Old Valley Road Hotel

Biker ) [ 28 ! ?? ]

---------------------------------------------------------------------- The Old Valley Road Hotel.

By Wombat. ------------------------- Any constructive comments are appreciated. I'm at 'bungala_wombat@yahoo.com.au'. ------------------------------------ Chapter 4 part 2.

------------------------------------ Part 28: Derek's Picture. ------------------------------------

Scott sat down on the toilet and shat out an enormous great shit. His eyes watered as his arsehole distended wide to expel the huge turd. It felt great to feel the long thick hard mass slide down his rectum past the base of his semi-hard penis and his prostate then out through his anus. He groaned. It was a very pleasurable shit.

He sat on the toilet for a few minutes appreciating the feeling of his dilated arsehole. Since Hal had cast the spell on him, Scott had been shitting great big shits. He got up and looked at the enormous dark khaki shit standing upright against the side of the toilet bowl. He had got over the surprise now at having that enormous thick hard rod of shit up his arse. There was no way that he would be able to flush the twelve-inch (30-cm) long turd down the drain. It looked more than two inches (5 cm) thick. He picked up the old stainless steel long- handled serving spoon kept there for the purpose and used it to break up the turd into flushable chunks. He flushed them away.

Scott remembered the afternoon about three weeks ago when he was caught short at a building site that he, Matt, Shane Shanahan and Greg 'Leafy' Lane were working on. They were installing the plumbing in one of the new houses being built in the town. There was no working toilet on the site. Scott was so desperate that he dropped his shorts and squatted astride a freshly dug trench in full view of the others. They were amazed to see this huge thick long straight shit emerge from his arse and drop into the trench. As soon as Scott stood up and pulled his shorts up again, Shane scooped up the shit with a long- handled shovel and held it out for everyone's inspection. Matt took out his tape measure and measured it. To Scott's embarrassment and everyone else's utter amazement, it came out at 380 millimetres (15", 38 cm.) long and 70 mm. (7 cm., 2.75") thick. It was straight and thicker than a beer can.

"How the hell did you manage to fit that fucking huge great turd up your arse, Scottie?" asked Matt incredulously.

"I never seen a pooh big as that before, not even out of an elephant," announced Leafy.

Scott blushed.

"You must've had to push real hard to push that thing out, Muscle- arse," laughed Shane. "Fuck! It's a bloody wonder you didn't split your arse apart shitting out that huge fucking great turd."

"Jeepers creepers! You could use it as a fence-post," exclaimed Leafy. "It's like rock hard."

"Truly a turd of biblical proportions," intoned Matt.

Everyone laughed. Scott reddened even more.

Leafy slapped him on the shoulder. "You'll give yourself piles if you keep that up."

"You can bloody well stuff your piles up your arse, Leafy," grumbled Scott. "I'm bloody sick of hearing you carrying on about you and your mother's piles."

Everyone laughed again.

Shane buried the shit in a hole under a tree next to the side fence. He had recently graduated from a plumber's labourer to an apprentice plumber. He was twenty-two, the same age as Rob. He was a bit full of himself now and liked bossing Scott around.

Scott sat down on the bidet in his bathroom and turned on a strong jet of warm water against his arsehole. He opened his anus and let the fountain of water gush up into his anal canal and into his rectum. It felt really good to have the powerful jet of water squirt up into his arse. His prostate thrummed with the water playing on it and his penis became stiff and hard. It felt fantastic.

A few small bits of shit were flushed out of his colon but soon it was clean. Scott sat on the bidet really enjoying the feel of the warm water squirting up his arse and stimulating his insides. His cock was stiff and started to dribble precum.

After a while, Scott turned off the water, stood up and dried himself. His cock stood out in front of him stiff as a poker. He rubbed his hand appreciatively along the shaft. Golly it felt good.

He picked up his plastic back brush from the shower alcove and detached the brush from the handle. He bought the back brush from the local hardware store several weeks ago. What attracted him was the long ribbed detachable plastic handle which was nice and thick, two inches (5 cm.) thick. It was ideal for the purpose he had in mind for it.

The handle turned out to be a beautiful thing to stick up his arsehole when he was masturbating. It really gave him a hell of a bang. So far while the family was home, he only dared to use it up his arse while he was showering. He was afraid to give any hint to the rest of his family that he liked having things stuck up his arsehole. Rob in particular was very quick to pick up on anyone whom he regarded as less than perfectly straight. He would often make rude remarks about certain people whom he thought were poofters.

But for Scott, having the back brush handle up his arse was an exquisitely orgasmic experience that made his powerfully muscled body thrum with joy. It certainly enhanced his orgasms considerably. The tension then the release were wonderful. However, it was very much a hidden pleasure.

Scott took the back brush handle and a bottle of coconut oil into his bedroom.

The PC had booted up. Scott found the picture of Derek that he really liked. He had found a very hot picture of Derek posted on a Usenet newsgroup. He had followed the link and found a whole lot of pictures of Derek and other hot sexy musclemen posing naked for the camera. Derek was the one who very much attracted him.

