Date: Wed, 29 Jan 2003 09:24:03 -0800
From: Elliott Payne <elliottpayne@hotmail.com>
Subject: Memories of Catholic School - Part 1

Perhaps you might remember me. I grew up in the River Oaks section of
Houston, and attended Memorial in the late 70s, for my first two years of
high school anyway. But during my sophomore year I got into some trouble
with drugs, totaled the family car, and my grades slipped abruptly.

The following year my father sent me away to a Catholic boarding school -
which I will call Saint Joseph's Academy - located in the mid-west. This
story is true, but I have changed the names, to preserve the privacy of the
actual participants.

At the time I was shipped off, my father made it clear to me that my next
stop would be military school if things didn't work out at Saint Joseph's.
This had been the fate of one of my older brothers, a fate I was determined
not to repeat.

The place was a sprawling, single-sex facility in a rural locale, and
adjacent a small Catholic college. The architecture was mid-century, and had
a sterile, institutional quality, with much exposed concrete, hard woods,
and flat roof lines. The grounds were gently sloping and wooded, with a
small pond, water tower, and swimming pool. A two-lane state road bordered
the property on one side, and a rail line, used exclusively for freight, on
another. There was a small market and rustic filling station, about a mile
walk from campus.

Upon admission, I made a commitment to my school work, primarily to avoid
military school, but also to compensate for the grave disappointment I had
provoked in my parents. I kept my head low, didn't involve myself in student
affairs, and steered well clear of prohibited activities. In the isolation
of a small town, and with the attention of a number of devoted Brothers and
lay instructors, I scored A-pluses in trigonometry and physics, and nearly
straight A's in my other courses.

At my previous, public school this achievement would have merited an extra
pounding from some tiresome jock, and not much else. My first inkling of how
different things were, came mid-semester when grades were posted. I was on
my way up the hill to the dining hall. It was a crisp early-winter evening.
I could see my breath. One of my dorm-mates stopped to congratulate me. I
was first in the class, second school-wide. When I got up there, a small
crowd was gathered around the bulletin board, and people were looking at me
differently.

Saint Joseph's had an all-state basketball team. And this was a small,
almost exclusively white private school. The team members were well-liked
and admired, of course, like at any other school. But here academics meant
as much to the student body, if not more. Yes, dear reader, by virtue of my
academic standing, I became a big man on campus.

Well, this was a new feeling. Especially so, since my first semester had
been a low and gloomy time. You see, I had had a girlfriend back home, a
blonde, troubled young woman from a well-established Houston family. I had
given my virginity to her, in fact, not long before. After shipping out,
however, communication became cryptic, and when I returned home for
Thanksgiving break I learned that she had dumped me for a much older guy. A
guy with tattoos and his own apartment. I was out of my league, and broken
hearted - on top of the problems with my parents - although I admitted this
to no one.

Now I flourished in the geniality of esteem and recognition. I had never
been first in anything. Cautiously I crossed the corridors of my isolation,
and reached out. I began to establish friendships, tentatively. I found that
I was actually beginning - dare I say it - to enjoy Saint Joseph's, and to
appreciate my studies, something I never anticipated. At the end of my
junior year I no longer wanted to return to Houston.

I spent most of that summer at school taking advanced placement course work
in calculus and chemistry, and living in the dorm. Based upon some prior
experience in lawn care, I was hired by the school as a grounds keeper, for
the summer term. I would not keep the position when school began again,
though, as it was reserved for a scholarship student.

By the time of the beginning of my senior year, I was fully indoctrinated
into the routine of campus life at a single-sex Catholic school. As an
exemplary student I was selected to be an RA, resident advisor, to serve as
mentor on the second floor of Plymouth Hall, the freshman dorm. There was a
dorm master who lived in a detached residence nearby, but each floor had an
RA, usually a junior faculty member, or often an advanced student, such as
myself.

The drawback of being an RA was having to live with the freshmen, in a dorm
apart from my own classmates. The prestige was having a more generous room,
with locking door, to myself. My room had a sitting area, in which to study
and meet with students, and a semi-enclosed bedroom. The showers and
toilets, which I shared with the freshmen population, were at the opposite
end of the hall.

