"Happy eighteenth birthday, mate," I said to Bryn as I stepped onto the veranda that surrounded his home.
It was a pleasant evening and fucking warm, again, not that you would expect otherwise from living in the outback. I had decided to collect Bryn from his house for his birthday drink in town. His first official drink, having turned eighteen, although age had never really been an issue in getting a beer out here.
"Cheers, mate," Bryn replied, sitting on a deckchair. "You won't believe what's happened. Mom got me the normal Kangaroo undies as a birthday present…. Again."
"Oh," I responded. “Shame she couldn’t buy you decent brands like Hanes or Jockey’s. It appears that blokes like us around here are all condemned to wear shit undies."
Bryn snorted, rubbing his temple like he was nursing a headache that hadn’t even started yet. "I should be so lucky? The Hendersons should change the brand away from those fucking Kangaroos. The elastic’s already fucked. I tried ‘em on, and they sagged over my arse, already, mate."
I chuckled, understanding his plight as I leaned against the railing, biting back a full laugh. "So what’d you do?"
"I took them back and complained," Bryn replied. "Not fit for purpose, I told old man Henderson. You wouldn't believe what he said."
Bryn paused, his fingers drumming against the armrest of the deckchair like he was savouring the punchline before delivering it, as the porch light flickered on, casting uneven shadows across his face.
"He said, young man, if you think you could do better making cheap briefs, maybe you should try," as Bryn mimed the shopkeeper’s shrug, his voice pitching higher in imitation. "Then he tossed me a pack of gum like that was supposed to make up for it. Fucking gum. Really?"
I actually laughed. "Probably thinks you’re still a kid."
"Fucking hope not, and I’m not kidding at all. Apparently, around here, folks can't afford big-brand names, so we blokes have to make do with shit his wife designs. Can you believe a woman designing undies for blokes? How wrong is that?"
I scratched my chin, agreeing to the absurdity of it. "So, his wife designs them without ever wearing them? Fucking typical."
Bryn scoffed, kicking at a loose pebble on the porch. "Dunno, mate. She probably does wear them at her age, but she clearly doesn’t give a shit about functionality. Like, who puts seams there? It’s like she’s never seen a bloke move before," as he shifted uncomfortably in the deckchair as if reliving the horror.
"Oh well, fuck it. Let's go and drink some beers, celebrate and forget the unfortunate event. You can even buy the first round since you’re allowed now to get pissed, legally, mate."
Bryn and I were in a great mood when we approached the town bar. Out here, in the outback, towns only have one bar, and it was already packed when we pushed through the door, the sticky floor tugging at our shoes with every step. Neon signs buzzed overhead, casting a sickly green glow over Bryn’s face as he scanned the crowd. "There," he muttered, nodding toward a corner booth where three figures were already halfway through their pints. Jamie, with his perpetually grease-streaked mechanic’s jacket, raised a glass in salute. Next to him, Eli, always too tall for any chair, slouched with his knees practically at his chin, while Neil drummed his fingers against the tabletop.
"Happy fucking birthday, mate and welcome to adulthood," Jamie announced as we slid into the booth. A fresh pint appeared in front of Bryn almost magically, condensation already pooling around the base. Bryn hesitated, then lifted it like he was weighing the consequences. "Go on, then," Neil said, grinning. "It’s not gonna bite. Unless you ask nicely."
Bryn shot him a look but took a long swig anyway, foam clinging to his upper lip before he wiped it away with the back of his hand, shouting, “Happy birthday to me.”
The third pint was the one that did it. Bryn leaned forward, elbows slipping slightly on the beer-sticky table as he jabbed a finger toward Jamie’s chest. "You wouldn’t believe what my mom bought for my birthday, mate," he slurred, his vowels stretching like over-chewed gum. "Fucking Kangaroo undies from the Hendersons' shop."
Jamie snorted into his drink, shoulders shaking, but Bryn wasn’t done. "Had to return them as unfit for purpose."
Jamie wiped beer foam from his moustache and shrugged, his grease-stained fingers leaving faint streaks on the glass. "Mate, we’ve all been there. You think Eli’s got designer shit under those overalls?" as he jerked a thumb toward Eli, who stretched his legs under the table, nearly kneeing Neil in the ribs. "Fuck no. His mum buys ‘em in bulk from the same bloody place. Seams like sandpaper, elastic like wet spaghetti."
"You're not any better off, Jame," said Neil.
"Neither are you, mate," responding to Neil's comment. “Not much we can do out here either. Amazon don’t even deliver this far.”
We all laughed at that comment, Amazon delivering out here. The thought was funny when we thought about it: the delivery driver taking a shortcut, following satnav from nowhere to nowhere.
Bryn went unnaturally still mid-sip, his pint hovering halfway to his mouth as his eyes glazed over. The chatter around the booth continued, Neil ribbing Jamie about his grease-stained undies, Eli laughing into his beer, but Bryn might as well have been underwater for all he heard. Then, with deliberate slowness, he set his glass down. The sound of it hitting the sticky tabletop was oddly final, like a gavel.
I looked at Bryn, "You alright, mate?" as I nudged his shoulder, but Bryn didn't react. Instead, he leaned forward, planting both palms flat on the table. The others fell silent, watching as Bryn's mouth curled into something between a smirk and a snarl.
"You know what?" Bryn said, his voice low and steady, like he'd just solved the world's problems in his head. "Why don't we design a brand which, if we do it properly, we can sell at the local shop instead of the shit they currently sell?"
The booth went silent for a beat, just long enough for Neil to choke on his beer and Jamie to raise an eyebrow so high it nearly disappeared into his hairline.
Eli was the first to speak, his long fingers tapping against his glass as he burst out laughing, "Mate, you're pissed."
"Look, guys, I'm serious," Bryn responded as his fingers drummed against the tabletop, his voice cutting through the laughter like a blade through foam. "Us five all have different body sizes, Jamie's built like a brick shithouse, Eli's got legs like a fucking giraffe, Neil's barely filling out a medium, and yet the undies from that shop fit all of us like shit. But that’s the point," as he leaned in, his pupils dilated just enough to betray the alcohol, but his words were sharp. "There’s a market for cheap and well-made men's undies. No one’s cracked it yet. Well, Mrs Henderson hasn't anyway."
