An act of sporting heroism made for the best day ever. An act of spineless weakness made for the worst day ever.

For Jack, his dual-sport motorbike aggressively bouncing over the ruts of an abandoned forestry track deep in the Blue Mountains, the bitter aftertaste of his subsequent silence had neutralized the endorphin rush from winning the Sydney schools’ rugby championship for his team.

An overnight downpour had reduced their field of dreams to a slippery quagmire. So, the game was an exhibition of defensive mauling and kicking; closely contested, a try each, six-all, with three minutes to play.

That Nick, the feisty little half-back, faked a pass and darted down the blindside didn’t surprise Jack. The team captain was always one to fossick for personal glory. But the cover defence had turned up with their A-game, so, once again, the break was covered.

On being enveloped in a tackle, Nick did the unexpected. He passed; only the second time Jack had received the slippery ball in open play. The left-winger carefully secured the pill against his chest and hours of practice kicked in.

One-on-one, the opposing winger had been coached to leave a gap near the side-line, daring the attacking player to go for gold but risk losing possession when bundled into touch. Jack did what was expected, seemingly rejecting temptation and stepping inwards off his left foot.

Taking the bait, his marker’s weight moved onto his heels. Jack pounced; gambling the game on his right foot. He side-stepped to within centimetres of the touchline and accelerated. Hands slapped his waist, but the despairing tackle wasn’t enough to push him out of bounds.

So, as twinkle-toed as one could be on a boggy field, Jack sprinted down the touchline. Crossing the twenty-five, he saw the opposition full-back, by renown the hardest tackler in school rugby, racing towards him.

Later he’d be asked why he hadn’t done the obvious; cutting inside, taking the tackle and holding up the ball with the reasonable enough expectation that his loose forwards would be close by. And in truth, he had no answer, for only in his subconscious had he grasped the wet ground’s advantage.

Unexpectedly he dived early, well short of the try line but under the full-back’s tackle. Sliding through the slushy ground, his face smeared in mud, he couldn’t see where he came to stop. But his teammates slapping his back, screaming in delight, told him all he needed to know. He’d slid far enough to score and give his team the lead.

Nick, being Nick, stopped celebrations, reminding them all that the game wasn’t over. Every tackle was desperately made until the final whistle resulted in joyous pandemonium in the St Joseph’s half of the spectators. Grinning, Nick clasped Jack’s hand, thumbs entwined, deltoids briefly brushing. Bro-bumps and back pats were kept on-field, not even their mothers were up for a mud bath of a hug.

In victory, the traditionally proscribed semi-shyness of the showers got forgotten. The steaming hot water cascading onto muscular bodies was accompanied by teasing banter and good humour. As always, Jack was in awe of the chiselled bodies that emerged from the sweat and grime. His eyes lingered, sure this was a day he’d get away with an illicit glance or two at taut chests, six-pack abs and swinging, dripping dicks.

As they rinsed off the suds, Nick demanded a rousing rendition of the school song. He could be an arrogant bastard, and the prick certainly had an impressive prick, but Jack totally appreciated, following their singing, Nick’s liberal praise for his championship-winning try.

Once dressed in school uniforms, Nick insisted the team walk as one to the school hall for the post-match presentation. Peacocks; that’s the best analogy for their liniment and testosterone strut through the throng of admiring, applauding junior years.

Following Nick into the hall, the team would have had to squeeze single file past Charlie at the back, who was sitting, head down, totally focused on his ever-present sketch pad which jutted into the aisle. Except that Nick cleared a path, flicking the pad out of Charlie’s hands. “Out of the way, you fucking fairy.”

The sketch pad slid up the aisle. The team followed Nick’s example and, with only one exception, trod on the charcoal outline of a muddy embrace between two rugby players. Jack, in stepping over the sketch, had time enough to glance down and see the tenderness in Charlie’s preliminary sketch of Jack and Nick’s celebration post the final whistle.

Sitting on the stage as the principal began to speak, Jack dared to glance to the back of the hall. Once was enough, the hurt in Charlie’s eyes as he stared at his no doubt ruined sketch had Jack squirming with embarrassment, knowing he’d time enough to pick the drawing up before anyone other than Nick had trod on it. Nothing, not even being presented with the Man of the Match award, could cut through the gut-wrenching thought that he of all people had let Charlie down.

Jack silenced his bike beside an isolated waterfall that tumbled from the cliff face into a tiny mountain lake. Not many ventured so deep into the Blue Mountains, but, as his dad’s favourite place to chill out, this patch of bush was still redolent with the ghosts of trips past. Having pitched his tent, Jack stared into the water, cracked another tinny, and couldn’t hold back the tears.