The projector reproduced the screen image on the ceiling over Scott's bed.

In Scott's favourite picture Derek looked really hot and sexy. He was a very handsome and powerfully built muscleman indeed with a mop of dark brown hair hanging down over big dark brown eyes. He had sideburns down to the bottoms of his ears.

Scott lay back on his vinyl bed-cover. He had wanked himself off to this picture many times before while sitting at his computer.

Derek was shown sitting back relaxing on an outdoor lounge and looking directly at the camera. His tanned body covered with thick vascular striated muscles was magnificent. His big rounded thick hard slabs of pectoral muscles glistened in the sun. The deltoid muscles on his shoulders were as big as soccer balls and the trapezius muscles sloped up his thick and powerful neck to below his ears. His arms looked thicker than the thighs of most men. They were as big as watermelons. His hard well-veined biceps bulged magnificently; they were the size of footballs. His triceps were thick, meaty and nicely rounded except for the horseshoe-shaped ridge that stood out. The muscles of his abdomen were hard and bulging like cobblestones. The splendid eight- pack they formed reminded Scott of a tray of buns that his grandmother often cooked. Derek's thighs were truly magnificent; they were huge thick corded masses of muscle. His erect cock was incredible. It was as thick as a coke can and so long that it almost reached up to his pectoral muscles. Scott could see the network of veins running over the shaft.

Oh, God, Scott moaned softly to himself, Derek is so hot and sexy. Scott wanted Derek really badly. He wanted to fling himself upon Derek's sexy muscular body and have Derek stick his huge cock up his arsehole and fuck him into orgasm. His cock quickly became stiff as he gazed with lust at the image projected over his bed.

Scott poured the coconut oil over his naked body and sensuously rubbed it over the front of his torso so that it glistened. Scott oiled up his erect cock and it quickly became painfully hard. It throbbed. Precum dribbled from the piss hole. His balls ached heavily and tightened. Orgasm was close but Scott did not want it yet.

He raised his thighs up exposing his anus and pressed the rounded pointed end of the back brush handle against the anal pucker. He pushed the end slowly into the anal entrance. His arsehole was already relaxed after pushing out the huge shit and his fun on the bidet. It readily admitted the two-inch thick handle as Scott pushed the handle in. He had done this many times before. The long handle slipped into his anus easily.

Scott lay naked on the vinyl cover of his bed with his thighs in the air and slowly pushed the long, two-inch thick, ribbed handle of the back brush into his anus. It slid in easily. He enjoyed the feel of the plastic sliding through his arsehole past his anal sphincters deep into his rectum. The ribs of the handle massaged his prostate sensuously as they slid past. His prostate was stimulated strongly. He clenched his arsehole on the handle. It felt really nice. His rectum felt lovely and full. It felt good to have the handle up his arse stretching his anal sphincters.

Scott's thick long penis stood up at an angle from his body as stiff as a ramrod. The erection was massive. Precum dribbled freely from the piss slit. It glistened with the oil that Scott had rubbed on it. A network of veins stood out over the thick shaft. The exposed thick helmet of his cock was hard and a purplish pink in colour. It was the size and shape of a plum. Scott was really proud of his big cock. He refrained from touching it because he did not want to launch into an orgasm prematurely.

Instead he ran his free hand sensuously over the thick hard powerful muscles of his coconut oil slicked torso. He enjoyed the feel of the hard mounds and ridges of his abdominal muscles, which were well developed. He rubbed his hand over the thick hard rounded plates of massive pectoral muscles covering his broad powerful chest. They felt good and hard and very strong.

With his other hand he pushed the back brush handle in and out of his arsehole. It felt really nice to feel the plastic handle sliding past the anal sphincters. He was very much stimulated by the feeling of the ribs of the handle pushing into his rectum past his prostate. His balls felt full and hot. They ached. His cock ached.

After sliding the handle in and out several times he pushed the handle into his rectum as far as it would comfortably go. He pushed the handle in and out of his anus. The ribs of the handle slid past his prostate making it thrum with sexual tension as they pushed against it. Golly it felt good! His whole groin felt full, congested and highly stimulated. The precum dribbled from the tip of his cock like from a leaky tap. He felt the tension building in his balls and in the rest of his groin. His balls tightened. His orgasm was very close.

He straightened out his thighs and clenched his arsehole on the plastic handle thrust up into it. His whole body tensed. His balls ached for release. He writhed sensuously, enjoying the feel of the handle filling his colon. His cock ached.

Scott wrapped his hand around the thick veiny shaft of his ramrod stiff penis and rubbed it up and down along the shaft once. Something exploded deep within his groin from around the handle thrust up deep into his anus. A thick rope of semen shot up into the air from the end of his penis, curved back down in an arc and landed with a splat on his oily muscular chest. It was followed by about a dozen more. Scott groaned loudly in the blessed release of his orgasm.

"Fuck me, Derek," he cried. "Fuck me, Derek, fuck me hard!"

