Loving you, loving me
Before you start reading:
...the story continues. Again, thanks the good people out there for making this all possible. : )
What follows is a work of fiction, but many things are based on personal experiences and events. I'll let you decide what is fiction and what is fact. The story revolves around teenage gay males and includes sexual and other content that may be offensive to some. If you think this might be the case, or if you are under the legal age in the area where you live, please do not read any further. Any resemblances to persons, names, or places are unintentional and mere coincidence. Please respect my efforts in writing this, and do not copy or reproduce any part of the story without my permission.
Comments and suggestions are always welcome
Visit my blog at www.alternativeformosa.blogspot.com
I suddenly feel my quilt move and a hand reach between my legs. It is night time, and the moonlight cast a bright light on my bed. But all else is dark and silent, safe for the ruffling sound of him climbing into my bed.
I feel something soft trying to poke me from behind. Again and again and again. Then, a sharp pain as my ass was split and held forcibly open. I hear a slight groan, and feel a rhythmic movement poking me from behind.
Again and again and again.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
"It's obvious from the passage I just read out that the characters have strong feelings for one another. They're just not ready to admit it. But where did this feeling come from? Anyone?"
There was complete silence, so quiet you could hear the echo of footsteps in the corridor even with the door closed. The tables had been arranged in such a way that it formed a sort of `U' shape in the rectangular room. So everyone could see the teacher...which also meant the teacher could see everyone too.
"I can see everyone did their reading for
this week," Mr Young continued. He peered through his black frameless
spectacles and scanned the classroom for a someone to pick on. Everyone's face
looked tense. A couple of people had their heads down, busy scribbling
something, and perhaps also hoping that if they looked busy enough they'd
escape the embarrassment of having to say something in front of the whole
class. "Would you like to tell us where this intense relationship between the
two characters comes from, Luke?"
Normally an outgoing and loud popular guy with a reputation for being a double-crosser, Luke's face froze as our English teacher called his name. "Uh...I don't know," he stammered and scratched his head.
"Good. I'm sure that will get you an A in your finals, Luke." Mr Young's comment solicited a slight giggle from all corners of the room. He had a soft voice that was pleasing to the ear, and his words seemed to flow with such calm and fluency. Whenever he gave lessons, he'd sit cross-legged on his desk in front of the classroom. It was no secret he was a devout Buddhist; you could tell from the pictures of the Dalai Lama and Tibetan tangkas on the walls. He said Buddhism is a deep philosophy, one about the art of life and living. He sometimes sat for an entire hour on that desk of his without even moving his legs, as if he were meditating as he taught.
"Anyone else care to give it a go? What about you David?"
"Me?" I said with surprise. I never felt comfortable talking while so many people were around me all listening. I had the tendency to get nervous and stutter badly, and become so incoherent that sometimes I couldn't even be sure what I had said the sentence before.
"I believe there's just one David here."
"Hm--mm, I guess it's the wh--whole situation they find themselves...in," I said shyly in a muted tone, hesitating whether I had made myself clear enough, and wondering whether what I said satisfied our English teacher. I was afraid to look him straight in the eye, but managed to give him enough eye contact so that I didn't seem rude.
"Anyway you can elaborate on that?" he said with an encouraging smile while nodding in agreement. "I think you're on the right track."
"I think...," I began slowly and paused slightly, still unsure whether what I was about to say would make any sense. The teacher's eyes were focused on me, and I felt as if I was transparent. "I think it's the conditions of war. All these young men, not much older than we are, living and fighting in the trenches. Uh...all those ter- ter--rible things they had to do and see everyday, and the fact that they had no one else to turn to. It must have been confusing, but the comfort they found in one another so far away from home led to something more intense... I think." I stopped talking, my fingers trembling a little from nervousness, and felt the insides of my palm sweat. There was a strange silence and nobody said a word, not even a squeak. Was it something I said? Was it the way I said it?
"Wow, that's very good, David," Mr Young
said reassuringly with yet more nods. "That's really well spotted. To add to
what he just said, in those days there was a culture of comradery within the
army. Many men were drafted the same town and put into the same platoon, so soldiers
already knew each other beforehand, and some probably even grew up together.