“The deftness of a winning sidestep never excuses a cack-handed victory march, does it, dad,” he finally screamed, tossing the empty can into the water. The startled wallabies hopped off, leaving Jack in miserable solitude, sipping another beer, before falling into a restlessly inebriated sleep.

A dawn chorus of squawking cockatoos and laughing kookaburras roused Jack from his introspective night. Though, neither the bird song nor the shadows on the tent from the dawn sun fluttering through the trees were enough to banish the continuous replay of his bittersweet yesterday that ran through his mind.

The birds had long dispersed, when the solitude was broken by raspy sounds, not particularly tuneful but, nevertheless, ones akin to singing. Jack’s mind drifted, focusing on the words repeated again and again.

Spring’s sprung, spring’s sprung;

We’re budding again, budding again,

Winter’s bareness banished.

Water, oh water, cleanse me,

Purify my skin, refresh my soul.

Make me worthy, a reborn leaf bearer,

For her, for her; my Maiden Goddess.

Our Greenwood Marriage, this year, this year?

Peering out of the tent, Jack was gobsmacked. The naked singer, knee-deep in water, had the form of a man. But his foliage accoutrements brought to mind one of Tolkien’s Ents.

His bark-like skin had the occasional knot in it, his face’s wispy whiskers were lichen-like strands. Statuesque, he was repeatedly splashing his budding thick limbs and barrel-like chest with water. Again and again, Jack’s attention was drawn away from the creature’s chanting and splashing to an enormous erect penis jutting lewdly in his direction.

“Hey ho, hey ho, young man. What are you staring at? Morning wood, hey ho, hey ho.”

“Um… Well.”

“I know, I know; the staff of life, hey ho, hey ho. I take it you’ve not seen the Green Man before?”

“Who? What?”

“Green Man, Oak King. Hey ho, hey ho; down under, I’ve got to be the Gum King! Does that make me king of the tooth fairies, hey ho, hey ho?”

Jack surprised himself and laughed. “Cute. What are you doing?”

“Preparing. Hey ho, hey ho. It's the first day of spring.”

“Preparing for what?”

“Her. The Greenwood Marriage, the union of earth and sky.”

“Today?”

“No nonny no. The earth's energies are just beginning to blossom. If she comes, she’ll turn up at Beltane, that most liminal of times when nature reaches full luscious ripeness.”

“When’s that?”

“Mayday in the north; ironically Halloween in the south. It’s a day for sexuality, passion, vitality and joy. Not for a cack-handed victory march by the Goddess.”

“You heard?

“Hey ho, hey ho; yes, I heard young man. Seen you here before, you know.”

“My dad loved this place. Yesterday I hurt someone, I’m ashamed to say.”

“Hey ho hey ho, right time, right place. Lucky you. Today’s the day to let water wash away transgressions.”

“But…”

“Join me. You’ll see. Nothing to lose, young man.”

Jack slipped off his t-shirt and boxers. Stepping, knee-deep, into the water, goose bumps broke out as he waded towards the Green Man.

“You’re a good-looking young man, a little scrawny for my taste.”

“Thanks. So cold.”

Gnarly hands cupped a handful of water in. “Only cold on the skin. More importantly, water’s essence will warm as it seeps through your pores.”

While dribbling water over Jack’s head, the Green Man chanted.

Spring’s sprung, spring’s sprung;

You’re budding again, budding again,

Winter’s bareness banished.

Water, oh water, cleanse him,

Purify his skin, refresh his soul.

Make him worthy, reborn,

For her, for her; his Maiden Goddess.

Their Greenwood Marriage, this year, this year?

Jack felt the contrast. Shivers ran through him but the dripping water seemingly infused and heightened his senses, causing his cock to swell.

“Told you, told you, young man. Growth and renewal; you’re starting to ripen.”

Jack smiled. “Maybe my cock, but not all of me. I can't be forgiven if Charlie can't forgive me.”

“Oh, is that the name of your Flora, your Maiden Goddess? Then you must go, young man. Refreshed, you have the strength to go ask her forgiveness.”

“Charlie’s a he.”

“Oh, I see, oh I see. No matter, no matter. If Charlie could be your Spring Goddess, you mustn’t tarry. Go, go, go; hey ho, hey ho. Ride safely, though.”

As Jack stepped astride his motorbike, the Green Man called out. “Do come back, come back on the eve of Beltane. Maybe this spring our Floras shall meet.”

Charlie’s mum opened the front door in her scrubs. “Hi, Jack. I’m off to work. Charlie is up in his room; he’ll be pleased to see you.”