His chest was covered in splats of his semen. He grasped his penis firmly in his hand and clenched his arsehole on the handle until the throes of his orgasm had passed. It felt good, really good, but it finished all too quickly. The intense pleasure was all too short.

His penis softened in his hand. He relaxed the grip of his anus on the plastic handle. Sensuously he rubbed his semen all over the big muscles of his hairless chest. He sighed with the release of the sexual tension. It felt really good while it lasted.

He lay on his bed looking up at the picture of Derek projected on the ceiling and rubbed his semen all over the front of his oily body. He looked forward to Derek's return. He thought of all the things they could do together. He ran his hands over the big powerful muscles of his body. His muscles were nearly as big as Derek's. Already he had the physique of a world class body builder. But he wanted to get bigger. He wanted to run his hand over Derek's huge muscles. And he wanted very much to feel Derek's cock up his arse.

Around the handle of the back brush he placed a loose rubber band. Experimentally he pushed the two-inch (5-cm.) thick plastic back brush handle up into his rectum as far as possible until the pain became quite sharp. It came from deep inside his torso just under his rib cage. He pushed the rubber band along the handle so that it marked the position of his anus. Then he extracted the handle from his arsehole. He got the metre ruler from the bedside table and measured the length of plastic handle that had been imbedded inside him. He was amazed to discover that he could accommodate a length of 45 centimetres (17.7 inches) up his arsehole. However, that hurt. He inserted the handle up his arsehole again and pushed it up inside himself as far as it could go without pain. He discovered that he could accommodate a length of 42 centimetres (16.5 inches) comfortably. It felt really nice up inside him. It was good to know that he could fit a huge cock up his arsehole. He could easily fit Derek's cock inside him and he would feel no pain at all.

There was no shit on the handle after he had pulled it out of his arsehole. Clearly he had washed all the shit out of his rectum on the bidet.

He lay back on the bed and rubbed his hands over his oily semen- slicked body really enjoying the feel of his big muscles. It felt good. His body felt good. His arsehole felt good and well used.

He heard outside the put-put of the small motorcycle used by Chloe, the post-woman. Chloe worked for Phil and Liz Nelson who ran the post office and newsagency in the town. She spent most of the day delivering letters around the town. Scott heard her stop briefly outside the house then move off down the street.

He was surprised. All the mail except for him alone had been redirected. All the personal mail for the family was to be sent on to Aunt Rosalind's address in Noosa and all the business mail would go to Mr Pennyquick, the accountant who was looking after his parent's business affairs while they were away. Scott was not expecting any mail, unless there was something for him from Derek. That thought made Scott get up off his bed.

He had a leisurely, languorous shower in his en suite bathroom and washed the semen off his body. He left most of the oil on his body as the shiny skin made his muscles and veins stand out. He looked good.

He pulled on a brief tight pair of black football shorts and a big black elastic sided pair of work boots with black socks rolled down to the tops of the boots. He never bothered with underpants under his shorts. He stood up and stretched, then flexed his arms in front of the mirror. His muscles felt good. He looked really hot and sexy.

He swaggered out of the house to the mailbox by the front gate enjoying the feel of his well-used arsehole. The street was empty. Inside the mailbox there was a letter addressed to him. The envelope had been printed by a laser printer and bore a return address of Mount Remarkable Pastoral Company, Melrose, South Australia.

Excited, Scott tore open the envelope to reveal a postcard from Derek. It bore a photograph of Mount Remarkable looming large over the little town of Melrose nestled at its foot. On the back was a note from Derek saying that he was expecting to arrive back at Ringtail Springs sometime after lunch on Sunday, December 23rd, two days before Christmas. Today was Thursday. Derek's return was three days away. Scott's heart leapt with anticipation. Maybe Derek could teach him the arts of manhood that Uncle Henry talked about the previous day at the woodheap, as well as all the other things Derek and Hal had spoken about. Derek could teach him how to grow huge muscles and become someone special.

With a faint tinge of guilt, Scott realised that he had not been to check on Derek's place for several days, not since before Uncle Henry and Auntie Sam arrived. Today he would have a look around inside the garage for the first time since Derek and Hal left. He had not had the chance before because he had been so busy.

He strolled back into the house rereading the postcard.

Inside, he pulled on a black T-shirt then his old navy blue New York Yankees baseball cap with the sides of the visor curved down in almost a semicircle. He stopped in front of the mirror and looked at his reflection. He pulled the baseball cap visor down low over his eyes then flexed his great big muscular arms. His black T-shirt fitted his muscular V-shaped torso snugly. His black hair curled out from under the cap. Golly, he thought, he looks really hot and sexy. He did a few more poses and admired the big powerful muscles of his 21-inch upper arms tensing and bulging. His massive thighs bulged with corded muscle.

He felt hungry. It was several hours since breakfast. He grabbed two large hamburger patties and a bun from the refrigerator, microwaved them, stacked the patties between the two halves of the bun and scoffed the lot. He then chugged down a one-litre carton of milk and burped loudly.