The soldiers were encouraged to develop close bonds with one another, to see
each other as part of a family. It was believed that if soldiers had strong
feelings for one another that would give them the strength to fight more
vigorously if one of them happens to be injured or killed. Hate directed toward
the enemy, love directed toward the family."
>From another corner of the room Charlotte suddenly broke in and asked: "But how does that explain these two guys doing all those intimate things together? That's just weird!"
"Remember, these are people your age. And as you all know it's a period of time when your hormones start raging and when you explore your sexuality," Mr Young added. He spoke with his usual sense of enthusiasm and in his voice that always seemed to contain such vigour. True to his name, he was probably only a couple of years older than us. I heard once that he actually went to this school before and did a degree in English, only to return a couple of years later to sit at the other side of the table as teacher. "But in this case," he continued with his explanation, "the love between the two main characters is quite genuine, even though they have difficulties admitting it. But the story does describe some of the passion and intimacy between them in great detail."
"Oh, oh, sir, is this porn?" Laughter broke out in the whole room after that was said. It was Charlie, the class clown who seemed able to turn everything into some kind of joke. That annoyed a lot of teachers, and even some of the classmates, but Mr Young never took his fooling around to heart. In this sense our English teacher was probably the most easy-going and approachable teacher of them all.
"Sorry to disappoint you Charlie, but this is not the kind of literature I assume you have stacked under your bed." More laughter, this time everyone turned to look at Charlie, whose face seemed to be glowing with embarrassment. "This book was ahead of its time when it was written. Yes, it's a book about war and the military as an institution. Most people would associate them with ideas of masculinity and strength, but this story brings out the other sides. Love, passion, affection, and all the more important, that these feelings are possible between men. In a way the novel was also groundbreaking in that it `normalised' homosexuality, which was disregarded as a mental illness at the time, and showed to people that contrary to popular belief homosexuality is prevalent in all classes and tiers of society."
"Yeah, but sir, there are still lots of stereotypes about gays, and a lot of people are very negative toward them." That voice. I was familiar with that voice. I looked up and looked around the classroom and confirmed where I thought that voice came from. It was Leo. He sat diagonally across the room from me. It had been a couple of days since that day we spoke and walked home together. I had tried to picture the way he looked from time to time, especially when I lay awake at night in bed all by myself, but no image my mind could make did justice to the real Leo. Everything else, the other noises, the other faces, seemed to fade away.
"That's because gays are faggots!" This sudden voice barked out and dragged me out of my brief indulgence in Leo's looks. >From that tone I could immediately tell it was Jack. He sat in the same row a few seats away from me. From where I was sitting I could only see the side of his face. That sickening sneer, that overgrown nose, that oversized head, and that big loud mouth of his from which nonsense seemed to just pour out of. Besides there was no real logic in what he just said.
"Jack Bingden," Mr Young called out sternly, "I will not have that kind of language in my class! Could we not have any more name-calling, and try to keep the conversation civilised please." Gone from his face was the usual smile which he openly displayed whenever gave lessons sitting cross-legged on that desk of his. Something Jack said seemed to have affected him deeply, affected him personally. Perhaps it was that word...the `f-word'. It sounded dirty in my ears too.
"Yeah whatever! They just make me sick," Jack said defiantly.
"Really, Jack, this is the twenty-first century, and you should be more tolerant of other people, however different they may be. You can't allow your own small-mindedness hurt other people with some abusive comment like that. You can be like this now, but one day you'll have to learn that whatever you say or do will have consequences." Mr Young's lessons were so enjoyable because he always seemed to know just where and how to slip in some kind of wise outlook on life or intellectual comments in our book discussions. And again he struck the nail on the head, and this time also managed to nail Jack's mouth shut for a change.
"Once a faggot, always a faggot," Jack muttered quietly under his breath. He tried to recover the last traces of his dignity and put a straight face to show that he frankly couldn't care less. Perhaps fortunately for him the teacher had taken his attention away from Jack and continued lecturing, or otherwise we'd probably have to witness another standoff between him and Mr Young. And that was always ugly. Jack didn't pay attention to rules, and as far as he was concerned his own rules were the only ones that mattered. Once he literally drove the art teacher to the brink of mental breakdown when he took bucketfuls of paint and splashed it across the wall in the school yard. "Just felt like it", was his defence. Of course that didn't rescue him from one week of suspension.
