Author's disclaimer: Certain characters in this story use language that is quite offensive. Racist attitudes form an important part of the opening chapters. These attitudes do not reflect those of the author.
Lord Byron 01 - Coming out!
Lord Byron (as our hero would later come to be known) was born George Byron Lord in Arima, Trinidad on the fourth of July 1964. He stood just five foot and six inches tall with a slim thirty-inch waist and a lithe muscular body. George was one of those lucky people who carry little body fat and although he wasn't muscled, his lithe body looked gym-toned! He had ebony coloured skin and a tight-cropped head of black curls.
George's parents moved to England in late 1969 when he was just five years old so he never regarded himself as fully Trinidadian. However, race relations in the part of Manchester where they lived at that time were not the best and so he never felt that he was quite British either. The attitudes of his classmates in the local comprehensive school were quite racist so his parents moved him into the local boys' grammar school. Life there was even worse. There were only a handful of boys from ethnic minorities in that school and all of them were either Asian or Arabic. As a result George was very much more an outsider there than he had ever been in the comprehensive. In his attempt to carve out a life and an identity for himself he learnt what he could of his people and his homeland from the excellent history section of the school library. The stories about the slave trade and the role of the English in it made George particularly angry. He read Uncle Tom's Cabin and saw the serialised version of Roots on television and he began to wish that he could get some revenge on the English for what they had done to his ancestors.
Although he lived in Manchester he wasn't that far from Liverpool. Liverpool had made its wealth from the slave trade and George was upset by the fact that he was living with the descendents of the people who had kidnapped his own ancestors. In his lonely world George began to despise his classmates. They were (in his mind) the wealthy ancestors of the slavers and they could only afford their places in the school from their ill-gotten profits from slavery. For the next two years he became more and more of a recluse. He spent his lunch hour alone and read anything he could find on the history of black America. In all, it was a tragic history and it aroused strong passions of pity and anger simultaneously in his young head.
George developed a very isolated lifestyle. He refused to associate with his schoolmates but then that couldn't be held against him. His isolation made him the butt of many taunting remarks and these served to guile him and move him further away from his peers. Every evening after school he returned home and studies and read. He became quite articulate and knowledgeable. This led to further abuse from his class. All day long the other boys called him 'faggot', 'swot' or 'nigger'! The school authorities knew well what was happening but chose to turn a blind eye. This led George to believe that they were all in a collective conspiracy against him.
His room became a lonely place and George stopped reading. His mind turned towards a critical vision of himself and he began to dislike himself. He knew he was dark-skinned and couldn't change that, that wasn't the source of his loneliness. He knew that he was quite bright at school and that made the other boys jealous. But he could not understand why the boys said that he was queer! Unaware of the fact that allegations of homosexuality were the best weapons that the other boys had against him George simply spent his time questioning what was so different about him. If he had been wise enough to know that some boys call other boys fags to prevent them from excelling. All young men hate queers and use it as the ultimate slur. George was to receive that slur on myriad occasions.
By the time that he was fourteen years of age George accepted that he was queer. He wasn't sure but he didn't object to the prospect. Being queer would mark him out even further apart from the lads he hated so much. He would be queer quite happily if it meant he wasn't like them!
George's build made him quite agile and he was good at sports. By the time he was sixteen he was playing midfield on the school soccer team and he was on the swimming team as well. His emerging sexuality was still at the voyeur stage and so he snatched plenty of glimpses of the milky white arses of his classmates in the changing rooms after gym class. He was in two minds about what he would like to do with those arses. Part of him wanted to walk straight up behind any of his classmates and ram his dick straight up the other bloke's arse. The other part of him wanted to get a bullwhip and flay the same arse along with the unfortunate's back and legs! Alone in his bed he tossed off thinking about the sight and imagining his two alternatives. The sex aroused him but he felt he had a duty to avenge centuries of abuse as well. He found that the idea of flogging turned him off sexually but he certainly got hard when he imagined riding his school chums' butts! There was no doubt about it; George was sixteen years of age and gay as Christmas!
One day after swimming one of his classmates, John Keegan, stood in the middle of the changing rooms and called the other boys' attention. Sixteen-year-old public schoolboys are generally quite modest and dressed with towels around their waists. The towel draped boys stopped and looked at him; they had no idea what he was going to do. Keegan was the class joker and one of the biggest bullies in the school.
"Lads I have a proposal!" he announced in grandiose fashion, "I hear we are to begin sex education this week!"
"How do you know that?" one asked.
"I saw the letter the school sent my parents. It said that Doctor Hynes will be coming to the school today to speak with the forth form about matters sexual!"
The lads started mumbling excitedly among themselves. The Grammar school always invited Doctor Myra Hynes in to give these classes, and even though the boys were all experts on matters sexual, they relished these days more than any others in fourth form. To have a leggy redheaded doctor talking sex was every teenaged boy's dream of what a class should be!