After the snack he locked up the house, walked over to the huge garage where the family's fleet of vehicles and all his father's plumbing equipment were kept. The garage was nearly as big as Derek's garage. Inside were the three Toyota light trucks used for the plumbing business, the 1969 Citroen DS21 Pallas owned by Uncle Henry and Auntie Sam, Veronica's second car the white 1985 Honda Civic station wagon that they had all learned to drive on, Jackie's new Toyota Corolla, Katie's 1986 Mazda 121 - the 'jelly bean car', Matt's bright yellow Holden Commodore utility with a V8 motor and Scott's own bright orange 1973 vintage Ford Falcon utility with a 5-litre (307 cubic inches) V8 motor. Also there were three motorcycles, Matt's Harley-Davidson, Rob's Ducati and Scott's old Yamaha 350cc dirt bike. Scott got into his utility, backed out of the garage and drove off.

It was a beautiful day with a cloudless blue summer sky. Already the air was warm. It was a typical December day in and it was going to be hot.

Scott drove through the town of Ringtail Springs. The side streets were brilliant purple with the jacaranda trees in full bloom. There was not much traffic about. At ten o'clock in the morning of a hot summer day many people had already done their shopping. However, a number of people waved to him as he drove north up High Street shaded by elms and onto Brown's Hill Road.

About two miles (3 kilometres) out of town, he turned onto Valley Road. Tall gum trees crowded close to the winding and bumpy old bitumen road. It was cool in the shade of the overshadowing trees. The heavy rumble of the old utility's V8 motor echoed back from the trees.

He drove about another mile (1.6 km) along Valley Road until he caught sight of the white mass of Derek's garage. Out the front stood the old sign of the flying horse, the one-time trademark of the Mobil Oil Company. Just beyond the garage was the big old stone two-storey building of the Old Valley Road Hotel. A two-storey verandah ran around all sides. All the hotel's windows were boarded up.

Scott turned into the weed-infested gravel car park that lay between the two buildings. He parked his utility behind the garage out of sight of the road.

He walked around the old hotel. All seemed to be in order. The old stone building appeared to be in good condition. He circumnavigated the garage and that seemed to be intact as well. He came across a group of kangaroos grazing on the long grass near the back of the hotel. The kangaroos hopped languorously away a short distance then stopped and looked at him suspiciously. Scott often saw them around the hotel and garage. They were often grazing or just lazing.

He stood out the back of the garage and looked at the forest that surrounded the old hotel and its land, which amounted to about a hundred acres (40 hectares) in extent. The forest was part of the large national park that surrounded the property and bordered on the town. There was a big dam about a hundred metres (yards) across not far from the back of the garage. The water was a murky light brown in colour but it still looked good. With the birds singing this was a very peaceful part of the world. He could understand why Derek wanted to live here.

Scott remembered coming here late one afternoon about six weeks ago. He called in to check on the place on the way home from work. When he drove in, he saw the police car parked in the car park. He felt a twinge of anxiety and guilt. He intended to check on Derek's place every day but he had not always been able to keep to that. He was troubled by the thought that Sergeant Rowling might feel obliged to do his job for him. Rowling was not in his car and was nowhere in sight.

Scott found the fat blond policeman sitting on a fallen tree trunk down near the dam amongst the self-seeded young gum trees. He was looking over the surface of the dam past the overgrown paddocks towards the forest. Rowling reassured Scott that everything was all right and indicated that Scott sit next to him. He told Scott that before Derek moved in, he would often come here to appreciate the peace and tranquillity of this lovely place with the forest surrounding it. He really liked this place. However, once Derek arrived, Rowling could not come onto the property anymore. He missed just walking around in this lovely overgrown place that to Kym had a romantic air of dereliction. A large mob of kangaroos was grazing in the overgrown paddocks in the late afternoon sun. They took no notice of Scott and Kym. Scott could pick the big old man red kangaroo among the mob of females.

Now that Derek was away, Kym could use the excuse that he was helping Scott to keep an eye on the place. He winked at Scott who appreciated the joke.

Rowling put a friendly arm around Scott's shoulders and Scott reciprocated. They sat together as two old friends.

Scott felt Rowling gently feeling and squeezing the powerful muscles in his shoulder. He reciprocated by squeezing Rowling's shoulder gently. He could feel quite a lot of muscle underneath the fat. Rowling must be quite strong under all that fat.

Rowling looked at Scott with his bright blue eyes and said, "I wish I had a son like you."

Scott smiled back at him. They stood with their arms around each other's shoulders for several minutes.

"You know, Scottie," the policeman said, "I've mentioned this before, I know, but I reckon you should seriously consider joining the police force. You'd make a really splendid police officer. You've got brains, brawn and balls. You've got plenty of all three, there's no doubt of that. Not many officers have, to tell you the truth."

"I dunno," replied Scott. "I dunno what to do."

"Please think about it, Scottie. It'd be fantastic to have a man like you in the police force."