"...read on and you'll see that the story takes an unexpected twist," Mr Young's calm voice continued, "What starts off as two strangers meeting by chance, turns into a relationship that changes both their lives. These two find in one another something they never thought possible because of the social taboos, because of the pressures from family and friends and so on. But they manage to live through thick and thin, through the worst excesses of war, and mature from the teenage boys they wer--"
That last few words were drowned out by the monotonous blaring of the school `bell'. It sounded more like a foghorn than a bell, and was so penetratingly loud that could it be hear within the entire school premises. I guess that made sure students didn't give lame excuses for being late because they "didn't heard the bell ring". Everyone came to life again, some probably just stirring from their state of half-awakeness.
"Oh, before you go," Mr Young quickly added as people started to get up and pack, "I'm going to set you homework for next week." You could hear groans and mutterings echo in protest. "I want to you pair up and find a scene in the novel that you think most captures the essence of the story. And I want you to dramatise it in front of the class." In his words to dramatise meant to act it out. He knew how to make the subject interesting through these kinds of interactive and creative methods.
"Do we really have to? We've got enough to
do already!" someone complained.
"Yes, you have to. Besides, this is part of your assessment. And one more thing: I want you all to work with someone you've not worked with before. I don't want to see the usual pairs and couples. Pair up by yourself and tell me who you'll be working with, or I'll decide for you." As soon as he said that everyone started shouting across the room and pairing themselves up. All that haggling and excitement...it sounded like a busy day at the market.
Great! Who could I work with then? I peered around me, and by the looks of people discussing enthusiastically about what bit they were going to perform and how, it seemed like everyone had already found their partner. Nobody seemed to notice that I was still `partner-less'. I felt so left out, even though there were so many people all around me and so much talking going on around me. A strange contrast.
The noise of folders slamming shut, paper rustling and the noise of the wooden chairs scrapping against the linoleum floor as people pushed them under the tables filled the room as people prepared to empty it. I got up from my seat, and slowly packed my bag. I never understood why people had to be in such a hurry, and how they could bear that pushing and shuffling as they try to get out of the room all at once as if they were trying to flee a crime scene. It always made me uncomfortable to be surrounded by so many people. So I just took my time and waited for people to leave before I walked toward the door.
"David, do you have a minute?" Mr Young called out from behind me.
Oh no! What did I do? Why did he want to talk to me? I was suddenly surprised by his voice that I froze at the doorstep where I was standing. I felt nerves tingling inside of me, and my jaws tense. I turned around to see that Mr Young had gotten off the table and walked towards me.
"It was quite impressive what you said
today in class. You really have a perceptive mind and you seem to have a strong
talent to read beyond the words. Not everyone can do that."
"I try," I said with a wry smile, and a felt sigh of relief inside as my body relaxed again.
"Shame you don't talk much in class, otherwise you've got a lot to offer in the discussions," he said with his bright pair of bluish-grey eyes peering at me from behind those thin black-frame glasses.
"I guess this book we're reading now is very interesting," I said in an attempt to distract him away from the weakness I knew that I had.
"I don't know... it feels somewhat personal," Did I just say that? I asked myself and regretted that I actually said that. My hands moved nervously around my waist, and my left foot made little sliding movements on the ground. Obvious signs that I was nervous.
"Oh...Well, I'm glad you're enjoying it. Other teachers and many of the students don't seem to appreciate it as much as you do. I guess it must be the topic, which I have to be straight with you, is a little sensitive," he said as he rolled his eyes ever so slightly. Perhaps he was rejoicing a little in that little word play he managed to pull.
"I don't see anything wrong with it. It's a love story, but instead of the usual boy-meets-girl, it's boy-meets-boy," I said light-heartedly. To be honest it was the first gay-themed novel I had ever read, and some of the more intimate parts so far...`got my juices flowing'. What more was in stall for the reader, I wondered.