Jamie snorted, swirling the dregs of his pint. "Mate, you’re suggesting we become underwear moguls? After three beers?"
"Yeah, why not?" he responded as I sat there thinking about the idea. Strangely, I thought, there might be merits in this suggestion, but always the negative thinker, I chipped in my cent’s worth.
"We don't know the first idea of designing clothes, let alone undies," I said.
Bryn, though, was quick to reject my comment. "Of course we do, we wear them. What we don't know is how to make them."
Neil spat out his beer, wiping his chin with the back of his hand as he wheezed, "Mate, you're off your fucking head." But Bryn wasn’t laughing. He reached into his pocket and slapped a crumpled receipt onto the table, smoothing it out with his palm. The ink was smudged, but the logo of the brand was still visible, a cartoon underpants-clad Kangaroo.
"See this?" Bryn tapped the logo. "This is the problem. It’s not just shit quality, it’s embarrassing. Who wants to walk around with a half-dressed kangaroo on their waistband? We could do better blindfolded. All we have to do is measure ourselves properly and then get a proper pattern designed, source the cotton fabric in various colours, if we want colours, and off we go."
The receipt slid toward Jamie, who picked it up between his grease-blackened fingers and squinted at the Kangaroo logo. "Fuck me," he muttered. "She couldn't even get the pouch right. That's just a sad sock."
Bryn leaned back, arms crossed, watching us like a teacher waiting for his class to catch up. The booth smelled like spilt beer and fried onions, but beneath that, something else, something electric. Eli stopped laughing first. He stretched his legs out again, nearly toppling the salt shaker, and said, "Actually...."
Just that one word changed everything as it landed like a hammer. "I'm game on," I said. Eli was next, followed by Neil and Jamie. "Let's meet tomorrow and discuss it more, but perhaps, we could change the whole course of our lives in the back end of fucking nowhere in WA."
The next morning, Bryn’s kitchen smelled like burnt toast and regret. I found him slumped over the table, a half-empty glass of water clutched in one hand and the receipt from last night pinned under his elbow like a hostage. Tossing a packet of aspirin at Bryn’s head, it bounced off his temple and landed in his lap. "Rise and shine, undies man," I said, far too cheerfully for a man who’d matched Bryn pint for pint.
Bryn blinked at the aspirin packet in his lap like it was some alien artefact before groaning and dry-swallowing two tablets. "Christ, my head’s trying to divorce my skull," he muttered, then squinted up at me. "Why the fuck are you so chipper?"
I tossed my phone onto the table, screen-up, displaying an open email thread. "Because while you were busy impersonating a corpse, I did some digging. Found a website called Underwear Patterns that specialises in retro underwear patterns. Reached out last night, and he actually replied." I tapped the screen where the response read: *Happy to help, but fair warning, it's sometimes cheaper to buy underpants instead of making them.*
Bryn’s fingers trembled as he scrolled through the email, his bloodshot eyes widening. "No fucking way." He flipped the phone around, showing me a black-and-white diagram of a classic Y-front pattern that looked like it belonged in a 1950s Sears catalogue. "This is exactly what we need. Simple. Timeless. What else did he say?"
"Crucially, measuring is vital. Measure three times and cut once, he said. Take into account normal measurement, of course, but for perfect fitting, what side does a man dress, thigh size and...dick length. It’s all about gaining an average size."
Neil was quick to ask. "What side do we dress? What does that mean? And, dick size? Why does he need to know? Sounds pervy to me."
"I asked him about that too," I said. "Dress thingy is, which side does our dick hang, left or right. Dick size is important for the pouch approach. Most guys are average three and a half to four inches, but some guys can be five to six inches."
"Oh," Bryn responded, staring at the phone screen as it had just whispered state secrets. His fingers tightened around the device, knuckles whitening. "So we’ve got to... measure our dicks?" as his voice cracked halfway through, pitching upward like a teenager’s. Across the kitchen, the toaster popped violently, sending a charred slice flying onto the counter. Neither of us moved.
“Yes, Bryn. We have to measure our dicks when soft, not when fucking hard, you dorks,” as I leaned against the fridge, arms crossed. "Unless you want a pouch that fits like a loose sock? Why don't we start with the two, and once we've figured it out, we can ask the guys."
“Can I recover first?” Bryn asked.
“No. This is important.”
"In that case, you uncaring bastard, you can be first," Bryn declared, flipping open a notebook with an absurdly serious expression, like a doctor preparing for surgery as he rummaged in the kitchen drawer for a tape measure and pen.
I decided to strip for this as I slipped my shorts and t-shirt off and then hesitated, fingers hooked in the waistband of my Kangaroo undies. "Where's your mom, Bryn?
His response was quick. "She's out, mate, until this afternoon."
"Brilliant," I said before yanking them down with more force than necessary. The elastic snapped against my thighs as I kicked them off and stood there, suddenly hyper-aware of the kitchen's draft, being naked. Very naked.
Reality then struck home. Bryn had never seen me naked since really young when we would go swimming and paddling in the inflatable pool, and here I was standing naked in his kitchen with my dick hanging to the left. All five inches of soft meat.
Bryn's reaction was....frankly, one of shock. "Wow, when did you become so....manly, mate?"
I didn't know how to respond as Bryn knelt, tape measure in hand, squinting at my crotch like it was a calculus problem. "Christ, mate, where do I start and stop fidgeting. How am I supposed to get an accurate measurement if you're shifting like a spooked horse?"
He took charge, though, the tape whipping around my thigh before I could protest. The fabric tape measure felt cold as it clamped around my thighs and hips, causing me to figgit. Bryn at each stage noted the measurement, as he finally mumbled, noting on the paper, "Hanging to the left and now, the... uh.."