Scott glowed with appreciation. Rowling gave Scott's shoulder a friendly squeeze.

The policeman made frequent visits to Derek's garage and hotel.

One evening about a week afterwards, Sergeant Rowling drove into the hotel car park and surprised two men who were prowling around on the upstairs verandah of the hotel. They fled when they saw the police car coming towards the hotel. They were in such a panic that they jumped off the upstairs verandah and landed on the ground twenty feet (6 metres) below. One broke his back. The other suffered compound fractures in both legs. Rowling radioed the ambulance and the men were taken to hospital. The man with the broken back ended up a paraplegic. The other man with the compound fractures in both legs developed gangrene in both legs and both had to be amputated.

People in the town said that incident proved that the old hotel was haunted. There was definitely something up there, they said. Scott made a bad joke that one man ended up spineless and the other legless. No one of course knew about the deva protecting the hotel and the garage.

One hot Friday morning about two weeks later, Scott was working on a building site with his brother Rob, Shane Shanahan the apprentice plumber and Doug the Thug. Scott and Doug were sitting around with nothing to do because Rob was not satisfied with the way that Shane had brazed a copper sewage pipe joint and made Shane do the job again.

Scott and Doug both sat under a tree with their shirts off. They both wore just a brief pair of shorts and a solid pair of work boots with socks. Doug was busy smoking his cigarettes and telling tall stories that Scott did not believe but he did not say so. The stories were too funny. Scott had to laugh.

Suddenly Scott had a powerful urge to go up to Derek's garage and check it. He told Rob that he had to go and check on Derek's place. Rob did not question Scott because he was watching Shane closely while Shane brazed the pipe joint again to Rob's satisfaction. Scott jumped into his utility and drove off in a great hurry.

He raced through the town's back streets and reached the garage quickly. As he drove to the rear of the building, he noticed an old white Toyota van with its rear window painted out parked around the back. Then he saw a man struggling with a large pair of bolt cutters trying to cut the heavy padlock off the garage door. As soon as the man saw the big shirtless muscular teenager leaping out of the old orange Ford utility, he flung down the bolt cutters and took to his heels towards the forest. Scott sprinted off after the man like a hungry wolf after a rabbit. With his long powerful legs Scott ran the man down easily. He grabbed the man, twisted his arm up behind his back and propelled him back towards the garage.

The man was quite a bit shorter than Scott and he had a wiry, thin build. He struggled vigorously in Scott's grasp but to no avail. Scott was much stronger than he was and held him firmly. Scott was only a tiny bit smaller then, weighing about 250 pounds (113 kg), nearly twice the man's weight. The man complained that Scott was hurting him but Scott did not relax his vice-like grip.

Scott demanded to know what the man was doing at the garage and the man told him to get fucked. Scott yanked the man's arm higher up his back until the man yelped in pain and called Scott a fucking great big muscle-bound bruiser. Scott grinned wolfishly.

He dragged the man over to the Toyota van and saw that it was full of plasma television screens, home theatre equipment, DVD players and other electronic gear.

"Where did you get all that stuff from?" demanded Scott. "Did you break into people's houses and steal it?"

The man spat at him. The gob of spit landed on Scott's cheek. Scott fought down the impulse to bang the man's head hard against the side of the van. He realised that he was very strong indeed, much stronger than the man he held. The man seemed almost as weak as a child in Scott's iron grip. It would not be difficult to kill him.

Scott announced that he was going to take the man down to the police station. The man struggled violently as Scott dragged him over to his utility. Scott found himself becoming sexually aroused by the man's lean hard body struggling against his own powerfully muscled, shirtless body as Scott held him tightly. Scott could feel the hard muscles of the man's body through the man's blue T-shirt. Scott's cock started to stiffen. He wondered briefly what it would be like to ram his big fat cock up the man's arsehole. He quickly pushed the thought away. It would create too many problems. And the man was probably full of stinking shit anyway. He certainly was not cute or even good looking with his narrow face. He had lank dirty blond hair.

Scott unceremoniously dumped the man face down onto the ground and held him down with one knee while he rummaged in the cab of his utility for some plastic cable ties. He found them and used them to truss up the man's wrists and ankles tightly. For good measure he tied the wrists and ankles together behind the body with another cable tie. The man was trussed up like a pig in a Hong Kong market. He struggled futilely but was unable to move. He yelled that the cable ties were hurting him, they were too tight.

"Tough tit," replied Scott curtly as he dumped the man's body into the tray of the utility. The plastic ratchet of the cable ties meant that the ties would have to be cut off to be removed. They could not be loosened.

Scott wiped the man's spit off his cheek with a rag he found in the utility. He drove off out of the car park to the town. A stream of filthy language issued forth from the man rolling around in the back of the utility. Scott drove more gently. He did not want to give Sergeant Rowling goods damaged in transit.

There was quite a lot of traffic in town. Scott was forced to drive slowly down High Street because of all the traffic. Every now and then he would have to stop because some person had difficulty getting their car into the angle-parking spaces. They would back and fill until the car was properly parked.

