Boy's School

Just thinking back to my years at my boys only private school... all those memories.

I liked school, had a great time; from the moment my dad dropped me off at the front gate, he taught at a uni and it was on his way, fitted into his timetable, to when I wandered out the gate with my big bag flung over my shoulder.

I liked the boys, for sure. I was friends with all the different groups; played 500, at lunch time, with the smart boys, smoked with the rebellious boys, hung with the sporty types, laughed with the gay boys, befriended the tough kids, schemed with the geeks.

I don't know now how I did it? I can only say that it came naturally for me – that's the best I can say.

I guess, if I had to slot myself into my own school tribe, I was one of the smart kids. But I was semi-sporty and pretty good looking and intelligent – a good mix, for me, good genes, thanks mum and dad.

And if you think good looks and athletic ability (just enough to get by, in my case, don't get me wrong. But enough) doesn't make you attractive to, popular with, other boys – straight or gay – then you are wrong. Males are very sexually orientated, don't be mistaken, for a minute. In my opinion, there aren't that many males who are completely and utterly straight, given the right set of circumstances, despite what they may claim otherwise.

I mixed easily across the sub-cultures, without even thinking. I wasn't fearful as a teenager, that came later, as an adult, when I went out into the big, wide world and learned how truly fucked up it really is.

I never got it on with any of the gay boys, nah, sorry to say, effeminate men have never done it for me, they leave me cold and make me wonder why they have to be like that? (years later, I may consider this to be a betrayal of my subculture) Having said that, I believe it all comes from birth, we are born the way we are. I never stood up for them, of course, but, they didn't need heroes, they rarely got a hard time. In fact, as clichéd as it sounds, the only thing they ever got was hit on by the sporty types, pretty much. They used to confide in me, without me ever making any direct admissions. I was admitted to their secret circle – when I hung out with them, which wasn't so often, but often enough – and was just accepted. It's strange now that I think about it. There was just this unspoken understanding, that I accepted them without question and they accepted me, also, without question.

They talked frankly about who they'd been with, be it in whispers behind hands and more often than not, in a type of code, but frank admissions, none the less.

Ben, the gorgeous, athletic footy boy used to do it with Adam – even after school, when he was married. I used to drive passed Adam's place, onto my then girlfriend's house and I used to see Ben's Falcon GT with BS personalised number plates parked outside Adam's place, from time to time. I often used to chuckle about his number plates. I wondered if his wife would have seen the funny side.

David used to do it with any number of guys, if David could be believed. But, knowing David, it was probably true. I can’t remember now who he claimed to have ‘done’ but if everything he said was true, he was the school slut. He always had all the goss on everyone.

Raymond used to do it with Lucus, one of the smart boys, who had unbelievable, I guess you'd call it, Scandinavian good looks. He was one of the smart boys who I'd play 500 with, occasionally having come from the gay kids where I'd heard Raymond's latest details. I used to gaze knowingly at Lucus when he'd chat about his girlfriend, as I trumped his card. (truthfully, I never really believed Raymond, I think it was more a case of wishful thinking)

And me... ah yes, Alex. The, eventual, vice-captain of the school and the vice captain of the footy team and one of the most popular kids in the place. Alex and I were buddies from year 7 and, for want of a better expression, lovers for the last two years we were there. Blonde – against type, I know – handsome, round face, floppy hair, killer smile, great legs in footy shorts, let me tell you, smart, with more confidence than any one person should possess. Everybody loved him at school. He was universally adored.

It was his confidence that got us together. It was he who made all the moves on me. I never propositioned anyone, he did all the talking.

We did it all over the school; change rooms, toilets, empty class rooms, down the end of the oval in the gardens. How we never got caught, I'll never know. We did everything to each other – two horny school boys going at it like rabbits. I had my first threesome, organised by Alex, in the bush walking store room. I was the member of the bush walking team, so it was my responsibility to get the key and it was Alex's responsibility to get Jake. Of course, we were all too nervous and couldn't really get it up and nothing really happened, as it turned out, but I got to see Jake with his pants off.

Alex went onto get married, run a hugely successful real-estate company and have three sons who he sent to our school.

I was often tempted to go to an old boy’s function, just to sidle up to him, hopefully with his wife by his side, and whisper in his ear, How about one more time, for old time’s sake? Just to see his pretty, blue eyes squirm one last time. (I’m willing to admit that would have been the inverse of the power he had over me at school) Of course, I never did. But, I was always confidant that one day we would see each other again, just to chat, just to reminisce.

His gorgeous blue eyes used to catch my attention in class and his eyebrows would raise and his forehead would crease and he would smile in a certain way. That was his sign for how about it. I can still feel my face breaking into a smile in return, as I looked away, so no one would catch on. And my pulse would raise and being a teenage school boy, it wouldn't be the only thing. After that, my concentration would be shot for the rest of the class.

I remember, on one occasion, a teacher said to me, most accusingly,

“Chris, you haven't been paying attention. Would you like to stand up and tell the class where your mind has wandered off to?”

Well, you see, there is this boy... my mind started to think – I'm sure it wasn't quite that clearly, at the time. Of course, I said nothing.

I sneaked a look at Alex, after a safe passage of time and smiled and he smiled back knowingly.

So you will understand... a year, or so ago, I was flicking through the old boys magazine, to the back page to the news of old boys, the only bit I really read and my eyes strayed down to the In Memoriam section, which I always just throw a passing glance at, to read, We are all shocked and saddened to hear of the death of Alex Roberts... how truly shocked I really was.

I was left oddly numb, standing there in my kitchen with my coffee in my hand, strangely so removed, by time and experience, from the images and pictures that were flooding through my mind.

It was a Saturday and it was raining, as it is today, I put on my jacket and got my umbrella and went for a long walk.

Ah, beautiful Alex, despite the fact that I haven't seen you since our school days, I still can't quite believe that it is true.