Dash and Dingo (13 page)

Henry almost covered his ears when Johnno began to bellow out the introductions, but Dingo’s brother had a firm hold on his nearest arm.

“Lori Lou’s my ball and chain. Margot’s Baz’s,” Johnno explained.

Henry wondered if Lori Lou could
really
be her name but was too polite to ask. He would find out later through Dingo that because she came

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from an area in the Victorian countryside known for its wild ways, she’d had the nickname bestowed upon her.

“My, he’s a good-looking fellow, isn’t he?” Margot giggled.

“If you like them skinny,” Lori Lou said. She slid her hand into the crook of her husband’s arm, squeezing his bicep. “I like a bit of meat on a boy.”

“Well, but you’re not taking him home when you’ve got Johnno then, are you?” Margot insisted. “I’m just speaking hypothetically in any case, seeing as he belongs to Dingo.”

Blushing furiously, Henry stammered, “Your boys are very, uh,

spirited, Mrs. Chambers.”

Lori Lou joined her husband in laughter. “Well, they’d have to be, don’t they? They’re Chamberses. If I’d given birth to a quiet bookish sort, Johnno’d think I’d played him false, wouldn’t you, honey?” She smiled up at her husband, who grinned back.

“Right you are, love. No insult intended, Dash,” he added hastily, as if just remembering that Henry was pale, skinny, and wore glasses, sure signs of bookishness, if there were any.

“None taken,” Henry said, amused. “Some of us are doomed to the bookish pursuits.”

“It’s the glasses,” Margot agreed, nodding wisely. “Hard to play cricket in specs.”

“Actually,” Henry started, beginning to puff himself up a bit. After all, he had played all through college, and rather well, too, although not on the house team. But his panegyric about his own athletic prowess was cut short when Dingo, burdened by his nephews, barreled into him, knocking him off his feet. At once, Henry found himself rolling in the rough grass, gasping when Dingo’s weight pressed him into the earth only to roll off, leaving him the prisoner of two small boys.

“Grab him, Baz!” Jack cried shrilly, attaching himself to Henry’s right arm and using his full weight to pin it to the ground.

Baz Jr. didn’t answer, being busy with trying to sit on both of Henry’s long legs at once.

Dingo laughed from where he was sitting in the grass. “Looks like
Gulliver’s Travels
for you, Dash! Cheerio!”

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“Hey, you can’t leave me here, a prisoner of these ruthless—” Henry gasped as Jack kneed him accidentally in the solar plexus. “Oh, you two are so going to regret this. Don’t you even wait to be introduced to people before you take them prisoner?”

“Yo ho ho, we’re going to stew you in Grandpa’s giant pot and eat you!” Baz Jr. screamed.

“Savage cannibals, eh? You can’t eat me, not if I eat you first!” Henry shook himself free, gently tumbling the boys onto the grass and got to his feet.

Both boys hurled themselves at him, but he caught them round their waists and lifted one under each arm, letting out a yelp of triumph. “Where’s that pot? I’ve got dinner right here.”

Dingo was still sitting on the grass, laughing fit to kill himself. “Dash, I never thought you had it in you,” he cried unhelpfully.

“Point me to the nearest cage. I’ve got to keep these two prisoner while I sharpen my knife,” Henry said threateningly. He grinned at the delighted squeals from the two boys, who wriggled in his arms trying to get free, even though it was all he could do to hold them.

“Toss me the big one, and I’ll show you where we pen them up ’til we cook them,” Dingo said.

It wasn’t much of a toss, but when Dingo’s hands were supporting Jack, Henry shifted his weight to transfer the boy. “Lead the way, Dingo.” Henry shifted young Baz up onto his shoulders while Dingo raised Jack with seemingly little effort, slinging him crosswise over his own shoulders.

“Dad, look what we’ve caught for you to barbecue for dinner,” Dingo said, heading for Hank.

Hank played right along, poking a finger into the tummy of his giggling grandson. “These are nice juicy ones. And the fire’s almost ready.”

“Grandpa, it’s me!” Jack shrieked. “You can’t eat me!”

“Why, they talk too! Where did you find such a fine specimen?” Johnno said.

“Dad, no, it’s us!” Baz Jr. cried out.

“And they’re pretending to know us too,” Johnno said admiringly.