The man was still swearing and cursing furiously as he lay trussed up in the tray of Scott's utility. Everyone who peered into the back on the utility received a volley of filthy language from the man.

Scott saw old Mr Biggs with his shock of white hair and his lined weather-beaten face. He was talking to Mrs Hamilton-Forbes the parson's wife as they were crossing the road together while Scott was stopped waiting for someone to complete their parking manoeuvre. Mr Biggs could not resist peering into the back of Scott's utility and received a volley of bad language from the man. The parson's wife smiled sweetly at Scott and pretended to ignore the filth issuing from the trussed man's mouth. She coloured slightly, looked away and hurried to the median strip.

Mr Biggs came around to Scott's window and said cheerfully, "G'day, Muscles. I see you've got a nice little present wrapped up for someone. Who's the lucky chap?"

"Sergeant Rowling," replied Scott.

Mrs Hamilton-Forbes waited for Mr Biggs on the median strip.

"I see. What did this fellow do?" asked Mr Biggs agog with curiosity.

"I caught him trying to break into Derek's place," replied Scott. "Sorry, gotta go."

The parking manoeuvre was finished and Scott was free to proceed. Scott caught a glimpse in his rear view mirror of Mrs Hamilton-Forbes laughing in a horrified fashion with her hand over her mouth as she talked to Mr Biggs.

Scott's progress was interrupted again by some woman trying to park her brand new Chrysler Voyager. She was obviously having difficulty handling the bulky people mover. Bloody weekender coming to stuff up this town, thought Scott irritably when he saw the Australian Capital Territory number plates on the Chrysler.

In his rear view mirror, Scott saw Myrtle McBride, the wife of George McBride and mother of the unlikeable Cynthia. Mrs McBride was very smartly dressed in an expensively tailored white coat and skirt with a very understated pale blue blouse topped by a necklace of fat white pearls. Her blonde hair was elegantly coiffured and she was wearing expensive Italian sunglasses perched up in her hairdo.

The man too saw Myrtle McBride when she looked into the back of Scott's utility and he let fly with an outburst of putrid language.

"Hey you fucking fat arsehole-faced cunt bitch whore of a cocksucker," he yelled at her at the top of his voice. "Come here you fucking fat cunt of a bitch whore, come and suck my cock. Let me stick my fat cock into your scabby arsehole-shaped mouth. Hey, you cocksucker whoring bitch, come and suck my cock. Come 'ere, you fat fuck, I'm talking to you. My cock is full of sauce waiting for you, you arsehole-faced slack cunt. I want to fuck your face to buggery."

Mrs McBride glared at the man yelling at her, reddened, then glared at Scott angrily. Her face set like concrete. Her blue eyes were as cold as an Antarctic glacier. She stuck her nose up in the air and walked quickly across the road and over the median strip.

"Come 'ere, you fucking fat cunt," yelled the man after her. "Alright then, go stick your fucking ugly fat face up a dead cow's cunt!"

People in the vicinity stopped and stared. No one was game to look into the back of Scott's ute. Scott could feel another complaint being made to his father. But it was not his fault. The man was trying to break into Derek's garage and Scott had caught him. It was not his fault that that the man was so foul mouthed. However, Scott could not stop grinning. The look on Myrtle McBride's face was worth everything. He had never seen her so discomposed. It was very funny, certainly something to tell the boys about back at the job. It would certainly make Doug the Thug laugh until his sides ached and tears rolled down his face.

The woman in the Voyager successfully completed her parking manoeuvre and Scott was free to proceed. He took off with a jerk and the man's head bumped against the tailgate of the utility, causing another torrent of filthy language. Scott grinned to himself. Serve the bastard right.

He only managed to drive another 30 metres (100 feet) when he had to stop again. This time the cause was a minor bingle. An elderly man driving a Lexus into an angle car park had clipped a new Holden station wagon backing out of the adjacent parking space. Scott could see the crease in the Holden's tailgate. The woman who was driving the Holden station wagon was standing in the middle of the road talking angrily into a mobile phone. The elderly man sat in his car looking distressed and confused. The cars blocked the road.

Scott found himself stopped out the front of the Prince of Wales Hotel, which was one of the four hotels in the town. Most of the drinkers inside had heard the commotion in the street and had spilled outside onto the footpath to see what all the shouting was about. They heard the yelling coming from Scott's stationary utility and crowded around it. The man hurled a stream of foul-mouthed abuse at the drinkers who replied in kind. They mocked him. They teased him. They repeated his foul language back at him. They pretended to be deaf and tried to get him to repeat himself. They laughed merrily at him as they made fun of him. The man screamed in fury and frustration. His language got worse and worse which only made the crowd laugh even more. His screams got louder. His face went red. Tears streamed down his face, which only made the crowd jeer him even more. Shouts of "Crybaby", "Diddums" and "Poor little boy" echoed through the air.