His fingers rested on my soft dick as he held the tape measure, his touch causing an unwelcome reaction as my dick started to spring into life. "Fucks sake mate, five inches and, what the fuck, wow," was all I heard as Bryn stared at it growing.
The tape measure clattered to the floor as Bryn's fingers wrapped around my hardening cock, his grip tentative at first, then tightening with something between curiosity and hunger. I should've shoved him away, should've laughed it off like a stupid joke, but my hips bucked forward of their own accord, pressing my length against his palm. "Fuck," I hissed, more at myself than him. Bryn's breath hitched, hot against my skin, and then his tongue flicked out, tracing the vein along my shaft like he was memorising the texture.
"Jesus Christ," I muttered, my hands finding purchase on the kitchen counter behind me as Bryn's lips parted, swallowing me down with a groan that vibrated through my entire body. His technique was sloppy, unpractised, too much teeth, too little rhythm, but the sheer shock of it had my knees locking. I'd never imagined Bryn like this, never once considered the way his stubble might scrape my thighs or how his throat might convulse around me. And yet here we were, my dick buried in his mouth, his fingers digging into my hips like I might vanish if he loosened his grip.
A cupboard door creaked overhead as Bryn shifted, his free hand fumbling blindly for the discarded tape measure before abandoning it again to palm himself through his jeans. The sound of his zipper lowering was obscenely loud in the quiet kitchen. "You're, fuck, you're really into this?" I managed, my voice ragged. Bryn pulled off just long enough to smirk up at me, his lips slick and swollen.
"Mate," he panted, "Not sure whose the most queer here, but you're the one holding my hair back," as my fingers clenched tighter in his curls, yanking his head forward until he gagged, and the noise he made was half protest, half encouragement.
Bryn's technique was growing in confidence as he continued to blow me and my mind. His initial hesitation had melted away, replaced by a hungry rhythm that had my fingers tightening in his hair. The scrape of his teeth was less accidental now, more deliberate, sending sharp jolts of pleasure-pain down my spine. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard as he pulled back, then swallowed me down again with a groan that vibrated through me. I could feel his pulse hammering where his throat clenched around me, and fuck, I’d never known a sound could feel like that.
My hips jerked forward involuntarily, and Bryn let out a muffled laugh around my cock, his eyes flicking up to meet mine, dark and amused and knowing, like he’d been waiting for me to lose control. His hand slid up my thigh, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, holding me steady as he took me deeper. The countertop bit into my palms as I braced myself, my breath coming in ragged gasps. "Christ, Bryn...." I choked out, but he didn’t stop. If anything, he doubled down, his free hand fumbling with his own jeans, shoving them down just enough to free his erect cock.
The sight of him, lips stretched around me, his own dick flushed and leaking against his stomach, was too much.
Bryn took my climax like he'd been starving for it, head tilted back, throat working around me, fingers gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks. I came with a soundless gasp, my spine arching off the counter as my vision whited out. He swallowed messily, lips slipping when he couldn’t keep up, and I watched, dazed, as streaks of cum dripped down his chin. He wiped it with the back of his hand, grinning up at me as if he’d just won a bet. "Fuck," I managed, legs shaking. "Since when do you...."
"Since right fucking now," he interrupted, surging up to kiss me before I could protest. The taste of myself on his tongue was jarring, salt-bitter, but the heat of his mouth was undeniable. His jeans were still shoved halfway down his thighs, his erection jutting between us, and when I wrapped a hand around it, he groaned into my mouth like I’d punched him.
"I can’t tell you how long I've wanted to do that," Bryn said, as my hand gripped his cock, and I remained speechless. Thinking there was a problem, he kissed me again, and this time I kissed him back, exploring him with my tongue.
We broke the kiss, and I looked into Bryn's eyes. You going to do that to the guys after you measure them, or is that just for me?"
"If they want it, yes, but at the moment, this is our secret. Now, do you want to measure me?"
The elastic of my undies sort of snapped back against my hips as I pulled them up, the fabric still damp from Bryn’s mouth. My hands shook, part adrenaline, part lingering disbelief, as I fumbled with the waistband. Across the kitchen, Bryn peeled off his shirt in one smooth motion, then hooked his thumbs into his jeans. He pushed them down his thighs, stepping out of them with the casual ease of someone who hadn’t just had his throat fucked. The morning light caught the dust motes swirling around his bare body, and fuck, he was perfect. Lean muscle, a trail of dark hair leading down to where his erection jutted out, already leaking.
I swallowed hard, gripping the tape measure like it might anchor me. "You’re, uh...." I started, then stopped. Bryn arched an eyebrow, stroking himself lazily.
"Nervous?" he supplied, grinning. "Don’t be. It’s just measurements," as if that explained anything, as if my pulse wasn’t racing in my throat.
Kneeling in front of him felt like surrender. The floor was cold under my knees, but Bryn’s skin was warm as I pressed the tape to his thigh. He twitched when the metal touched him, his cock bobbing inches from my face. I focused on the numbers, the mechanical act of noting them down, but my breath hitched when Bryn sighed, his fingers threading through my hair. "Relax," he murmured, thumb rubbing circles behind my ear. "It’s just me."
It wasn’t just him. That was the problem. It was the way his dick stayed hard despite the clinical nature of the task, the way his hips rolled slightly when I wrapped the tape around his waist. His smell, soap, sweat and something unmistakably male filled my lungs. When I moved to measure his thighs, Bryn chuckled, low and rough. "You’re skipping the important part," he said, nudging my chin up with his knuckles.
The tape dangled between us. My throat dried. "Right. The, uh…."
"The dick length," Bryn finished, grinning. He wrapped his hand around himself, giving a slow pump. "Want me to do it?"
I should’ve said no. Should’ve said, let me handle it, I should’ve not looked away, but instead, I nodded to Bryn. "In that case, you stay like that, and I will share my cum with you."
“What, shoot your load onto me as I kneel in front of you?”