And so I had become a Catholic-schoolboy, complete with short haircut,
blazer and tie. I still got high on occasion, with a few of the other boys,
at an area adjacent the railroad tracks, where tall thick weeds grew, and a
passage had been pried into the fence. But I was careful who I hung out
with, and otherwise maintained an upright appearance, especially in front of
the lower classmen in my charge.

Well, I've mentioned that I had a girlfriend, a couple in fact, although I
had had sexual intercourse with only one. But the truth is, I was attracted
to boys as well. Had been since junior high. I remember watching as
discreetly as possible as the boys from the athletic teams undressed,
cautiously admiring their white bottoms, as they pulled off their school
clothes, and pulled into their jock straps, which so marvelously framed
their faultless round buttocks. At home I sneaked into my brothers' porno
mags, blending the glossy images with the erotic visions available from my
own young life, redoubling my adolescent titillation, and creating an
appealingly erotic amalgam in my young mind.

Long hours of adolescent absorption and masturbatory endeavor lead me, by
one direction or another, to a healthy interest in the male genitalia. I
found myself fascinated with the penises of a number of boys whom I admired,
especially those with long, floppy penises, surrounded by mounds of
delightful curly pubic hair.

Ultimately an older, stronger boy came to recognize my curiosity, shortly
after my freshman year. He coaxed tenderly, and candidly disentangled my
natural and robust desires. We watched each other, naked and aroused, and
touched and rubbed a great deal, and sucked on each others erect penises.
But nothing more. He was patient and went only so far as I was ready. After
a time feelings of fear and guilt overcame my sexual desire, and I
successfully suppressed my male-attraction until the time of my senior year.

I had been without a girlfriend for over a year, and there was no real
prospect of dating or fooling around with girls on campus. We did have
regular outings to the nearby town, but I knew no one there, nor was there
any realistic opportunity. We had to wear our blazers and ties in public,
and the towns people looked upon us as outsiders, to phrase it politely.
There also were intermittent holiday dances with a sister school, forty
miles east, but these were heavily chaperoned, formal situations, and I was
still a bit self-conscious to get anywhere in these conditions.

It wasn't a matter that I wasn't attracted to girls, it was just that there
was no opportunity to be near girls. After a year of hiding in the bathroom,
and shower stalls, my sexuality bubbled up again, and in my mind, and in my
body, a boy, especially a smooth, tender young boy was an adequate, even
desirable substitute.

So I guess I should tell you about Clay. He was a freshman, and he was on my
floor. He had dark hair with bangs, bright blue eyes, and full smooth
cheeks. No puberty in his face at all yet. He was a bit smaller than his
classmates, trim and compact, but not so much so that he was picked on. He
was decently athletic, played intramurals and ran. He had an inquisitive
nature and a charming smile. He was not particularly intellectual, but had a
spry and clever disposition.

I was immediately attracted to Clay. From the moment I met him. And I
detected from him a similar curiosity.

He had some trouble adjusting, and was a bit homesick at first. At my
invitation he visited with me in my room, and cried twice the first week. I
embraced him with a firm confidence, and allowed him to weep until the
emotion passed. He returned my embrace as he cried, tentatively at first,
but then more willingly. I told him that he had nothing to be ashamed of,
that things were scary at first. I instructed him to think of me as his
older brother. If he had problems or was scared, I would be there for him.

I had always wanted a younger brother of my own, I told him. I would be
proud to look upon him as a younger brother, if he wished.

In fact I learned that he had no brothers, had grown up with a devoted
mother, and two sisters. His father was in the military, and had divorced
his mother when Clay was very young. His dad was now remarried with a young
child, and played no real role in Clay's life. I gathered that his mom sent
him to Saint Joseph's in order to provide him with some masculine guidance
and assertive male role models.

Clay quickly learned that he could trust me and look to me for protection
and support. I never repeated any of the thoughts or feelings he shared with
me, nor undermined his budding self-confidence. I could not be seen to be
playing favorites, though, and more than once expressed my disapproval about
certain things, room inspection, poor sportsmanship, and such, but always
did my best to deal thoughtfully and respectfully with him, and with the
other boys on my floor.