"And you know what I'm going to do?" Keegan continued, "I'm going walk straight up the top of the class and give the good doctor a piece of this!"
So saying he jutted his hips forward and his towel fell to the ground. He grabbed his dick in his hand and wagged it at the others. They all laughed but George just sat there quietly. Keegan never amused him.
"What's the matter Lord?" Keegan shouted noticing George's disinterest, "I suppose you'd prefer to swing on it instead!"
The others laughed but George simply continued dressing. He saw no point in answering.
"Bet he's love to suck it!" one of the boys called.
By now George was dressed and walking towards the door.
"Save it for the good doctor!" he said sarcastically as he passed the still-naked Keegan, "I'm half Muslim so I wouldn't touch pork!"
George was outside the door before Keegan realised he had been insulted
"I'll fucking kill that bastard faggot fucking nigger when I gets my hands on him!" he roared.
Mr. Chadwick the gym teacher was outside when George walked out. He heard the roars and the words that were spoken but pretended he heard nothing. That disgusted George even more.
When George reached the classroom an eminent looking gentleman was waiting there. It was Dr. Hynes' father. This man was also a doctor but had retired recently. His daughter was unwell and he had been asked by the school authorities to take her place. The other boys arrived one by one and Dr. Hynes senior began to speak. Keegan arrived late. He made a muttered apology for his tardiness to the doctor and fumbled over the schoolbags in the passageway as he made his way to his desk.
"Bet the good doctor will really enjoy what you're going to give him!" George muttered as the bully scrambled past.
"Fuck you!" Keegan muttered, "I'm going to kick your fucking black bollocks to shit after school!"
>From that day George's life in school was a nightmare. Keegan and his pals were waiting for him as he tried to slip home quietly. They dragged him off across the playing fields and took him behind the changing rooms. The lad was scared. Keegan's mates reached inside George's school trousers and grabbed the waistband of his underpants. They lifted the hapless lad off the ground until the crotch ripped and the lads pulled his pants up over his chest. George fell to the ground in agony clutching his balls. The rip has stung his crotch quite badly. Suddenly the pain moved as Keegan laid a boot into the crumpled lad's stomach.
"Maybe that'll teach you your place! Fucking nigger!" Keegan scowled, "this is a fucking white school and you've no fucking right to be here!"
With that he laid an unmerciful kick into the crumpled boy's balls.
"In fact you've no fucking right to be in this country!"
Amazingly they left it at that. Keegan and his brave henchmen walked away leaving George on the ground writhing in agony. When eventually he managed to sit up he was too sore to walk. He sat against the wall of the changing room and cried. He hated school, he hated Keegan and he even hated himself. He hated England, he hated everything!
When he felt strong enough to stand he hobbled off home with his torn underpants in his hands. He discarded them in a bin on his lonely shameful walk. When he got home he went straight to his room and cried on his bed. He didn't mind being queer but he hated being black! What Keegan had said had hurt him more than the kicking had.
But that was only the beginning of George's lonely torment at school. Keegan continued to throw all sorts of abuse his way as he walked the corridors or sat at lunch. He had no peace. He kept his comments to himself and became more and more withdrawn than he had been prior to this. In his lonely little world there was only one joy – one day he would find a white arse that he would fuck to shreds and make its owner his slave. One day!
Two months later Mr. Chadwick brought George's class out to play rugby and that experience ignited a moment of liberation for the fettered ambitions that were growing in George's lonely world of fantasy. The raw physical contact of the young black athlete with the lightly covered arses of his white classmates on the rugby pitch gave George a taste of what this fantasy would be like! As he walked to the changing rooms he fantasised about dominating and punishing some of his classmates, he would be the master; the lord of the house and his white companions would be his slaves. But, by the time that he arrived to the door of the changing room he knew that this idea was likely to be a fantasy that he would probably never realise.
That same afternoon George was introduced to the works of Lord George Byron by Mister Venables, the English teacher. Poetry wasn't his first interest but the poet's name was remarkable similar to his own and he liked the idea of using a masterful title like Lord for himself. Mr. Venables began to read the opening lines of Don Juan in his usual monotonous voice. As Venables droned on George sat at his desk he thought of the new name – George Byron Lord could easily change his name to Lord George Byron. The powerful resonance of this new name excited him and his sizable black dick began to push against the flies of his grey school trousers. It wasn't long before his eight-inch dick was rock solid and straining against the underside of his wooden desk.
George panicked when he heard Mr. Venables' voice.
"I said stand!" the teacher reiterated firmly.
George looked around nervously as all twenty-five sets of eyes in the room turned in his direction. He blushed but the dark skin didn't show that as clearly as it would have on any of his classmates. His horn was refusing to subside and he knew that if he stood out as instructed that the bulge would be highly noticeable to the entire class.