A portly red-faced man with a brown full-face beard and wearing a blue singlet poked his head through the open passenger's side window of Scott's utility. Beer fumes wafted over Scott.

"Hey, Ramzilla, who's that berserker you've got trussed up like a chook in the back there?" he asked cheerily.

Scott told him that he had caught the man trying to break into Derek's garage and that he was taking the man to the police station. The bearded man told the others with gusto. The crowd roared with laughter and teased the trussed up man even more.

Scott liked the nickname 'Ramzilla'. His eldest sister Jackie started calling him that when his muscles started growing noticeably a few weeks ago. Scott was born in April under the sign of Aries the Ram and his sister just put together Ram and Godzilla, because size matters. His brothers and other sisters very quickly called him that and the nickname quickly spread. Soon many people in the town were calling him 'Ramzilla'. The name suited the powerfully muscled teenager.

It was clear to Scott that the drama between the elderly Lexus driver and the angry woman driving the Holden station wagon was not going to be resolved quickly. The woman had finished her mobile phone conversation and was standing next to the Lexus pointing angrily at the old man in the driver's seat as she spoke to him.

Scott climbed out of his utility. The crowd of drinkers cheered loudly.

"Hey, Ramzilla!" they cheered. "You've got fuckin' huge muscles!"

"Lookit Ramzilla's mighty muscles."

Scott flexed both his big arms in a spectacular double biceps pose. His sweaty shirtless torso gleamed in the sun. The crowd roared its appreciation. Hands felt the bulging peaks of the biceps muscles. More hands roved over his naked torso feeling the thick masses of muscle. Scott felt quite excited and aroused by the horny hands moving over the bare skin of his arms, torso and thighs as the men mobbed him. His cock stiffened. He felt really strong and manly and hot and potent. The teenager lapped up the other men's admiration. He almost ejaculated when he felt a hand rubbing his rock hard cock through the thin material of his skimpy blue shorts. He was very horny.

A short stocky older man looked at Scott's crutch with an evil grin. Scott was suddenly conscious of a wet spot of precum at the end of the thick rod of his cock bulging in the front of his shorts. He wore no underpants. He reddened.

The older man approved of the way Scott had trussed up the man in the back of the utility with plastic cable ties. He said that perhaps they should shut the foul-mouthed bastard up. He walked over the cab of his white Toyota Landcruiser truck and returned with a 100- millimetre (4-inch) wide roll of grey duct tape, which he handed to Scott and suggested that Scott stick the tape over the trussed up man's mouth.

"What, me?" asked Scott.

"Yes, you," replied the older man. "You are a lot stronger than the rest of us put together with those fucking huge great muscles of yours."

Scott grinned and climbed into the back of his utility. The trussed man's eyes widened when he saw the roll of duct tape in Scott's hand. He screamed and wriggled away from Scott who went over and held him down easily with one hand. He had difficulty trying to peel the duct tape from the roll with the other; the end was stuck down fast. He tried his teeth with no success. The older man took the roll back and picked at the end with his fingernails. He freed the end and tore off a foot long (30-cm) strip which he handed to Scott. The man struggled violently in Scott's grip, shaking his head wildly from side to side and screaming. Scott found it impossible to apply the sticky strip of duct tape to the man's rapidly moving mouth. The crowd cheered Scott on raucously.

Someone in the crowd yelled out, "Hey, copper, Scottie Reeves got a little present for you and it's all tied up nice and pretty for you. It's in the back of the ute."

Sergeant Rowling's portly frame pushed through the crowd to the side of the utility.

When the policeman saw Scott trying to stick the duct tape over the screaming man's mouth, he shouted, "Scott, stop that right now. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Scott looked up at Rowling uncertainly. "I'm trying to shut him up. He's been swearing really badly."

"Well that's not what you do. What have you got him all trussed up like a chicken for anyway?"

Someone in the crowd made chicken noises and the others laughed. The policeman ignored them.

Scott told Rowling that he had caught the man trying to break into Derek's garage and the man had a van full of electronic stuff that Scott thought was stolen. He was taking the man to Rowling at the police station.

A beer-bellied blond man wearing a blue singlet and shorts breasted up to Rowling and said, "I want to make a complaint about that bloke," indicating the man Scott was kneeling on. "He's been swearin' somethin' awful. I've never heard such fucking bad language in all me life, officer. You gotta do somethin' 'bout it. It was fucking horrible to hear him. It made me blush real bad, officer. You could hear it all over the street. And the way he was swearin' at the ladies too. I tell you, it was fucking horrible, hearin' all those fucks and cunts and arseholes and buggers and all that."

The man seemed to emphasise the word 'fucking'. Others chimed in as well. Laughter rippled around the crowd. Scott grinned broadly. Rowling smiled wryly and held up his hands.

"OK, guys, if you're serious, I'll see you down at the police station later and we'll do it properly."

The crowd groaned.

Rowling went on, "Haven't you guys got anything better to do than stick around at the pub all day?"