“Clever ruse!”

“All right, then, that’s enough,” Helen said calmly, much to Henry’s relief.

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Even though he’d started it, he’d had no idea how to finish the charade.

Helen gave him a warm smile, and, from the twinkle in her eye, he suspected that she had realized his dilemma and had taken mercy on him.

“I’ll take them,” Lori Lou said, holding out her arms.

Henry admired the way she was able to heft both of them on her hips, although both boys slid down and ran away from her as soon as they could.

“Whew,” Dingo said, slinging his arm across Henry’s shoulders. “Got nephews?”

“One,” Henry admitted.

“He must love you. You’re good with kids.”

Thinking of certain illicit fishing expeditions he had enjoyed with his nephew as his brother James deemed it a sport below people of their status and better left to gamekeepers, Henry’s face creased in a secret smile.

“Perhaps.”

“Meat’s ready, boys,” Hank called out.

Dingo clapped Henry on the back. “Let’s eat.”

Henry enjoyed watching the Chambers family members as they ate. The noise continued unabated, and he wondered that the neighbors seemed to accept it with equanimity as none of them appeared to complain. The two boys were so excited to see their uncle Dingo that they barely let him eat and didn’t eat much themselves, amusing themselves by howling in his ears like dingos whenever he took a bite.

It amused Henry to see that Lori Lou and Margot seemed to be able to put away almost as much beer as their husbands. Everyone drank, but no one got noticeably drunker, as nobody sat still for any appreciable length of time.

When the fire died down to embers, Helen brought out a flashlight and shone it upward on her face, giving herself a lugubriously spooky look. She started telling a ghost story, and at a critical juncture, handed the light to her son Johnno, who took up the tale with relish.

Henry deduced that this was for the benefit of Johnno’s sons. They listened with wide eyes and open mouths, gradually abandoning Dingo and creeping closer to their mother.

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By the time the flashlight reached Hank, the boys were fighting to stay awake, and accordingly Hank let his voice grow lower and lower until they were asleep.

“Better take them up to bed, John,” Helen said.

“Right, mum.”

Johnno picked up Jack, while Lori Lou lifted Baz Jr. “We’ll see you lot in the morning. Thanks for playing with the boys, Dash.”

Henry felt a little glow at Johnno’s praise. Dingo bumped his shoulder gently and smiled at him.

After Johnno and his family went upstairs, the group around the embers grew quieter, Helen nestled in Hank’s arm, and Margot pressed up against Baz for warmth.

Self-consciously, Henry drew a little way away from Dingo, feeling the odd man out in this familial gathering for the first time that evening.

Henry awakened in what must have been the early hours of the morning.

The room was bathed in a chalky, blue-ish moonlight, throwing everything into a muted relief; it was also blessedly silent of Dingo’s snores.

Because Dingo was also awake and staring right at him.

“Is everything all right?” Henry asked hesitantly.

Dingo didn’t say anything; he merely nodded.

Henry grew puzzled as Dingo pulled down the blankets that covered them. Clad only in his boxers, Dingo then rolled over onto his side and slowly inched them down over his hips. Henry couldn’t withhold his breath and gasped as he first sighted the cleft between Dingo’s buttocks. The boxers continued coming down, and with his back still turned to the other man, Dingo casually reached down and threw them free of his body.

Henry wanted nothing more than to turn Dingo around and gaze at him fully, but he could only watch fascinated as Dingo ran his hand over his own arse, stirring the light golden hairs upon the cheeks. Henry could feel his cock straining against his own boxers, a small damp spot already forming from his own excitement.

He sighed with desire as Dingo gently parted and lifted one of his arse cheeks, presenting himself as if a gift.

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“Dingo….” Henry breathed, as if awaiting verbal permission.

Dingo still didn’t say anything but remained in the same position.

Henry couldn’t control himself any longer. He sucked on his index finger, slicking it up. He tentatively traced around Dingo’s hole, and Dingo withdrew his own hand. It was now all Henry’s, to do with whatever he wished. Gently, Henry breached Dingo with his finger, and the other man’s back arched. Henry supported his neck with his free hand, his finger exploring further within. He massaged the silky walls, and Dingo moved in closer to him.

“Is that good?” he asked, but Dingo’s only response was to try and impale himself further.

