasure Chest?"

"Ahah, the boy is horny and wants to get sucked off?" Tom smiled as he sensed Greg's discomfort overruling his embarrassment to talk about such things with someone so much older.

"Not really. Well, of course. But I am curious as you made it sound so casual and normal."

Tom took a deep breath, conscious that they were on new ground, talking about sex. So, he tried to make it all very off-hand.

"All the working-class boys from the suburbs who come into the Cross supposedly to pick up a girl, often spend all their money and get nothing in return, often finish up at places like the Pleasure Chest."

"But, what happens there?"

"I assume it is like all of the other sex shops here with many small private booths. You can go in, lock the door behind you and put $2 pieces into the machine in front of you and watch a selection of porno videos." Tom explained.

"So what, they can do that at home, or does the machine suck them off?"

"You are almost right, but not quite. Both of the side walls have large circular holes in them, if someone from next door beckons them, they can stick their cock through the hole and get sucked off."

"Wow, just like that?"

"Want to try?"

"No way, someone might cut it off!"

Q "Painful!"

"Very!" said Greg and cracked up, causing Tom to join in the stupid laughter. Both of them were now perfectly relaxed after all the booze, the togetherness adding to the mood.

"But how do you know about all that?" asked Greg.

"We old guys get horny sometimes too you know. That is not just the sole domain of young studs like you." Tom replied, hoping that would be the end of any questioning on this subject as it was getting into dangerous territory. So, he changed the subject quickly.

"Normally when I come into the Cross at weekends, I stay overnight upstairs here at the Crest Hotel." Tom said.

Greg was suddenly embarrassed and said, "You can if you want, I can get the train home by myself. You have already done much for me."

Tom then shocked himself as his mind ran ahead of his brain, and asked. "What happens if you do not go home tonight to your place, do they get out the search parties to find the little lost country boy?"

"No way, they would not know anyway, I am free." He said emphatically. Then he added, "For the first time in my life!"

Tom knew he was moving on to the dangerous ground, but he was almost on remote-control as he asked, "If you want to stay in, and have an early French breakfast in The Cross, before we go back tomorrow morning to open the shop, I can go and check to see if they have any rooms?"

Without the slightest trace of embarrassment, Greg answered, "Sure!"

"Then hang on here for a bit and I will go and check. Better if I go in alone, they know me anyway."

Greg suddenly looked scared, `You will come back?"

"Of course I will, you silly boy? Leave you here to get raped by all those horrible prostitutes? No fucking way!"

Greg just smiled but he was still not happy about being left alone. Tom went in next door to the reception. The guy remembered him from previous Saturday nights, smiled, and asked if he wanted his usual room?"

Tom said yes, and although realizing that his usual room was always with just one king-size bed, he said nothing to change that.

Returning to the bar, and an anxious Greg, he suggested they finish their bar drinks and go upstairs.

"You can always get another drink from the mini bar in the room." He explained.

As they strolled in through the front doors of the hotel, and sauntered over to the bank of lifts, Tom felt quite guilty, as if he was cheating?

Chapter 8 ....Very together

Riding up to the 16th floor in the lift they were both strangely silent, just the two of them, the only sound was the whoosh of air as they ascended, and the quiet, but awful, lift music.

At room 1626, Tom inserted the computerized key card, the door opened, and when the key card was transferred to the socket on the wall, just inside the door, all the lights and TV came on.

Greg was amazed. He had not seen a bedroom as big as this before. He walked across to the ceiling to floor picture windows. The curtains were both pulled right back, so he gazed out over the lights of Sydney. In the background was the famous Sydney harbor bridge, fully illuminated with thousands of floodlights.

"Wow!" he said, which appeared to be his favorite word.

If he even noticed that there was only one bed, he certainly said nothing of it. Tom was a bit embarrassed so he lied, "This was the only room they had left, so you sleep on the right-hand side, with me on the left, OK?"

Then he added, "Or me on the right and you on the left when in the bed?"

"No problem," said Greg without any trace of embarrassment.

"I feel safer staying with you, anyway." He added.

"Do you want another drink?" asked Tom, delaying the awkward moment of undressing.

Greg smiled, "No more for me, if I drink another glass the room will start spinning."

"Then let's crash. Put your clothes over that chair and I will use this one." Tom said as he pointed to the chairs in front of the big window. He started to remove his shirt, shoes, socks, and pants, turning away from Greg so as to give him some privacy in case he was embarrassed. He should not have worried as when he was down to his jocks and turned round, Greg was just wearing his skimpy blue briefs and diving onto the top of the bed like a small child playing games.

They climbed into bed, each on his allotted side, and Tom switched off the lights at the side table. The only lights now were those of the city of Sydney, a blend of fixed lights and blinking neons, through the glass window. They had not drawn the curtains as an early start on Sunday was necessary.

Tom was very conscious of Greg's body close to him, their hips almost touching. His mind went back to his teenage days. That was the last time he had ever shared a bed with another male. He and his mates often finished up in the same bed in those days, after a few drinks. He also remembers what they normally ended up doing, After mock wrestles, and bouts of mutual tickling, when their bodies touched each other repeatedly, it always finished with them playing with each other's erections which had always eventuated early in the struggles. As they say `boys will be boys'! These nights always finished with some sexual activity, but just a case of physical release, helping each other out, it was never as a result of any sexual attraction for each other. What he was feeling now was different, and scary.

