Filling the three remote iron tanks from the metallic container mounted on the ute took two long trips from the bore, a half-empty dam by a windmill at the centre of the valley. By mid-morning James had taken to riding on the back of the ute with the kelpie as they traversed up to where each tank watched over the fields like a little round tower.

It was safer than getting in and out of the cabin the whole time. He’d gone stiff jammed right against his cousin and felt the mix of excitement and embarrassment. Up with the dog it wasn’t much better, with its red dick dangling bright in the sun, tongue lapping against James, putting him on edge.

They ate lunch in the shade of the last tank while the pump on the ute drummed the final load of water in. James finished his sandwich and watched the two men as they leaned on the tank stand, arms at one angle and bums out on another. With his lean, nondescript frame and his narrow face, nothing about his uncle was attractive. Tony, on the other hand, stood out from everything. Away from the farmhouse, his burnished skin reflected the brilliance of the sun, and his body burst out of every part of his clothing.

Tony caught James watching, but that only seemed to make him show off more. While Uncle Bill threw their mugs and plates into the cabin, Tony unzipped his shorts and pissed a golden stream into the sunlight while he laughed and shooed away flies.

James had to turn away and pretend to be interested in the kelpie sniffing around a hole in the hillside, before flicking his eyes back for a second look.

Tony jiggled his penis and did himself up, bent his knees slightly and let out a belch and an extended fart, his face contorted in exaggerated shock at its intensity, before breaking into laughter.

‘What’s a fart, Father?’ he asked, one hand pulling back his collar while he scratched his chest hairs.

Uncle Bill was beyond the range of Tony’s voice, pulling the hose out of the tank and coiling it up onto the ute.

‘I’ve got a new a joke, Father. What do you call a fart?’ Tony asked, louder to cut through the hammering of the pump.

Uncle Bill shrugged and flicked off the engine.

‘A poofter’s love call,’ Tony blurted, snorting with the ferocity of a machine gun. He bent his knees to push out another fart.

The noises were crystal clear in the sudden silence of the high place.

Uncle Bill shook his head, backed into the cabin and started up the engine.

James hoisted himself onto the tray. The dog followed.

Tony looked at James. ‘You get it, don’tcha?’

His cousin seemed so intense that it felt like a bit of a risk to do anything other than nod.