Henry withdrew his finger and sucked on it again for further

lubrication. This time he was rewarded with the musky taste of Dingo himself, and his cock surged with a further rush of blood. Dingo gave a small grunt as he was thrust into again, this time Henry curved his finger tip slightly and found the nub he was searching for. Dingo was now writhing in front of him, and Henry’s cock was begging for release. With a slight sucking sound, he pulled his finger out and offered it to Dingo to suck upon. As he felt Dingo’s mouth close over it, Henry groaned and wriggled out of his boxers as best he could. His cock jutted painfully free from the fabric, and his boxers went flying across the room. Henry regretfully pulled his finger out of Dingo’s mouth, and with both hands turned Dingo upon his stomach. His delectable bum rose before Henry, and he scaled it as if he were the first explorer to ever do so. His cock brushed against Dingo’s cleft, the tip threatening to slip in and begin penetration. Henry dragged himself further up Dingo’s back, his balls tightening as they brushed against Dingo’s bum.

Desperate for friction, Henry ground his cock against one of Dingo’s arse cheeks—

—Henry’s own groans suddenly woke him up. Panicked, he realized he was lying flush against Dingo’s chest. His cock was rock hard, and he was thrusting against Dingo’s thigh. Before he even fully realized what he was doing, he thrust a little bit more to the left and hit the full hardness of Dingo’s own cock. Now Henry was speeding up, feeling his balls tighten. He moaned with an equal measure of fear and lust; he knew he shouldn’t be doing this, but he was too far gone. This was tantamount to taking advantage of Dingo, using him as a means to get off. He almost stopped when Dingo moaned in his sleep, but the other man was now mirroring his thrusts as he strove toward his own climax. Henry stopped and rested his cock against Dingo’s, and then he wriggled his hips to grind deeper into the other man as he finally came, spurting into his boxers.

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Henry shuddered; his body was slick with sweat, but Dingo continued to jerk his hips, and Henry couldn’t help but watch the other man as he was about to come. Dingo’s lip curled, his eyes screwed shut in sleep, a low moan emanating from him that caused blood to rush to Henry’s cock again. Dingo jabbed Henry’s thigh and rested there; Henry felt the warm wetness of come seep through the material, and some of it found a home amongst the hair on his leg.

Fearfully, he waited for Dingo to wake up, but Dingo just smacked his lips contentedly and settled back into a deep sleep. Relieved, Henry continued to lie there, guilt threatening to overcome him as he remembered the sheer wantonness of his dream and felt the sweat and come on him begin to cool.

He couldn’t help but run his finger along the spot where Dingo’s spunk had settled upon his thigh, and he scooped it up and brought it to his lips. It was salty, sweet, and he felt as if he had just drunk up Dingo whole.

He could almost have fallen asleep smiling, if it hadn’t been for the fact that he wished Dingo had been awake and wanted him just as badly in return.

When Henry woke again, it was to sunshine and an empty bed. He remembered immediately the events of the previous hours and sat upright, panicked. His boxers were crusty against him, and he flushed as he looked down at his thigh and could make out a slight snail trail of Dingo’s dried come.

He had no idea where Dingo was, but the bathroom was free so he immediately bathed, washing the evidence of the night’s crimes away.

What if Dingo had seen for himself the state of Henry’s shorts when he had woken up? Sure, Dingo’s own boxers would also bear fruit, but what would he think? This was unbelievable!

He could only take heart in the fact that he hadn’t been awakened by a punch in the face, which was what he deserved.

“Stupid fucking Henry,” he murmured disconsolately to himself. “This could ruin everything.”

There was no sign of Hank or Helen when he made his way into the kitchen half an hour later. Now he was really feeling paranoid. Henry walked into the backyard, determined that at least a brief respite in the sunlight should do wonders for his mood. As he did so, the door to the outside toilet flew open, and Dingo emerged from within.

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Henry flushed as Dingo stretched lazily. He was still only clad in his boxers and nothing else. The fur on his chest gleamed in the sun, and as the muscles on his abdomen contracted, the boxers slipped on his hips and Henry was treated to the sight of a large tuft of hair that gave promise of what lay further beneath the material.

Dingo yawned and scratched at his belly. He finally saw Henry standing across from him.

“Morning,” he said affably. “The dunny’s free, if you need it.”