Tom rolled onto his side, facing Greg, and placed his hand lightly on Greg's flat stomach, "Have you had a good night? He whispered.

"The best night of my life, you are the best friend anyone could ever have. I cannot believe how lucky I have been in meeting up with you. Thank you forever!"

Greg seemed not to notice Tom's hand on his stomach so Tom lifted his hand and let his fingers beat a rhythm over Greg's stomach and chest, whispering, "Spiders in the night."

"Is that massage?" Greg asked. His voice was slightly hoarse and crackling, breaking up. Signs Tom recognized as symptoms of testosterone flooding. Tom was now on remote control, his brain losing all power over his body.

Tom moved his hand down to Greg's right-hand thigh, squeezed it, and gently massaged the muscle. "This is massage, you slowly manipulate the muscle." He said as he slowly moved his hand up Greg's thigh until his fingers were grazing the groin. "When you have a massage, this is as far as the therapist is supposed to go." But then he let his hand slightly probe the edge of Greg's groin, the back of his hand rubbing lightly against the large ball of flesh packaged inside Greg's briefs. Then moving his hand back to Greg's stomach and kneading that he said," and the pubic line is the limit here, as he carefully ran his fingers back and forth across the hair fringe. When I was in Bali and when the therapist massaged along here, they always whispered, "Do you want sensation?"

"Which was a bloody stupid question for them to ask you. As you are sprawled there naked and they can see that your rod is standing to attention. Just waiting for some sensation, any sensation!"

Tom had felt the stiffening and twitching of Greg's body as he ran his hand over it, both of them waiting to see what happens next? Tom stretched across and ran his fingers down over Greg's left hip and as he did so felt an unmistakable ridge in those blue briefs, he paused briefly then pressed down slightly only to feel the thing jump and Greg's body twitch again, a slight murmur escaping from his lips.

He did not hesitate, drawing his hand back directly so that his fingers brushed it, then squeezed it.

He was thinking of daring to pull his briefs down when Greg did it himself, not just down but kicking them completely off. He cradled Greg's well-sized manhood as Greg squirmed on the bed, then risking all he scrambled over and knelt between Greg's legs lowering his mouth to encompass it. There were no screams from Greg, just whimpers, so he began the journey, as slow and deep as he could remember, the way he liked it to be done to him, until that magic moment when the explosion came.

His mind wandered, thinking that women could never do this right. But then as they did not know what it actually felt like that was not so surprising. All Tom knew was that he was doing it just for Greg, expecting nothing in return. He was well aware of the sensations he was causing him to experience and wondered if Greg had ever done this before. If so, how many times and with whom?

When it was all over, he turned to his side of the bed and he once again laid his hand on Greg's stomach and whispered. "Now have a big sleep, sweet dreams!"

Within what seemed like seconds Tom could hear Greg's breathing going deep and long. He wondered what his reaction would be in the morning waking up with a man in the same bed, and remembering what had happened during the night. Tom's heart was still beating at double speed before he too slowly drifted into a deep sleep.

Sometime during the night Tom awoke with a start and remembered where he was and who he was with and what they had done. He could feel the heat of Greg's body as they lay side by side, hips touching slightly. It was probably a body touch that woke him. No deep breaths were coming from the body beside him, so he guessed Greg was also awake and wondered for a minute whether he should stretch his hand across. He did and was surprised to feel his bare body, Greg had not even bothered to replace his briefs having slept completely nude.

Before Tom could move Greg rolled towards him, and placed his hand, firmly, over the solid lump in Tom's jocks. Shocked was an understatement, but he hardly resisted as no other person's hand had touched it for years. It did not stop there as Greg said. "Now it is your turn!"

After a few squeezes, he reefed down Tom's jocks, almost roughly, and then climbed across and knelt in front of Tom, just as Tom had done earlier for him.

Tom could not believe it when he felt the hot wet mouth descend. This had not been done to him for so many years he had forgotten just how wonderful it was.

This time they fell asleep again but facing each other, legs entwined, arms loosely draped over each other's body.

At 6.00 the light in the room woke them up.

"Into the shower, my friend, and I will take you for a French breakfast before we go back to open the shop," Tom said, throwing back the covers and absorbing the sight of a magnificent young body, slim and taut, slightly browned everywhere except the small white area usually covered by his Speedo swimming trunks. At the center of this space, a statue stood to attention. Tom resisted the urge to grab it, and jokingly pushed Greg out of the bed. Laughing, Greg stood up and walked unashamedly in his nudity, to the bathroom, where the shower taps began to spray.

"Are you coming?" called a voice through the open bathroom door.

"Are you finished?" Tom asked as he entered the bathroom.

"No, come in," Greg said as he held the shower door open. "Or are you too shy?" Greg joked.

Without a moment's hesitation, Tom slid into the shower booth and closed the door. Handfuls of soap liquid from the wall dispenser were immediately lathered over each other, including their rigid appendages. Both soon were finished, totally exhausted and they just stood there in a hugging embrace with the warm water cascading down over their heads and bodies.

"You are an incredible boy," Tom said.

"And you are a wonderful man," Greg answered, this time with a serious expression as if scared the dream would end and he would wake up.

Greg was a half-head shorter than Tom. Tom lent forward and kissed Greg lightly on the forehead.