"Yes, mate and no worries, you might actually enjoy the view," was all Bryn said, his voice rough as his hand worked his cock in front of me, my gaze locked onto the way his fist moved, the way his hips jerked with each stroke.
I liked the way he jerked himself. No rush, just taking his time until the first spurt hit my cheekbone, warm and thick, and I barely had time to flinch before the second landed on my collarbone. By the third, instinct took over, my mouth opened just as Bryn gasped, and I caught the last few pulses of him on my tongue, salty and bitter, his tip pressing against my lips as I swallowed reflexively.
Bryn's fingers tangled in my hair, not pushing me away, but holding me there as his breathing slowed. "Fuck," he muttered, thumbing a stray drop off my chin. His grin was all teeth, wild and unrepentant. "Guess we're even, mate."
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, but the taste lingered, a phantom weight on my tongue. Bryn's eyes tracked the motion, dark and amused, like he knew exactly how much my pulse was hammering. "You're a quick learner," he said, stepping back to grab the tape measure from the floor. He tossed it at me, as his dick lost its hardness "Now measure me properly."
The tape coiled around my fingers like a challenge. Bryn spread his arms, the picture of nonchalance, but his half-hard cock betrayed him. "Full disclosure," he said, "I might need another round to stay, uh, consistent for measurements."
I snorted, wrapping the tape around his thigh with more force than necessary. Bryn hissed, but his smirk didn't waver. "Dick length next," he prompted, nodding downward.
"Right." I hesitated, the tape hovering near his hip. "Do I….?"
"Base to tip, mate. Unless you want the pouch to fit like a fucking accordion."
I exhaled sharply, gripping the base of his cock with one hand while stretching the tape along his length with the other. Bryn twitched, his breath hitching as the metal brushed his slit. "Five and a half," I announced, voice steadier than I felt.
Bryn arched an eyebrow. "Generous rounding."
"Fuck off, it's dead on." I snapped the tape back into its casing with a flick of my wrist.
Bryn pivoted, and I crouched behind him, the tape skimming the curve of his ass. The silence stretched, thick with something unsaid, until Bryn cleared his throat. "So, we're telling the others?"
My fingers stilled. "About the measurements, or…"
"Both." He glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "They'll figure it out when you start staring at their dicks like a starving man at a buffet."
I stood abruptly, shoving the tape into his chest. "You're such a prick."
"And you're blushing," he said, as he caught my wrist, his thumb pressing into my pulse point. "Relax. Only ribbing you. We'll play it by ear."
After Bryn and me got dressed, we arranged with the guys to meet at Neil's place. Bryn also told me of his suspicions about Neil, and we both laughed about the idea that three mates out of the five of us could be gay and we never knew. Life in the WA outback was one big shelter from the real world, but that much? We laughed.
One thing we did wonder, though, was what did guys on cattle stations do? As Bryn reminded me, “There are not many Shellas on cattle stations.” The suspicions became even more founded when Bryn told me about a phone call with Neil, saying we were going to measure each other before coming over. Neil took the piss, saying, "Bet you’ll like Steve's dick when you measure it?"
"What did you say?" I demanded to know.
Bryn smiled. "I told him it was beautifully long, unlike you, Neil, implying you were rock hard, which of course you were."
I couldn't decide if I wanted to die or not when Bryn ushered me out of the house, and we drove to Neil's place. When we arrived, we were greeted by Eli, Neil and Jamie, all in their naff Kangaroo undies, as were we, drinking some beers on the veranda.
Seeing them was truly…., revealing, each mate, different in size and stature, but my thoughts moved to Neil as he looked almost stunning. I wondered what might happen when it came time for him to be measured. “Was he gay, I wondered?”
"Alright, lads," Bryn said, clapping his hands together like a PE teacher about to start a lesson he didn’t fully understand. "Let’s crack on, shall we?" The tape measure dangled from his fingers like a threat. Jamie and Eli exchanged glances, then shrugged, placing their beers onto the veranda railing with a clink before shoving their Kangaroo undies down their thighs in unison. The fabric pooled around their ankles, and they stepped out of them with the practised ease of men who’d spent too many summers skinny-dipping in the dam.
Jamie stretched his arms overhead, his biceps flexing. "Make it quick, mate. I’m not paying you by the hour," he said, grinning. Eli, taller and leaner, leaned against the veranda post, one ankle crossed over the other like a casual statue. Bryn moved between them with the tape, wrapping it around Jamie’s thick thighs first, muttering numbers under his breath. Jamie whistled uneasily, staring off into the middle distance, but when Bryn’s fingers brushed the inside of his thigh, his gaze snapped down. "Ticklish, mate?" Bryn asked, smirking. Jamie shoved him away with a laugh, nearly toppling him into the dirt.
Eli was next, and he arched an eyebrow when Bryn knelt in front of him. "You enjoying the view down there?" Eli drawled, sipping his beer. Bryn’s answering grin was all teeth. "Wouldn’t you like to know." The tape slid around Eli’s waist, then dipped lower, and Eli’s breath hitched, just once, before he schooled his expression back into bored amusement. Bryn’s fingers lingered a beat too long on his hipbone, and Eli’s knuckles whitened around his bottle.
Then it was Neil’s turn.
Neil, who’d been quieter than usual, nursing his beer like it held the answers to the universe. Neil, who hadn’t joined in the laughter, who’d watched Bryn’s hands on Jamie and Eli with a focus that bordered on hunger. He set his bottle down carefully, the glass clicking against the wood. "Right," he said, voice low. "My go."
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his undies, hesitated, just for a second, then pushed them down in one smooth motion. The fabric slid over his hips, down his thighs, and pooled at his feet. The afternoon light caught the dust motes swirling around him, and for a moment, the world held its breath.
Bryn froze, the tape measure dangling forgotten from his fingers. Neil stood there, naked except for the sunlight painting gold across his skin, his cock half-hard against his thigh. His gaze locked onto Bryn’s, daring him to look away.
Jamie whistled low. "Fuck me, Neil," he said, voice thick with something that wasn’t just surprise.