"Good to know that, David," he said and winked a little. "By the way, have you got a partner yet?"
Huh? Where was this conversation going? "Pa--partner?" I asked, lost as to why he asked that. "No--uhhh--I'm still single..." I answered awkwardly.
"No, no, no!" he no-ed quickly as a grin grew on his face, "I meant partner for the assignment! Silly you!"
"Oh! That!" I answered and let out a nervous smile, "No..." I was feeling very embarrassed at the confusion I caused. My face and body warmed up like someone had turned the dial on the central heating. At the same time my mind wondered what he would be thinking about me. A loner who nobody wanted to work with, perhaps?
"Hm, why don't you try working with
Leonardo? I don't think he has anyone yet."
"L--eee--o...Leonardo?" I stuttered nervously.
"Yeah, him. I mean I don't think he's got a partner yet," he said, "And besides, you two have never worked together." The way he said it sounded like he was a matchmaker trying to put couples together.
"Oh..." was the only thing that managed to come out of my mouth. In my head thoughts of what it would be like working with Leo started rolling by like a reel of film with random shots and images.
"It'll be good," he said with a hint of excitement, "He seems to be enjoying the book a lot too, and I'm sure you two will make a great team together. If that's settled, I'll tell him when I see him. OK, I guess I shouldn't keep you too long from your lunch break then."
"Oh...OK." There wasn't really any room for me to protest...not that I minded working with Leo. Just, it happened all so suddenly and I wasn't sure what to expect from this little `pairing up'. I mean I barely knew Leo, and though we had that walk home together, that was short and there seems to be so much more I didn't know about him. And he about me.
"By the way, David: if there's anything you'd like to talk about, anything at all, you know where to find me," Mr Young said. It sounded like an open invitation to talk, rather than a strictly teacher-student talk. Perhaps from my poor choice of words before, and from how much it appeared to him that I was enjoying the novel, he managed to gather something about me that I hadn't exactly opened up to many people yet.
"Oh, uh...thanks, Mr Young. Bye." I turned and headed out of the room.
I walked in the direction of the canteen, and lost myself in the crowd.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Students of all ages and sizes piled into the canteen, like an uncontrollable horde unleashed from their classroom prisons. Some prowled the vending machines for sugar-coated snacks and drinks, and others queued restlessly to buy hot meals from the kitchen. You could almost hear the growling of stomachs as people waited in line. Some people were already digging into their packed lunchboxes, with a mix of disappointed and elated expressions as they realised what it was that they had brought with them from home. I watched all this from a corner of the canteen, as I tucked into my own sandwich. Toasted bread, with a thick slab of molten cheese, a light spread of salted butter, some fresh lettuce leaves, and thin slices of slightly roasted bacon. My favourite.
It was fun to look at people and how they behave. Even though the canteen was quite large for the five hundred or so people who went to my high school, there seemed to be an invisible division of the canteen into different sectors. Several pillars that stretched like an invisible line across the canteen more or less divided the space into two realms. It acted like some sort of invisible `curtain' that separated students in the lower from the upper classes. They kept to their bit of the canteen, and we, the older and supposedly `wiser' members of the school community reigned over our own turf. Sure, sometimes people would, perhaps unconsciously or accidentally, cross the border into the other side, but then somehow they'd always move back again to where they belonged. The two sides got along alright, though there was never much exchange or mingling. `They' were giddy, childish, giggly and loud, and we were supposedly `cooler', more mature, and somehow just knew everything better than `them'. Well, at least some more than others. It was a sort of coexistence based on mutual respect...and partly based on fear. And that kept the peace.
Within each zone, there were then the little pockets of sub-zones. The `geeks', who sat close to one another, and usually kept to themselves, and a low profile. The `populars', who seemed to command such admiration and unbridled authority as they marched down the corridors. Then there were the `outsiders'--among them the `simply-weirds', the `cuckoos', the `disableds'--who didn't seem to fit in anywhere, and who were only untied in their shared sense of loneliness. I could be `classified' into the latter group.
