I walked along Mary Street, towards the tram. My bag was heavy hanging off my shoulder, how much home work did I have? How many day dreams were filling my brain? My head spun. The sun shone brightly. The end of the day. Escape.
Alex was at footy practise.
Mr Martin’s green Triumph Stag was sitting in all its glory in the street. He was about the best looking teacher Smithton had on offer, not that I ever fancied any of my teachers, pity, but I fancied his car. Its sleek curves were sexy, its chrome work sparkled, its automatic gearbox was, well, a disappointment. You big girl, I thought. Fancy wasting a fine car…
Turned up collars, suave dressing style an over abundance of after shave, exceptionally well spoken…and an automatic gear box? What did that say about Mr Martin?
I could see my reflection distorted sideways in the paintwork of the curved rump of the Stag, like one of those novelty mirrors. I moved sideways and my reflection turned to a long, flat line over the wheel arch. My face appeared in minuscule in the chrome around the door handle. My face shot out sideways when I moved it a long the shiny paint work, like my skin was being pulled by an invisible wire, like a Dali painting. I moved it back and it was a locket portrait, again. I moved it sideways and it was the work of the Spanish master.
I quietly enjoyed my reflection.
The last teacher’s car that I admired was a metallic, silver blue, two door XM Falcon, with twin, chrome exhausts, that one of my primary teachers, Miss Fellows, drove.
I remembered my first gay thought – the men’s underpants ads in my mother’s Woman’s Weeklies, withstanding, the fascination with those started long before. I shook my head. I tried to push it down, I tried to deny it, but it was vivid.
I was standing in assembly and I remember thinking the boys in front of me, who were in fifth and sixth grade, had nice legs, in their grey shorts and white socks. I was at state school. We were in the quadrangle, that red-brick state school architecture all around us, double story on one side. We were facing the hall – 60’s kitsch – we used to practise ball room dancing in, with Miss Quan. I went to a private boy’s school from grade 4, so I was in grade 3 at the time of the thought. How old did that make me?
It wasn't a sexual thought, it wasn't a conscious thought, it was more of a fascination... an attraction. I remember their tanned legs. It must have been summer, possibly at the end of the year.
My first sexual act was in my first year of Smithton, the following year. Ah, Nathaniel Miller, I remember him well. I had my first orgasm, as did Nathaniel – he told me – even if neither of us ejaculated. He didn't need to tell me, I felt it, our hips jerked together.
So I was, we both were... what year was it? Eleven. We were both eleven.
He had curly dark hair and olive skin and was somewhat Italian in looks. I've been chasing Nathaniel Miller, ever since. He had 3 brothers, they all looked alike, all handsome. They all went to the school. The brothers were all older.
It was behind the white board, at the back of the class, after 3.30. We held each other's gaze, even if we didn't kiss. It was tender and gentle, even if I was unsettled by it. I didn't know what that feeling was, in my groin.
Some mucking around amongst the boys happened earlier in the day. The teacher hadn't arrived, as yet, he was late. Some one did something to some one else, gave a wedgy or grab their nuts. Dares were given, joking followed. Neither Nathaniel, or I, were involved in that, we watched from the side lines, on the periphery.
Nathaniel and I picked up on each other's fascination. We caught each other's gaze, interest, fascination just as each of us had the same realisation. We saw it in each other, at the same time.
We never spoke, but we held each other's gaze. I think I felt that feeling for the first time, a buzz in the stomach, an ache in the abdomen, call it what you like. We kind of kept the gaze during the afternoon, intermittently and both just dawdled, after the bell. We were the last two left in the classroom, everybody left quickly, the teacher also, which wasn't so usual, but sometimes they said they had to leave.
It was instinctual for both of us. We didn't need to vocalise our plans. We stripped completely and Nathaniel lay on top of me and we rubbed our cocks together there, behind the whiteboard, at 4pm.
It only happened once. We both set off each other's radar and the rest just followed, naturally. He left Smithton pretty soon after; I guess it must have been the end of the year that he left. He seemed gone almost instantly, so I'm assuming we got together in the second half of the year, because suddenly he was gone.
Nathaniel went to another boy's school, I can't remember which.
I saw him once, one afternoon, many years later. You see, he lived just a few houses from Smithton, which made the reason for him going to another school, across town, all the more mystifying. We approached each other, walking in opposite directions. We recognised each other from a distance, he'd grown well and proud, with his dark, good looks. We both hesitated, both nearly stopped. We were face to face, the mythical meeting. He hadn't changed, except for growing into a man. Our eyes met, held...
He crossed the road and disappeared around the corner, without looking back. By the time I caught up, he'd gone into his house and out of sight.
I never saw him again.
“Mr Fletcher?” Martin was approaching the car with his keys in his hand.
“Oh…nice car,” Mr Martin. “It’s a classic now.”
“Oh, I don’t think quite yet,” he replied. “But I’m sure it will be, one day.”
He got in and the car burbled to life, with its deep growl. I watched it drive away, the shadows from the trees sliding across its duco.
I looked sideways up Mary Street towards Nathaniel Miller’s house.
I adjusted my bag, on my shoulder, the weight of which suddenly became very apparent.
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