Eli’s beer bottle slipped from his fingers, hitting the veranda with a thud. "Christ," he muttered, wiping his palm on his thigh. "When did you get so fucking huge, Neil?"
Bryn swallowed hard, his throat working. "Right," he said, voice rough. "Measurements." He stepped forward, the tape trembling in his hands. Neil didn’t move, didn’t flinch, just watched as Bryn knelt in front of him, the wood creaking under his knees.
The tape brushed Neil’s thigh, and Neil inhaled sharply. Bryn’s fingers skimmed his hip, then higher, tracing the jut of his pelvis. Neil’s breath hitched, his cock twitching against his stomach. Bryn’s gaze flicked up, meeting Neil’s, and something unspoken passed between them, a challenge, a promise, a confession.
Then Neil’s hand tangled in Bryn’s hair, pulling him forward, and Bryn didn’t resist as his mouth slipped along the nine inches of hard meat.
Eli's beer bottle hit the veranda with a dull thunk, rolling away forgotten. Jamie's mouth hung open, his fingers frozen mid-air like he'd been caught stealing. The only sound was Neil's ragged breathing and the wet, obscene slide of Bryn's lips working down his length. Sunlight glistened on Neil's thighs where Bryn's fingers dug in, his knuckles white with the effort of holding back.
Jamie was the first to move, his hand dropping to his cock with a choked noise, his palm rasping against skin still damp from the afternoon heat. Eli followed a heartbeat later, his long fingers wrapping around himself with a groan that sounded like it'd been punched out of him. Neither looked away. Neither even blinked.
My own dick throbbed in my shorts, aching and insistent, and when my fingers finally slipped the button on the waistband, precum was leaking into the fabric of my undies as my shorts pooled at my ankles.
Jamie came first, a ragged shout torn from his throat as stripes of white painted the veranda railing. His knees buckled, but he caught himself on the post, chest heaving. Eli wasn't far behind, his release splattering across the sun-bleached wood in thick spurts, his head thrown back to expose the sweat-slick column of his throat.
Neil's hand fisted in Bryn's hair, holding him still as his hips stuttered forward. "Fuck....Bry...." The warning came too late. Bryn's throat worked around him, swallowing greedily as Neil's back arched, his toes curling against the boards. A thin sheen of sweat covered his chest, catching the light as he shuddered through it.
By now, my undies had joined my shorts, and I was knocking one out. My own orgasm hit like a cattle prod, sudden and electric, leaving me gasping against the veranda post as my cum joined the mess on the wood. The air smelled like salt and sex and the faint tang of spilt beer and then.... Silence.
Then Jamie cleared his throat. "So," as he nudged a drying puddle with his boot. "That was most unexpected.... but nice."
Bryn wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning up at Neil like he'd won something. "Yep, it was."
Eli barked a laugh, high and unsteady. Neil just stared down at Bryn, his pupils blown wide, his chest still rising too fast.
And me? I leaned back against the post, watching the way Bryn's fingers lingered on Neil's thigh, the way Jamie's gaze kept flicking to Eli's bare hips, and thought....fuck.
The sun dipped below the horizon, staining the sky burnt orange, but none of us moved to put our clothes back on. The tape measure lay discarded on the veranda railing, its metal glinting in the fading light. The air hummed with something unspoken, not just the sweat and cum drying on the wooden boards, but the weight of secrets finally set free.
Jamie stretched, his broad shoulders flexing as he cracked his neck. "Well," he said, scratching his beard, "that explains why you lot never complained about the lack of pussy in town," as Eli snorted into his beer, the bottle empty but still clutched in his fingers like a security blanket.
Bryn and Neil had vanished into the house, the screen door slamming shut behind them with finality. The occasional thump or muffled laugh seeped through the walls, but none of us commented. Instead, Eli rolled his eyes and kicked his feet up on the railing. "Fuckin' hell," he muttered. "Whole town's drier than a dead dingo's dick, and now the only decent cock around belongs to Neil."
Jamie groaned, tilting his head back. "Nine inches, mate. Nine fucking inches."
He said it like a curse, like a personal offence. "God’s got a sick sense of humour, giving that to the bloke who barely speaks."
I smirked, leaning against the post. "Jealous?"
Jamie’s glare could’ve curdled milk. "Wouldn’t you be?"
Eli chuckled, low and rough. "Speak for yourself. I’m just pissed I didn’t get a turn." The admission hung in the air, bold and unapologetic. Jamie’s head snapped toward him, eyebrows climbing his forehead. Eli shrugged, unbothered. "What? You telling me you didn’t think about it?"
Silence. Then Jamie exhaled sharply through his nose. "Fuck."
The screen door creaked open, and Bryn stumbled out, grinning like a man who’d just won the lottery. Neil followed, his hair mussed, his lips swollen. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, just grabbed a fresh beer from the cooler and slumped into the nearest chair. Bryn, however, was practically vibrating.
"Next step," Jamie interrupted, "is you explaining why the fuck Neil gets special treatment."
Bryn blinked. "What?"
Eli gestured vaguely at Neil, who was very deliberately not looking at any of us. "You sucked him off like it was your last meal, mate. The rest of us got a handshake and a 'cheers, cunt.'"
Neil choked on his beer. Bryn’s grin turned sharp. "Jealous?"
Jamie stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the wood. "Fuck this," he muttered, stomping toward the house. "I need another beer. And a cold shower. Possibly a priest."
Eli watched him go, then turned to me. "You thinking what I’m thinking?"
I didn’t get a chance to answer. The screen door slammed again, and Jamie’s voice echoed from inside: "Oi, Steve! Get your arse in here. You owe me a fucking explanation."
I sighed, long-suffering, but stood. As I passed Bryn, our fingers brushed, brief, deliberate. Then I disappeared inside, leaving the rest of them in the gathering dark, naked and unmoored.
Eli raised his bottle in a silent toast. "To undies," he said.