"Nah, copper," said a thin intense man with long dark hair and a dark goatee. He wore an old red and black flannelette shirt and dirty blue jeans. "We're the unemployed. We don't have anything better to do 'cos we don't have jobs. We just live on the dole."

"OK," sighed the policeman. "I give up."

The thin man persisted. "If you drank here at the Prince of Wales, copper, instead of with the nobs and nabobs over there at the Lion and Unicorn, you'd know what it's like with the little people in this town. We struggle, mate. We're the battlers that fucking little Johnny Howard, our precious Prime Minister, has forgotten about. The Prince of Wales is a real Aussie pub. It's where the real people drink, the people who struggle to make ends meet. If you drank here, you'd know about the real issues in this town, things like many of us have to pay more than half our dole money in rent to that fucking arsehole George McBride because we want a roof over our heads for our women and kids. That bastard is a real ripoff merchant. We've gotta share houses to afford the rent."

Rowling looked uncomfortable. Scott looked at the thin man in amazement. He had no idea.

Sergeant Rowling snapped back into official mode. "Right. We'd better get this mess all cleaned up."

He sighed. "But first I'd better sort out that major drama with the two cars blocking the road. That woman's really been bending my ear."

He walked over to the Lexus and the Holden station wagon and spoke to both the old man and the woman. The woman's voice rose angrily. The crowd drifted over to watch the fun. The woman's face contorted into an angry scowl. The old man looked as if he were about to cry. Rowling waved the crowd back. He held a short and earnest conversation with both of the drivers with notebook in hand then walked back to the utility and the crowd gathered around it. The woman drove off in her slightly creased Holden station wagon while the old man drove his slightly crumpled Lexus very carefully into his car park.

The crowd ambled back to the footpath in front of the hotel. The road was clear at last. Scott drove down High Street across Denison Street and parked his utility in front of the police station. He got out of the vehicle and sauntered over to the front door of the police station where he leaned against the stone wall, folded his thick muscular arms and waited.

"Bastard," snarled the trussed up man. "You're a great big sadistic over-muscled bullying bastard. You just think because you look like fucking Superman, you can bloody do what you like."

Scott shrugged his massive shoulders.

"Whatever," he said indifferently.

Sergeant Rowling made his way back to the police car stuck well back in the traffic snarl in High Street. The congestion cleared quickly. A few minutes later Rowling parked the police car next to Scott's utility.

Scott hoisted the man out of the back of the utility. The man whimpered and complained as Scott carried him into the police station after the police officer. He complained even louder when Scott dumped him on the floor in front of the counter.

Rowling cut the cable ties off the man's wrists and ankles and put handcuffs on the man's wrists while Scott stood guard. Then Scott explained in detail what the man was doing at Derek's garage and about the van full of electronic gear.

The man was locked up in one of the cells while Rowling and Scott went back up to the garage on Valley Road in the police car. Rowling put on a pair of plastic gloves and carefully put the bolt cutters in a plastic bag. He examined the old Toyota van without touching it and noted its contents. The policeman then rang Neil Minchin who owned one of the service stations in town and asked him to send up a tow truck to bring the van back to the police station. Rowling was not willing to take a chance on leaving the van at Derek's garage because the crowd at the Prince of Wales Hotel knew about it and sooner or later someone was bound to come up and help himself to the van's valuable contents. Neil came up himself with the tow truck because he wanted to see the scene of the crime himself.

Rowling rode back with Neil in the tow truck to the police station while Scott was allowed drive the police car. Scott felt a real thrill driving the police car down the hill and back into the town.

Back at the police station, the van was locked away in the yard. The man was interviewed unsuccessfully as he remained silent. However he was charged with attempting to break into Derek's garage and being in possession of property suspected to be stolen. Sergeant Rowling then telephoned the CIB (Criminal Investigation Branch) at Cootamundra and handed the case over to them. The van full of stuff was too much for a country policeman to want to handle.

That afternoon the telephone at the police station ran hot because people were arriving for the weekend from Canberra and Sydney to discover that their houses had been broken into and their entertainment gear stolen. Rowling and the detectives from Cootamundra were kept very busy. Most of the equipment in the van was identified by the owners. Amongst all this, George and Myrtle McBride came to the police station and laid a complaint about the filthy language hurled at Mrs McBride.

Sergeant Kym Rowling was not around now. He had left Ringtail Springs yesterday to go and spend the Christmas holidays with his parents. Their house was on the banks of the Hawkesbury River north of Sydney. Rowling's father had recently retired as a police superintendent. Rowling said that his father was always proud to be a uniform man and a country cop.

He would not be back for two weeks. He had not been able to take leave for several years and he said that he had built up a huge backlog of recreation leave to take.

Scott grinned at the thought that Sergeant Rowling was not around to check up on him, no matter what naughtiness he got up to. However, he did like the policeman.

Scott unlocked the padlock on the door of Derek's garage with one of the bunch of keys that Derek had given him and slid the garage door open.

------------------------------ Continued in Part 29. ------------------------------