"I will not tell you again!" Mr. Venables said in a menacing voice as he walked towards George's desk. George, fearing the teacher's ire, stood slowly as the man approached. When Venables noticed that George was complying with his instructions, he stopped and stared at the black youth who was embarrassed by his predicament.
"What has got into you today?" the teacher asked impatiently as the class began to snigger.
Venables looked around in a rage at the boys and glared at them, "and what do you lot find so amusing?" he snapped.
As he turned he noticed the standing flies of George's trousers and realised immediately what the source of the mirth was.
"Sit down Lord!" he instructed quietly and turned to return to his desk at the top of the class – "teenagers!" he muttered. "Now boys read the first two pages of the poem to yourselves!"
"Hey black boy!"
George froze as he heard the whispered voice of John Keegan
"Is it the poetry or Venables that's getting you all horny?"
Byron clenched his teeth and looked straight ahead.
"Well which is it?"
"Neither!" muttered George.
"Well who is it then?" Keegan sang.
"It's certainly not fucking you!" George snarled through his teeth.
"Maybe not! I suppose it's me fucking you that's getting you going!"
George looked down at his book and tried his best to ignore the taunts from behind him.
"We know your type!" Keegan continued, "I saw you today on the rugby field. Copping a feel here, a quick grope there. A quick peep at the boys' mickeys in the showers ... you're just a little black faggot!"
"Keegan!" Venables hollered,
"What are you talking about?"
"Was I talking sir? Sorry sir! I must have been reading the poem under my breath!"
Venables sighed, "read it quietly will you!"
"Yes sir! Sorry sir!"
Venables moved to the window and stared out over the playing fields. Mr. Chadwick, the gym teacher, had the seniors out playing rugby.
"Hey fag boy!" Keegan whispered, "I bet you'd just love to feel my big white dick sliding in and out of your greasy black arse, wouldn't you? Is that making you horny black-fag?"
"Keegan!" Venables roared.
The bell rang.
As the class tumbled out Keegan walked behind George and grabbed his arse.
"Hey fag-boy! Would you like me to ..."
Before Keegan had a chance to finish, George had swung a right hook and landed a punch firmly onto Keegan's nose. The bully fell backwards but a few of his mates prevented him from falling down.
"That's it faggot! You're mine after soccer practice this evening!"
Venables was in the secretary's office at the back of the building after school finished when he heard the commotion beneath the window. He looked down at the group gathered in the gardener's tool-yard by the playing fields. >From his vantage point Venables could see only the tops of the boys' heads but he recognised Keegan and George quite easily. He opened the window to hear what was going on. What he heard shocked him!
"Okay nigger!" he heard Keegan say, "Down on your fucking knees and suck my dick or I'll fucking beat you to a fucking black pulp!"
The English teacher knew that he had to stop this, this was by far the most explicit piece of bullying he had ever encountered in twenty years of teaching. He knew well that George was regularly bullied by the others but like the rest of the staff he had kept away from any situation that would have demanded intervention. Mr. Venables wasn't racist; it was just he didn't like to stop the boys' natural development. He believed firmly in the school of hard knocks. He thought that a certain amount of confrontation tested and improved the mettle of a lad. This was clearly more than testing a bloke's stamina! He tried to open the window but it wouldn't move. He knocked on the glass and roared, but the boys below couldn't hear him. Just as he turned to leave the room he heard the caretaker lock the office door from outside. He ran to the door and began to pound on it and call the caretaker. But old Charlie Jones the caretaker was a bit deaf and didn't hear Venables through the heavy wooden door. The door had leather-silencing pads on it from the time that it was the dean of discipline's office in earlier days. He ran to the desk and called the staff room to get somebody up to release him, but there were no teachers on the premises and Venables got no answer.
By now the two boys that were holding George had forced him to the ground and Keegan was rubbing his flaccid dick around the restrained boy's mouth.
"Suck it nigger!" Keegan ordered.
"Fuck off pervert!" George replied through gritted teeth.
"If you don't suck it I'll fuck your worthless black arse you fucking faggot! Suck!"
George continued in his refusal.
Venables rang the sports hall hoping that Chadwick would still be there. It took a few moments before he got an answer.
"Michael!" he panted, "get over to the gardener's compound quickly, some of the boys are acting up over there, quick it's urgent!"
"Peter? Is that you? Where are you? What's going on?"
"I'm locked into the secretary's office. Don't mind me, George Lord is in danger, quick go and help him!"
Chadwick dropped the phone and ran towards the compound.
"Okay boys!" Keegan ordered the other two, "stand him up and turn him around!"
George struggled against the boys' efforts but they managed to get him up and bent him over an oil drum. Keegan moved behind and yanked down George's football shorts in a single jerk. He took his dick and ran it along the dark crevice of George's arse.