I was never a `popular' kid, not like the ones that hang out in groups and seem to do everything together. I often look at those `cool' people in my class--the guys with over-gelled greasy hair and branded clothes; and the girls with make up that resembled ghostly geisha masks-- and I envied how they could be so spontaneous, so social all the time. And though I was smart, I never fitted into the `geeks' clique. Somehow their incessant obsessions with books and study seemed so close-minded. Perhaps I had my own world ... one in which I was silent and mysterious to others, one in which I lived alone at home, and one that just kept out of the way. I wasn't sure what people saw when they looked at me. I was unusually young, at least one year younger than all my classmates since the school decided to move me up one year when I entered. And I did well in school, never misbehaved or caused trouble, despite the fact that my parents were never around. The word I could think of if others were to describe me was...'strange'. Or perhaps just `different'.
In the middle of the canteen some classmates sat on the tables and joked loudly. The sporty jocks...even from a distance you could tell they are jocks from their muscular bodies, flashy sport shoes and sweaters bearing the name and logo of their favourite teams. Some guys had a girl shrouded around their waist. They probably haven't noticed me looking at them behaving, like always, like a bunch of wild buffoons. One guy took out a bottle of coke and started to toss it around the group like it was a rugby ball. He then opened it. And who would have guessed what happened next. Everyone broke out in laughter as the spray showered all over the place. Funny.
From the corner of my eyes I noticed a figure enter the doors to the canteen. It was Leo. I watched him walk, with steps that seemed to give out such confidence and slickness. He wore a a light blue shirt with thin pink vertical stripes on it, dark jeans, and a small, sweet smile on his face. He had the look as if he were about to meet someone he had been looking forward to. The top button of his shirt was unbuttoned, I noticed, and I could just about take a peek at the part where his neck and chest connected. A small sea-shell necklace circled around his pale skin, and his hair looked as beautiful as I imagined it to be. The rest of his body I left to my imagination.
Was I staring? I quickly looked somewhere else and took another bite in my sandwich. My left hand fumbled around my chin as I felt my heart beat faster out of nervousness. I was tempted to look up and look at Leo again, but I was scared that he would catch me watching him. I wouldn't know how to respond if our gazes met. What a frightening, yet at the same time exciting, thought that was! I took a sip from the little carton of orange juice and swallowed hard, hoping I could suppress the temptation, the excitement, and also contain the tiny shivers that had begun to take control of my body.
Temptation won me over, and my eyes glanced up and in his direction. By now he had entered the `upper class zone' and was perhaps only a few metres away from where I was sitting. My body shivered a little more as I felt his presence draw nearer.
Who was he talking to? The background noise in the canteen was so distracting I couldn't make out what was beings said. Past a couple of other classmates who were sitting in the way I could just about see that Leo had stopped in front a group of girls, and was laughing. There was one girl who he seemed to pay a lot of attention to, and by the looks of their body language they seemed really close...or perhaps `intimate' described it best. He was looking at her in the friendliest kind of way, and didn't seem to be distracted by the other girls who were sitting around joking and laughing...and obviously trying to flirt with him. That one girl looked at him intensely back.
He certainly had reasons to be so mesmerised by the girl. She was pretty by all standards...long wavy blond hair that hung down to beyond her shoulders, a pair of dazzling eyes, and even without make-up her complexion was so smooth and fair. And she had the body of a model. I may be gay, but I guess I could tell the difference between attractive, and not-so-attractive. Even if it was a girl. I had seen her around before, and I had seen them talk to one another before, but I never noticed how pretty she was. No wonder Leo was so into her.
As if in slow motion I saw it happen right in front of my eyes. Leo bent down a little and kissed the girl on the forehead. There was a wide grin on his face as he turned and walked away again. The girl waved after him. He turned back and threw an imaginary kiss.
I felt my heart sink as disappointment ran amuck inside my body. And it struck me, hard. I guess I had a hunch before already. The chances of meeting `that someone' in school were slim. Why did I always fall for the wrong people? Are all pretty and `good' guys straight? The more these kinds of thoughts popped up inside, the more I felt dragged down by sadness and disillusionment. Pretty guys could be looked at, but not touched.
And once again my theory was confirmed.