About a month or so into the term, I listened from my room one afternoon,
through the open door as a sophomore who was visiting on our floor, began to
taunt Clay. I listened intently as the two boys hurled insults and
profanities back and forth, until a hush ensued, and the muffled sounds of
scuffling evolved. I came deliberately down the hallway. I knew the kid,
Hal, a dim-witted, over-developed homunculus.

The truth was I would have done the same for any of the kids on my floor.
They weren't supposed to be fighting inside, and the upperclassmen weren't
supposed to be coming over here picking on the younger kids.

The sound of my footsteps echoing off linoleum and cinder block quickly
dissipated the ruckus. Quizzical faces turned one by one as I made my way
through the small crowd toward the aggressor. Clay was already on the floor.
Hal was about three inches shorter than me, but probably had a few pounds on
me. I squared off to face him, calmly, breathing in through my nostrils and
out through my mouth.

I locked eyes with him. He looked down. I knew then he wouldn't challenge
me. The Brothers had him brainwashed, and I was their envoy. He would never
raise a hand against one of the Brothers, and that protection extended to
me, in his mind at least.

"Hey Hal. Listen, you probably didn't know about this, so I'm gunna excuse
you this time. But Clay here is a friend of mine. See?" Long pause. Staring.

"It's okay Hal. You didn't know. But do me a favor, Hal, stay off my floor.
Okay. And don't start shit with my friends. Okay." I tapped him on the
shoulder. He stared, fuming. Turned, skulked away, and slammed the shit out
of door on his way out.

I turned to Clay. He was on his feet, fine. I patted him on the shoulder,
turned to the other boys, "If that guy gives any of you a hard time, let me
know about it. Please." Later I found out that Hal was teasing him because
he had gotten a part in the school play.

The next day I was on my way out to play tennis, stopped to take a pee,
passed by the shower area, heard a shout. "Hey look at me!" It was Clay. He
was in the shower, naked, and he had white grease paint all over his face.
He was beaming. I lingered at the edge of the shower area, dressed in shorts
and a sport shirt. He stepped toward me, out of the spray. I put my finger
on his cheek, then inspected my fingertip.

"What's that stuff?"

"Its makeup. I'm in the school play. Isn't it cool?"

"Hey congratulations. What fun."

We stood there for a few moments. There was no one else around. I looked
down at his body. He had a lean smooth torso. No body hair at all except
around his pubes and under his arms. Chest and belly were totally smooth, no
definition yet, but tight. A cute shallow bellybutton, and a slight
roundness to his belly. A dim tan line, white lower abdomen, dark triangular
bush, and a healthy circumcised penis, puffy and semi-erect.

I looked back up at his face and he smiled. I smiled and giggled. I touched
his waist with my finger, wiping off the grease paint. His dick was getting
bigger. He turned to get back into the shower, giving me a full view of his
rear side. Firm shoulder blades, trim waist, beautiful, round, white butt.
My own dick started getting hard.

"Don't forget you're supposed to come by my room tonight to work on your
algebra."

"Okay. Seeya." He didn't turn around to say goodbye.

Across the hill to the tennis courts, to meet some of my class-mates, I was
feeling butterflies in my stomach, giddy. It was a crisp autumn afternoon.
The air had a cool, sweet smell, the leaves crinkled underfoot. I smiled at
everyone I passed, and hummed a tune I didn't know the name of.

I experienced a growth spurt between freshman and senior years. I was now
nearly my full height of five-nine. I was still thin, perhaps about 120. I
was never an athlete, but I had become more competitive. At public school I
was completely bottom of the barrel. Here, perhaps because it was a smaller
school, or perhaps because it was a preparatory institution, it seemed there
were a greater proportion of dweebs. All of a sudden I was average, or maybe
even a bit above-average, in running a mile, or playing a game of soccer.
Moreover, no one knew me here, which freed me to open up and give things a
genuine try.

I remember the first time I realized it. I was playing soccer in PE my
junior year. I was facing off against this guy Ray for control of the ball,
in the corner of the field, in his own territory. He was a good player. He
didn't know who I was, though. I was new. As we were shuffling around,
trying to make a break, or pass the ball off, our eyes met, just for an
instant. I could read the fear in his eyes. It flustered him, I got the ball
away, passed it off quickly. I don't recall what else happened, probably my
team lost. But I'll never forget the look in his eyes. I had him
intimidated.

