The shape of a man has been represented in photographs, paintings and books, yet what is that shape? Here are some clues. Draw from them what you will.
When does a boy become a man? And what is the shape of a man? For he is more than the appendage between his legs, despite the incredible power that appendage exerts over his mind and will. Part of a man is primal and lustful. Part of a man is tender and romantic. Whatever the age, part of him has a driving need to satisfy his hidden desires, to fulfill his raw urges and to seek out those who can accommodate him.
The stories within celebrate the many shapes of a man, with a focus on the erotic. There are boys on the verge of manhood, unsure and still exploring their sexuality. There are confident others, who having been initiated into the world of men, are now keen to explore their boundaries and their deepest, unspoken fantasies. We meet an older man, in the autumn of his life but nevertheless still desirous of a warm body next to his own.
Each man will leave their mark on you, as a man often does.
**This collection includes 16 of Wayne’s stories. Inside Leg, Kevin Over The Fence, The Gardener, and Trapped are original and previously unpublished. Highway Patrolman is an updated version of a story published elsewhere. Shearers, The Gardener’s Shed, Park Life, Overland And Outback, His Beauty, Motorbike, Truck Stop, The Doctor Is In, Personal Assistance, The Swimmer and Jimmy have been published as individual ebooks at loveyoudivine Alterotica.**
Series: The Shape of a Man
Complete Digital Edition: 978-1-60054-657-0
lyd Category: Series and Anthos/Men4Men
Length: 320 pdf Pages / 73,000 words
Formats Available: pdf, prc, lit, zipped html,
lrf, epub, RB,
Complete Digital Edition
Complete Digital Edition Price: $6.99
My uncle slapped me on the back and told me it would do me good. “Make a man out of you,” he’d said.
This piece of character building had my parents’ fingerprints all over it. I felt sick. Why had I ever agreed to this when I could have had a relaxing four weeks on the family couch?
So the sun rose on my first day. I’d met the shearers as they arrived in their utes. There was Tank, a thirty-five year old. He was stocky, had a thickly haired chest and was already grey. He wore a neatly trimmed moustache and despite his bulk seemed quite gentle. The second shearer I’d met was Matt. He was around thirty, lean but muscular and had tattoos covering almost every inch of his bare arms. He was tanned and rugged looking. I couldn’t look him in the eye for fear that he would see in mine the desire I had for him. Finally, there was Baz, who looked to be in his early thirties. He was tall and also muscular. I guess it went with the territory. A guy had to be strong to do what they did. He had sandy blonde hair and his jaw and top lip were thick with bristles.
I’d have gladly wiped all three brows.
I was exhausted by the time lunchtime rolled around and my Aunty Cath’s chicken and salad sandwiches and hot tea didn’t energise me even a little bit. In fact, they made me want to curl up and go to sleep in one of the wool bins. Chance would have been a fine thing. After half an hour it was all hands back on deck. Mush. Mush.
I returned to work feeling as though I could fall down at any minute. I just wasn’t used to working so hard. I’d never done anything even remotely as tough as rouseabouting. My hands were greasy from the lanolin in the wool and stunk of sheep shit. My back was aching and I was pushing that broom around like I had a ball and chain attached to my ankle.
Eventually it was five o’clock. Knock off time. The shearers hung up their blades and after joking about how many sheep they’d shorn, they said goodbye to my uncle and disappeared out of the shed in a burst of good natured ribbing and laughter. I was all set to follow when my uncle called me back.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
I looked at him as I indicated the door with my thumb.
“We’ve got to bale up the wool.”
In my head I called my uncle every name in the book and then added to the book. In reality I sighed and willed my exhausted body to follow him over to the baling apparatus.
“Now, put one of these bags inside and attach it here.” He pointed to the four points where the bag was to be attached. “We fill it full of wool.” And we did. “Then we close up the bag and then we stencil the side.”
I looked at all the bins, overflowing with wool until it spilled out onto the floor, and knew it was going to be at least another hour before I could even think of joining the shearers. I was right. It was after six before I was given my leave. By the time I walked around to the twin metal rooms stationed behind the immense shed, otherwise known as The Shearer’s Quarters, the shearers were onto their fourth and fifth bottles of beer and were in a surprisingly upbeat mood.
“Hey, here he is,” said Tank. “Want a beer?”
I looked at all three of them looking back at me and nodded wearily.
“You don’t look too well,” said Baz with a laugh.
“Just tired,” I replied, taking the beer from Tank and opening it.
I sat down on the only vacant plastic chair and filled my mouth with beer.
“We were just talking about the sleeping arrangements,” said Matt nodding to me. “You and Tank can share one room and me and Baz’ll take the other.”
Tank slapped me on the shoulder. “Looks like we’ll be room mates for the next fortnight!”
I smiled weakly at him. I could have slept right there in the paddock, but we had to wash up and go down to the house for dinner first.
“Suppose we’d better get cleaned up,” said Matt. “What time does Cath want us down there?”
“Eight,” said Tank.
Matt looked at his watch. “We’d better get our arses into gear then.”
The bathroom wasn’t really what you’d call a room at all. It was a bathtub surrounded on three sides by corrugated tin. I’d seen it before on previous visits to the farm, full of murky green water and with frogs living it in. Someone, probably Aunty Cath, had obviously taken to it with a scrubbing brush and some industrial strength cleaner.
Matt went into the room he was going to share with Baz and came out again a minute or two later, naked but for a towel wrapped around his waist. In his hand he carried a cake of soap and a flannel.
Tank wolf whistled at him.
“Hey sexy, give us a kiss,” he jeered.
Matt gave him the finger.
The other two laughed out loud, but I think I was the only one to catch a glimpse of Matt’s bare white arse as he dropped the towel and disappeared around the side of the corrugated tin. His arse cheeks were firm and rounded and I saw a dark hair lining the crack. Despite my tired state I could feel myself getting hard inside my jeans.
Tank got himself and the rest of us another beer. Those men sure could drink. I was feeling a bit tiddly just on the one I’d had, although I wasn’t one to drink alcohol very often. Not because I didn’t like it, but because I couldn’t afford it.
It was starting to get dark and the mozzies were beginning to bite when my turn in the bath was announced. I was expecting the water to be cold, but the taps were connected to the hot water system attached to the shed so there was hot water to freshen up the bath. Water was scarce and sharing bath water was just another one of the things I had to grin and bear.
I was nervous as I stripped off and wrapped my towel around my waist. The other men were all muscular and tanned whereas I was pale and skinny. I stepped out of the room and walked across the dirt to the bath, my eyes cast down. Thankfully, Matt was the only one sitting outside. Baz was in his room getting ready for dinner and Tank was still in the ‘bathroom’.
I walked in to find Tank drying himself. He looked a little surprised at my arrival.
“Matt said I’d better get in and have my bath. It’s nearly eight,” I said.
Wayne Mansfield lives and works in Perth, Western Australia, and writes dark erotica. His books, novellas and stories have appeared online and in print all over the world. The Shape of a Man is his first collection of gay erotica, although he has two collections of his dark erotica available. For more information about the author and his work visit his website: http://waynemansfieldwrites.weebly.com/ or his blog: http://wayne-mansfield.blogspot.com.au/