The kitchen smelled like sweat and cheap beer and something darker, muskier, the scent of Neil and Bryn still hanging in the air. Jamie's fingers dug into my hips as he pressed me against the table, the wood cool against my bare stomach. "Fuck," he muttered against my ear, his breath hot and uneven.
"I would be delighted. Are you sure about this?"
"I would rather fuck you than some slut full of diseases I can't even spell," he said in response.
I arched my back, pressing my ass against him in answer. The bottle of lube was still warm from Bryn and Neil's attention, the cap half-off where they'd abandoned it in their haste. Jamie's cock slid against my thigh, already slick, and I hissed at the contact. "Just go slow," I said, gripping the table edge hard enough to whiten my knuckles.
Jamie wasn't rough. He wasn't anything like I expected. His fingers traced my spine before spreading me open, his thumb rubbing circles against my hole until I shuddered. "Relax," he murmured, pressing in just the tip, letting me adjust to the stretch. My breath hitched, and Jamie stilled, his grip tightening. "Okay?"
I nodded, biting my lip as he pushed deeper, inch by inch, until his hips met my ass. Jamie groaned, low and ragged, his forehead dropping between my shoulder blades. "Christ, Steve," he choked out. His hands trembled where they held me, like he was the one being split open, not me.
He moved then, slow rolls of his hips that had me seeing stars. Every thrust was deliberate, calculated, like he was mapping my body with his cock. I'd expected Jamie to fuck like he fought, all brute force and sharp elbows, but this was something else entirely. His fingers laced with mine on the tabletop, pinning me gently as his pace quickened. "You feel...." He cut himself off with a grunt, his rhythm stuttering. "Fuck, you feel perfect."
Outside, Eli's laughter drifted through the screen door, mingling with the creak of the veranda boards. Neil said something low and indistinct, and Bryn's answering chuckle sent a jolt through me. Jamie noticed his teeth scraping my shoulder. "Focus," he growled, but there was no heat in it, just a desperate sort of hunger.
I braced myself as Jamie's thrusts grew uneven, his breath coming in ragged bursts against my skin. His hand slid down my stomach, wrapping around my cock, and I came with a soundless gasp, my vision whiting out. Jamie followed seconds after, his hips jerking wildly as he buried himself to the hilt, his groan muffled against my back.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. Then Jamie sighed, pressing a kiss to my shoulder blade before pulling out. "Well," he said, voice rough with amusement. "That was unexpected."
I turned, catching his wrist before he could step away. "Good unexpected?"
Jamie's grin was slow, wicked. "Best free fuck I ever got," he said, and then the screen door banged open, and Eli strolled in, whistling tunelessly.
He took one look at us, Jamie still flushed and panting, me leaning against the table like my knees might give out, and burst out laughing. "Christ," he said, shaking his head. "Whole damn town's gonna know by morning."
"At the moment, Eli, you're the only one who's not getting any," I said.
Eli's dick was rock hard as he came up behind me. "Any chance I can change that?" he asked, his breath hot against my ear, the words more plea than demand. I could feel the heat of him pressed against my back, his erection trapped between us, twitching with every ragged breath he took.
"If you don’t mind fucking a bloke," I replied, leaning back into him just enough to feel the shudder that ran through his body. "Just be nice and loving."
Eli exhaled sharply, like he'd been holding his breath for hours, and his hands settled on my hips, tentative at first, then firming as he turned me to face him. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, but there was something softer in them too, an uncertainty I'd never seen in him before.
"You sure?" he murmured, fingers tracing my jawline, thumb brushing my lower lip.
I didn’t answer with words. Instead, I caught his thumb between my teeth, biting down just hard enough to make him gasp, then sucked it into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the tip. Eli groaned, his cock jerking against my thigh, and the last of his restraint snapped.
His kiss was messy, desperate, all teeth and tongue and pent-up hunger, but there was no rush in it, just the slow, aching press of his body against mine, the way his hands mapped my skin like he was memorising every inch. He nipped at my lower lip, then soothed it with his tongue, murmuring, "Fuck, Steve," against my mouth like it was a prayer.
When he pushed me back onto the table, I lay on my back watching him as my legs dangled over the edge. It wasn’t with the rough impatience I expected. Eli took his time, standing between my legs, pressing open-mouthed kisses along my inner thighs, his stubble scraping sensitive skin. His breath hitched when he finally got his mouth on me, his tongue dragging a slow, filthy stripe from base to tip before he swallowed me down like he’d been starving for it.
He was going to blow me. That much was certain.
And Christ, the way he looked up at me, eyes locked on mine, lips stretched around my cock, his fingers digging into my hips like he was afraid I’d vanish if he let go. His technique wasn’t polished, wasn’t perfect, but the raw fucking enthusiasm of it had my toes curling against the wood, my hips bucking up into his throat.
Eli pulled off just long enough to gasp, "You taste fucking incredible," before diving back in, his tongue working me over with a dedication that bordered on worship. His hands slid under my ass, lifting me just enough to angle me deeper into his mouth, and I barely had time to choke out a warning before I came down his throat, my fingers tangled in his hair, my back arching off the table.
He swallowed every drop, then licked his lips with a satisfaction that should’ve been obscene but just looked unfairly hot. "I didn't expect that, Eli," I managed, dragging him up by his shoulders, but Eli shook his head, pressing me back down with a hand on my chest.
"I'm a dark horse when it comes to this," he said, "Not yet," kissing his way down my stomach, lower, lower, until his breath ghosted over my softening cock. His fingers traced the crease of my thigh, feather-light, and I shivered despite the kitchen's warmth. "Let me....," as his mouth closed over me again, tongue swirling gently, coaxing me back to hardness with a patience that bordered on reverence.
Outside, the veranda creaked under someone's weight, Jamie or Bryn or Neil, probably pretending not to listen. Eli didn't seem to care; his focus singular, his hands steadying my hips as he worked me over with his mouth. When I was fully hard again, he pulled off with a wet pop, lips slick and swollen, and reached for the lube still sitting on the table. The cap came off with a soft click, and Eli poured a generous amount into his palm, warming it between his fingers before turning me around, pushing me down onto the table as he reached behind me.