Taking the stairs two at a time, Jack knocked on Charlie’s bedroom door. “Hey, Charlie it’s me, Jack.”

“Not sure I’m up to talking.”

“If you to tell me to fuck off, I’ll go. But I need to tell you how sorry I am for letting you down yesterday.”

“You know what the worst bit is? You were the only one who had a modicum of respect and stepped over my drawing.”

“Is it ruined?

“Totally trashed. Just starting over.”

“Need a model? I’m going to start earning your forgiveness.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. But you’ll have to open the door.”

Jack was gobsmacked. Charlie was wearing a summery floral cotton dress; his lipstick was bright ruby red and his long black hair was tied in pigtails. “Dressing like this helps when the world treats me like shit.”

“It suits you, you’re so pretty.”

“Honestly? I’m over bullshit, Jack.”

“Me too. And I’ve got heaps of atonement to do.”

“I don’t want sympathy. I want allies.”

“We all do. I fucked up, snatching defeat out of the jaws of victory.”

“Is that anything more than a cliché?”

“A cliché can be apt.” As he took a deep breath, Jack’s finger traced down Charlie’s cheek from temple to chin. “Charlie, I can’t be your ally. We’re on the same team. And, yes, you are pretty.”

The stunned look was priceless. “Seriously!”

“Yeah. You’re the first person I’ve told.”

Charlie wrapped his arms around Jack’s shoulders, nuzzling into his neck. “Oh Jack, it’s even more lonely in the closet than out of it.”

“Pretending to be someone you’re not is so draining.”

“Yeah. Always minding your p’s and q’s.”

“Like in the showers after rugby.”

“Nick?”

“Yeah. He’s an arsehole but a fucking gorgeous one.”

“You don't have to model for me, Jack.”

“Honestly, do you want me to?”

“God yes, you’re gorgeous.”

“Then I want to, Charlie.”

The intensity of Charlie’s stare, pencil poised, as Jack reclined naked on a chair sent frissons through both of them. That was enough for Jack to feel the blood begin to flow into his cock. Self-conscious, he tried to think of other things, rotting compost and red cabbage, but their yuckiness couldn’t neutralise the rush of being naked in front of Charlie.

Charlie stopped his initial sketching, just staring. And then he licked his lips as Jack’s cock stretched his foreskin with blood-lust.

Instinct took over and barriers were shot. Jack's hand gripped his engorged shaft, his palm rising and falling, sliding over the velvet skin encasing his erection.

“Can I, Jack?”

On seeing Jack nod, Charlie knelt reverently, slowly tracing the tip of his tongue up the underside of Jack’s erection; savouring the musky taste, delighting in the contrast of soft velvet skin taut over the shaft’s steely hardness. Neither porn nor masturbation had fully prepared him for the deliciousness of his first taste of cock.

His wet ruby lips surrounded the knob and he softly sucked. Then, as he tongue-flicked the sensitive spot under the cock-head, Jack squirmed and moaned. Knowing he could make a man whimper had Charlie’s own cock stiffening under the summer frock.

Looking up into Jack’s eyes, bobbing his head, he slid his lips down and then up Jack’s cock with a technique honed by hours of practice on his anal dildo.

Both boys stared at the ruby lipstick smear on the top half of the engorged shaft. “Fuck, that’s hot, Charlie.”

“Let's see if I can do better for you.”

Bobbing, again and again, centimetre by centimetre, Charlie’s mouth engulfed more and more cock-meat, his saliva dribbling down the shaft, his hand daubing the spit onto Jack’s balls. Not deterred by almost gagging as the cock-head hit the back of his throat. Encouraged to take more by the salty deliciousness of precum exploding on his taste buds.

Jack was too lost in lust to notice. His balls tightened. His hands gripped Charlie’s pigtails. His back arched. He thrust those last centimetres of cock-meat deep. Screaming, exploding; ropes of cum pulsed, filling Charlie’s mouth with sticky savoury sweetness.

Charlie kept sucking, loving being able to extract every last quiver of pleasure for Jack. Savouring the taste, his mouth overflowed and cum dripped off his chin, staining his dress.

As his orgasm subsided, Jack reached down and drew Charlie to him. They kissed; their first kiss was long and luscious, an intoxicating mixture of lipstick infused saliva and hot sticky cum.

Jack undid the ties of the dress and, as Charlie stood, it puddled on the floor. Though slimmer than Jack, he had the honed chest and sculptured six-pack abs of a competitive swimmer.

“God, hairless looks so fucking hot.” Jack softly gripped Charlie’s aching erect penis, the girth of the second cock he’d ever touched more hand-filling than his own.