Truth was I was never very good at soccer, never really played it growing
up. But now the tennis lessons at River Oaks Country Club paid off. I was a
respectable tennis player, and could even pull off a set or two against the
really good players. Was always competitive, always in the game, always gave
people a run for their money. And I could regularly beat a number of
athletic players who were very good at other sports, but lacked finesse in
tennis. Having played the game growing up, I had an innate facility, could
get my opponent running, on the defensive, wear him down, and wait for him
to start making mistakes.

This night I killed. I let go of everything, and just killed. I beat my
opponent in two short sets, and hung around batting the ball around
afterwards. As I left the courts, the guys were kidding and calling after
me, "Hey where's Bjorn going? Hey Bjorn can I have your autograph?" As in
Bjorn Borg. Get it?

Clay was having trouble with algebra, so I arranged to work with him a few
times a week, during the evening study period. After dinner, most of the
student population had to attend supervised study sessions in the library or
other large classrooms. At this time, they were supposed to be doing their
homework assignments, with proctors available to assist, and make sure
people were keeping up with their work.

Those who kept a B+ or better grade average, however, were free to study in
their rooms, or at the library, alone or in groups. Most evenings my floor
was pretty empty, maybe four or five kids were around, the rest were in
proctor-study.

Clay was one of the fortunate ones, so far at least, and he and I had worked
together in my room two other evenings so far. This evening I got back to
the dorms, opened up my room, let in some fresh air. Clay shows up for his
tutoring, a little meekish. Nothing to worry about, pat him on the shoulder,
sit him down at the desk, get him going on the first problem set.

I was still in my tennis clothes. "Hey, Clay, I'm all sweaty and itchy man.
I'm gunna hop in the shower real quick. You work on those first two
problems. Cool?" He turned to face me.

I already had my shoes and socks off, pulled my shirt over my head, tossed
it on the floor of my closet. Peeled down my shorts and briefs in one smooth
motion, tossed them with the rest. Stood facing him for a just a bit, hands
on my hips. Watched him check me out. I was no jock, but just had a pretty
good work-out, was pretty pumped up. A tight thin frame, shoulders had
broadened a bit, some perceptible definition in my chest, belly was a little
bit round, but firm, a few budding dark hairs on my chest, strong hairy
legs, and a tight hairy butt. A tempting line of dark hairs from my
bellybutton, leading the eye downward. My dick was a full six inches now.
Puffy and distended. I was happy and proud of it.

Let him get an eyeful, grabbed a towel, and headed out to the showers. Had a
nice hot shower, came back, closed the door behind me. Hung the towel up.
Took my time putting on some shorts and a tee shirt. My dick was getting
horizontal, semi-hard, but I didn't hide it. Clay kept glancing over,
checking me out.

I sat with Clay, and helped him with his homework. I broke his problems down
for him, we went through them together, bit by bit. We could get through the
assignment in about an hour. I would work with him for a bit, turn the
problem over to him, let him struggle, give him some prompts and hints, take
over if he got lost again, start back at the beginning.

We sat together at the desk. I put my arm on the back of his chair as we
worked. When he got one right I would pat his shoulder and rub a bit. Every
once in awhile I would reach down and adjust my dick in my shorts. Gosh it
felt nice just sitting close together like this, like riding in the back of
a pick-up, with the wind whirling around your head. I could tell he felt it
too.

Having been through a similar situation, with an older boy, when I was
Clay's age, I knew this was a delicate situation. I placed myself in his
position. I would have to take this very slowly, like solving a complex
algebra problem, break it down to small components, work through each
thoroughly, and in sequence.

Tonight's assignment was over. We closed our books. I looked at him. I felt
nervous. "Nice work Clay. We'll pick this back up day after tomorrow. I've
got to get to get started on my own stuff now. Okay?" As he was at the door
to leave, I stopped him, grasped his shoulder, looked into his face,
smiling.

"Hey, Clay. We're buds now, huh?"

"You bet, Duncan." He grinned.

"Cool."


Copyright 2003 Elliott Payne