His touch was tentative at first, just a circling pressure that made my breath hitch. "Okay?" he asked, pausing. I nodded, gripping the table edge tighter as he pressed in, one slow inch at a time. Eli exhaled sharply, his forehead dropping to my shoulder as he stilled, letting me adjust. "Christ, Steve," he muttered, voice rough. "You're...." He cut himself off with a groan as I clenched around him.
He moved then, shallow thrusts that gradually deepened, his pace measured, almost hesitant. It wasn't the frantic, desperate fucking I'd expected either; this was something else entirely. Eli's hands trembled where they gripped my hips, his breath coming in ragged bursts against my neck. "Fuck," he choked out, hips stuttering. "You feel....," as another thrust cut him off, his rhythm faltering.
Eli's lips kissed my back with pleasure as he rocked into me. His hand slid around my hip, wrapping around my cock, and that was all it took. I came again with a soundless gasp, my vision whiting out as Eli's rhythm broke completely. He buried himself to the hilt with a groan, his release hot and sudden, his forehead pressed between my shoulder blades as he shuddered through it.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. Then Eli sighed, pressing a kiss to the nape of my neck before pulling out. "Well," he said, voice rough with amusement. "That was... wonderful," as the screen door banged open, cutting him off.
Jamie stood there, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. "Took you long enough," he said, grinning. Behind him, Bryn and Neil were conspicuously avoiding eye contact, their cheeks flushed. Eli rolled his eyes, reaching for a dish towel to clean us up.
"Jealous?" Eli tossed over his shoulder, and Jamie's laugh echoed through the kitchen.
The veranda boards were warm under my bare feet, the late afternoon sun painting everything in honeyed light. I could feel Jamie’s and Eli’s cum trickling down my thigh, sticky and cooling in the breeze, but the sensation didn’t bother me. Not here. Not now. Behind me, the screen door clicked shut, and Bryn’s laugh, low and unselfconscious, drifted through the air like smoke.
Neil was already sprawled in one of the rickety deck chairs, his legs splayed, a beer balanced on his stomach. He didn’t bother to cover himself, even as Jamie plopped down beside him, equally naked, equally unconcerned. Eli leaned against the railing, his back to the sunset, watching us with a quiet satisfaction that made my chest tighten.
"Mission accomplished, then?" Bryn said, tossing me a beer. I caught it one-handed, the condensation slick against my palm.
I cracked it open, the hiss of carbonation loud in the comfortable silence. "Depends," I said, taking a swig. "Did we actually measure anyone, or just...."
"Fuck around?" Jamie supplied, grinning.
Neil snorted. "Bit of both."
Eli pushed off the railing, stepping close enough to brush his shoulder against mine. "Better than expected, if you ask me." His voice was rough, but his smile was easy, unguarded.
The truth settled over me like the golden light stretching across the veranda. No awkwardness. No regret. Just five blokes who’d crossed a line without realising it was there, and found the other side wasn’t so different after all. Bryn’s fingers tangled with mine, brief and warm, before he let go to grab his own beer.
Jamie stretched, arms over his head, his biceps flexing. "So," he said, eyeing Neil’s half-hard cock with lazy interest. "Who’s next?"
Neil raised an eyebrow. "Next?"
Eli barked a laugh, shaking his head. "Bullshit. No one's next. This has been quite an experience to say the least."
Bryn smirked, leaning back against the railing. "Could be productive."
I rolled my eyes, but my pulse jumped when Eli’s hand settled on the small of my back, his thumb rubbing idle circles against my skin. "Or," I said, "we could admit we’re shit at this and hire a professional."
Jamie groaned, flopping back in his chair. "Ruining the fun, Steve."
"Just saying."
Neil tipped his beer at me, his expression unreadable. "You’re the one who came twice."
The laughter that followed was loud enough to startle a pair of cockatoos from the gum tree overhead. Eli’s fingers dug into my hip, his breath warm against my ear. "Three times, if you count the veranda."
I elbowed him, but my face burned, and not from the sun.
Bryn watched us, his grin widening. "Right," he said, clapping his hands together. "Tomorrow, we submit our measurement and then hopefully, the contact Steve has made will design something practical for us outback boys....properly."
Jamie groaned again, louder this time. Neil just sighed, tipping his hat over his face. Eli’s hand slid lower, squeezing my ass, and I didn’t bother to hide my shiver.
The sunset painted the sky in streaks of orange and purple, the air thick with the scent of eucalyptus and sex. Somewhere beyond the veranda, a kookaburra cackled, like it was in on the joke.
And for the first time in years, maybe ever, I didn’t feel like laughing alone.
The truck's headlights carved through the dust swirling up from the dirt road, Bryn's fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against the steering wheel. My thighs stuck to the vinyl seat, sweat and lingering evidence of the evening's activities making my skin tacky. The silence between us was thick, but not uncomfortable, just waiting for one of us to crack it open.
"Eli," Bryn finally said, like he'd been chewing on the word for miles. "Fucking Eli." He shook his head, grinning when I snorted. "Mate, the way he looked at you, like you'd handed him the keys to the fucking kingdom."
I rubbed my thumb over the seam of my shorts, still feeling the phantom press of Eli's teeth on my shoulder. "Jamie was worse," I muttered. "Acted like he'd been waiting his whole bloody life to bend me over that table."
Bryn's laugh was sharp, surprised. "Probably had been.
"Christ," I breathed, shifting in my seat. "We're dense as bricks, aren't we? How did we miss the vibe? It must have been visible for everyone to see."
Bryn downshifted as we hit the gravel driveway leading to his property, the truck lurching beneath us. "Speak for yourself. I knew I wanted to suck your dick since year ten chemistry when you wouldn't stop biting your lower lip during exams."
The confession landed between us, simple as a dropped coin. I stared at him, the one who'd held my hair back when I puked after my first beer, who'd driven three hours to pick me up when my ute died outside Geraldton. Who'd measured my dick this morning like it was a sacred fucking ritual.