"Okay nigger boy! Beg me to fuck you!"
Just as Keegan spoke Chadwick burst through the gates of the compound. He marched the four boys over to his office in the sports' hall and sat them outside it. He left to find old Charlie Jones and got Peter Venables released from the secretary's office.
The four boys waited in silence for ten minutes before Chadwick and Venables returned. Keegan was crying – he knew that he was in big trouble.
"Mr. Venables and I are both witnesses to what happened out there. This is a most serious matter, give me your parents' phone numbers immediately!"
Chadwick ordered the boys to shower and dress and then to return to the office immediately. He and Venables went into the office and called Mr. Bromley, the school principal. Bromley went to George's house to tell his parents personally what he had heard. Chadwick called the other boys' parents and they arrived at the school to an urgent meeting with the principal.
The outcome of the meeting was predictable. The three boys' parents offered to withdraw their respective sons from the school immediately. George's parents were upset but they made it clear that they didn't want to press charges against the other boys. The other boys' parents thanked the Lords for their generosity and understanding.
"Boys will be boys!" said Mr. Lord sadly as he put his arm around his son and with his wife holding the boy's hand they led him from the room."
The following day Mr Venables looked at the depleted class. Rumours and stories were flying in all directions. He took a deep breath and explained the previous evening's events to his class. They listened in silence as Venables explained that this was not a story for repeating in gossip.
"This was a sad and serious matter," he said, "it's not the kind of story you should tell anybody lightly. If anything good can come of this it would be that you would all learn to treat people in a polite and special way. I hope boys that you can let this sad incident die a dignified death and learn from it. In later life remember that you should never do anything with another person without their consent!"
"Will Lord be coming back to school?" one of the students asked.
"I don't know Richard!" Venables replied, "I just don't know!"
When Carlyle and Chrissie Lord got their son home they were still very upset.
"Do you want a doctor son?" Carlyle asked.
"No Dad! I'm fine!"
"Are you sure?" Chrissie asked as she dried her eyes.
"Yeah! I'm sure!"
"How did this happen?" Carlyle asked.
"Well Dad, the boys in school slag me off all the time because I'm queer!"
"No! Now listen son!" Carlyle jutted in immediately, "the boys slag you because they think you're queer, not because you are! There's a big difference!"
George knew that the moment had come when he had to tell his parents how he felt.
"I'm sorry Dad, what I said is what I wanted to say!"
"What do you mean?" Chrissie asked as she looked at her son with a huge sadness in her eyes – she knew what was coming.
"Dad, Mum, I am queer!"
Chrissie began to sob.
"Shut up woman!" Carlyle snapped as he looked tenderly at his only child. "Please son! You're only sixteen, you cannot be sure of what you are so early!"
"But I am Dad! You met mum when you were fifteen, how were you so sure of what you wanted at that stage?"
"It's different son ..." his father began but George cut him dead.
"No it's not!" he said confidently, "I'm big enough, old enough and bright enough to know who I am and what I feel!"
Carlyle stared at his son intently. "Maybe we should talk about this later!"
"No Dad! We've started now and I want to finish! Please?"
"Go on son!"
George stood and hugged his parents. "Mom, Dad! I'm queer, I've always been queer and I don't really mind being queer but I'm still George and I love you two very much and I hope you will still love me always!"
Carlyle joined his wife as the two of them cried quietly.
"Is there anything we can do for you son?" Carlyle asked wiping his eyes.
"Like what?" George asked.
"Do you want to move to another school?"
"No!" George replied with a sobbed confidence in his voice, "I'm in a grammar school and that's the best kind of school to be in. If I leave now I will only be running away and I don't want to do that!"
"Please son!" Chrissie begged, "You know you've never been happy there!"
"Please mum, don't start on that! I am black and I am queer, I live in a country that is racist and homophobic. I have to learn to stand my ground or I won't survive at all!"
"Your mum is right," added Carlyle, "you have been very unhappy in that school for nearly three years now!"
"I wasn't unhappy in school!" George stated, "I was unhappy because I felt my life wasn't worth shit and that nobody would love me if I was queer and I was. Now that you both know who I am I think I can be happy again!"
Carlyle and Chrissie hugged their son.
"Maybe that bastard Keegan did me a good turn after all!" George said as he returned his parents' loving hugs with gusto.
AUTHOR'S NOTE : I am very fond of the George character and would like your opinions. I'm not asking you to write to me and tell me that you think I'm wonderful or anything like that. I enjoy and learn from criticism and very much appreciate the effort some of you make to help refine these characters. As unpaid work in the public domain I see my efforts as a group effort. There are lots of us out there that want to read about new villains and heroes and when I hear what you want to say I can make the characters deeper and better for everybody else's enjoyment.