“I told mum I waxed for swimming. In truth, it’s because I look better in a dress.”

“You are even more gorgeous out of that dress.” Jack’s hand slid up and down the shaft feeling the tight foreskin and then a pulsating twitch.

Charlie gripped Jack’s shoulders. “Hair triggered today.”

“Don’t worry. Cum for me Charlie.”

He watched Charlie’s mouth open in a perfect O and then felt the splatter of cum on his stomach. Clenching and unclenching his hand in time with the orgasmic pulses, Jack extracted every ounce of pleasure for Charlie in the same way he did for himself every morning and evening.

With a final tremor, a last drop of cum dripped off the end of the starting-to-soften cock. Jack stood, wrapping Charlie in his arms, their bodies mashed together smearing cum on their skin as they tenderly kissed.

Charlie grabbed Jack’s hand, their fingers entwined, and led him over to the bed. Snuggling against Jack’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, Charlie’s fingertips danced across the cum smeared hairs on his abs. “Scared?”

“Yeah; heaps. But I can’t deny this is who I am.”

“Hold me, Jack. My first time, you know.”

“Me too. You sure know how to suck cock.”

“Practiced on my anal dildo. Obviously not directly after stretching my arse. Talking of which.”

Charlie reached for the lube in his bedside drawer and then smeared it on Jack’s flaccid penis. Kissing him, tongues swirling passionately, he massaged the lube into Jack’s shaft which soon was achingly slippery and hard.

Getting on all fours, Charlie presented his arse. Strong hands spread his cheeks wide. Instinctively the tip of an index finger pressed against his tight rose, a constant, heavenly dildo-like pressure.

Spitting, Jack smeared both his finger and Charlie’s hole in saliva. Then twisting his finger, his first knuckle stretched Charlie’s anal ring. Slowly finger fucking his arse until he was loose and gaping.

Jack pressed the engorged knob of his thick manhood against Charlie’s arse. The gasp, as Charlie’s anal ring opened and then snapped tight around Jack’s shaft as cock-head plundered Charlie’s arse for the first time was the most erotic sound ever.

Slowly at first, both getting used to the burn of the stretch and the vice-like tightness, Jack pressed his cock-meat deeper. The tightness was more exquisite than either had ever imagined.

Charlie’s stretched hole looked incredible to Jack and made his whole body react. Needing to fuck him hard, he pushed forward and on meeting resistance stopped. Then, on feeling Charlie relax, he pressed deeper.

Repeating the slow process several times until, with nearly all the shaft inside him, Charlie moaned and pushed his hips back, impaling himself on Jack’s cock.

Jack pulled out a bit further and then thrust hard, repeatedly burying his whole shaft in Charlie’s gorgeously stretched hole. The babbled encouragement and invocations to random deities, had Jack picking up the pace, nearly mindless with the building pleasure of fucking Charlie’s arse good and hard.

Reaching around, he gripped and massaged Charlie’s cock while continuing to pound his arse. Jack felt his balls tighten. “Cum with me.”

Jack exploded, his cum filling his lover’s arse. Charlie’s cock repeatedly spasmed, cum spurts splattering onto his stomach. Sliding his cock out of Charlie’s arse with a pop, Jack licked the cum off Charlie’s stomach. His cheeks bulging, Jack kissed Charlie; a long tender cummy kiss.

Snuggling together, Charlie’s tongue flicked Jack’s ear and he whispered, “You might be forgiven, well almost ….”

“Almost?”

“The formal’s in six weeks.”

“Seriously?”

“Who would you rather take?”

“No one. I was actually thinking of giving it a miss.”

“And miss seeing me in a divine ruby red dress?”

“And don't tell me there’ll be matching heels too?”

“Of course there will be heels. Jack, I’ll understand if me frocking up is a bridge too far.”

“No. I can’t live a lie anymore. Going to be who I am. I totally want that for you too. I’ll even get you a red corsage.”

“And you’ll be colour coordinating your shirt with my dress!”

“Every other guy will be in white or blue.”

“Not my date. Just accept that, as the femme is this relationship, the Gods have blessed me with the better taste.”

The spanks on Charlie’s arse reverberated off the walls, as did the subsequent giggles. Both boys were immediately aware of their swelling cocks bumping against each other.

“The day after the formal will be Halloween, Charlie. I want to take you somewhere special in the Blue Mountains.”

“Spooky?”

“Only if you’re scared of fauna or flora.”

“Flora? Are you referring to plants or the Maiden Goddess?”

Charlie giggled at the stunned look on Jack’s face. Then, getting up onto all fours, he wiggled his arse at Jack. “Want to fuck me again, lover?”