The truck rolled to a stop outside his shed. Bryn killed the engine but didn't move, his thumb brushing over the gearshift. "You okay?" he asked, quieter now.
I thought about Jamie's rough hands and Eli's reverent mouth and Neil's surprised laughter when he came against my thigh. About how none of it felt wrong, just overdue.
"Yeah," I said, reaching across to squeeze Bryn's wrist. His pulse jumped under my fingers. "Better than, but sort of regretful in some respects, we only discovered each other now, and Neil, he was totally convincing being straight. As for Eli and Jamie, the butch lads at school all these years, and to think, Eli sucked me off with expertise that suggests....it wasn't the first time."
Bryn turned his hand to lace our fingers together, calluses catching on my skin. "Good," he said, and then he was yanking me across the bench seat, his mouth crashing into mine with the same reckless certainty he did everything, no hesitation, no apologies. The steering wheel dug into my ribs, but I couldn't fucking care, not when Bryn's tongue swept into my mouth like he was mapping territory.
We broke apart panting, foreheads pressed together. Bryn's grin was wildfire-bright. "Still think we need to refine our measurements?"
I bit his lower lip, just to watch his eyes darken. "Might need to double check," I said. "For consistency."
Bryn's laughter echoed through the cab as he dragged me toward the house, the veranda light spilling gold across our tangled shadows. Somewhere in the distance, a kookaburra called, like it was laughing too.
"Bryn, shhh, it's late, and you'll wake your parents. Don't forget, they don't know about us. They don't know about any of this shit."
Bryn stopped and kissed me, holding my cheeks and then pulling off my lips. He looked at me. "Mom knows. I confessed to her a while ago that I am gay and that I had been in love with you since... well, fucking ages, and she told me to pick a time and confess to you. Today was just a perfect moment."
"What about your old man?" I demanded.
"Don't know and don't care," Bryn responded. He's a foreman at the cattle station and has probably been fucking station hands for years. Jamie and Eli are a testament to, needs must when the devil drives. Now, do you fancy a fuck on the veranda or not?"
The veranda boards groaned under our combined weight as I yanked my t-shirt over my head, the fabric catching briefly on my ear before I tossed it into the dark. Bryn’s hands were already at my belt buckle, fingers fumbling with the worn leather in a way that should’ve been frustrating but just sent heat licking up my spine. "Fuck me, you beast," I muttered, kicking my shorts off my feet, "before I change my mind."
Bryn’s laugh was a dark, delighted thing. He caught my wrist, spinning me around until my back hit the veranda post, the wood rough against my bare skin. His mouth found mine again, all teeth and claiming pressure, while his free hand shoved my briefs down just enough to free my cock. The night air was cool against my flushed skin, but Bryn’s palm was hotter, his grip tight as he stroked me once, twice, then let go abruptly to spit into his hand.
I groaned at the loss, hips jerking forward, but Bryn pressed me back with a forearm across my chest. "Patience," he murmured, lips trailing down my neck. His teeth scraped my collarbone, and I arched into it, my fingers finding purchase in his hair.
Somewhere beyond the veranda, a branch snapped, kangaroo or wallaby, maybe, but neither of us looked. Bryn’s breath hitched when I tightened my grip, yanking his head back to expose his throat. I bit down where his pulse jumped, tasting salt and the ghost of cheap beer, and Bryn’s hips bucked against mine, his erection pressing insistently against my thigh.
"Christ, Steve," he gasped, fingers digging into my hips.
I grinned, releasing him to drag my nails down his chest. "Thought you were supposed to be fucking me."
Bryn’s eyes gleamed in the dim light. He reached behind me, grabbing the bottle of lube he’d stashed under the veranda bench, planned, the bastard, and slicked his fingers with a filthy, deliberate twist. His touch when it came was relentless, one finger circling my entrance before pushing in without preamble. I hissed, my knees locking, but Bryn didn’t pause, crooking his finger just enough to make me see stars.
"You’re such a fucking liar," he breathed, adding a second finger. "You’d never change your mind."
I couldn’t argue, not when my hands were braced on his shoulders, my thighs trembling as he scissored me open. The stretch burned, but the sound of Bryn’s ragged breathing was worth it, the way his free hand gripped my ass like he couldn’t decide whether to shove me away or pull me closer.
When he finally withdrew his fingers, I nearly protested, but then Bryn was turning me around, pressing my chest against the post. His cock slid between my thighs first, a teasing, slick glide that had me pushing back instinctively. Bryn chuckled, low and rough, his hands settling on my hips. "Easy," he murmured, but his own control was fraying; I could feel it in the tremor of his fingers, the uneven hitch of his breath as he lined himself up.
The first thrust was slow, agonisingly so, Bryn’s forehead dropping between my shoulder blades as he bottomed out. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved, the only sound the distant rustle of the gum leaves and Bryn’s shaky exhale against my skin. Then he pulled back and snapped his hips forward, and the world narrowed to the slick, perfect friction of him inside me, the bite of the post against my palms, the way Bryn’s fingers bruised my hips with each punishing thrust.
"Fuck," I gasped, my vision whiting at the edges. Bryn’s rhythm stuttered, his pace turning erratic, and I knew he was close—could feel it in the way his fingers dug into my skin, the desperate, bitten-off sounds he was making against my back.
One hand slid around my hip, wrapping around my cock, and that was all it took. I came with a shout I barely recognised as my own, my knees buckling as Bryn fucked me through it, his own release hot and sudden inside me.
For a long moment, we stayed like that, Bryn’s chest pressed to my back, his breath warm against my shoulder. Then, with a groan, he pulled out, his fingers tracing the bite marks he’d left on my hips. "Still want to change your mind?" he asked, voice wrecked.
I turned, catching his mouth in a lazy, sated kiss. "Never."
Bryn grinned, lopsided and triumphant, and the veranda light caught the sweat at his temples, the flush creeping down his chest. He leaned in, nipping at my lower lip like he couldn’t help himself, and I tasted salt and something darker, something inevitable.
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