CHAPTER FOUR

Back To The School I Go To (I’m Above The Age Of Consent So Don’t Worry About The Last Two Chapters)

I had been so busy being gay over the last day and a half that it came as a surprise when Tommy’s mother and father knocked on our door on Monday morning. It was what Tommy’s father then said that was surprising rather than the knock itself. This is what he said:

“Time to get dressed and go to your classes at school, boys.” was what he said. Tommy’s mother smiled and nodded simultaneously for a bit.

I didn’t have any clean clothes of my own or a backpack or school supplies or homework that I was due to hand in that day. Luckily for me Tommy kept spares of all of these items and so gave them to me to use.

“Thanks.”, I said, “Tommy.” I said.

“You’re absolutely”, he replied, “welcome, Donald.”, he replied.

We arrived at the school holding hands because Tommy had taken my right hand in his left hand or his left hand in my right hand – I can’t remember on which side of me he was standing and then walking – as we left his house. After arriving at the school we went to morning assembly. Tommy is the head boy of the school, a fact about which I had forgotten. What a catch!

Though I said “What a catch!” very, very quietly, some of my peers heard and turned round in their seats to ask if I was gay for him.

“Yes, I suppose that I am that.” was my immediate reply to all inquisitors. More questions had to wait, however, because Tommy, as the Head Boy of the school and my heart had to make some announcements – as HB of the school more than the HB of my heart, it must be admitted. After he had announced his things I clapped the longest and loudest, because I had forgotten that we are not expected to clap after these announcements normally so actually I was the only person clapping. “Gosh, I must be really in love with this guy!”, I said, remembering to think it as opposed to actually saying it, as we all left assembly to go to a lesson.

My applause had said it all though, it seems, as had my admitting to some people that I was gay for Tommy, because as I walked down a corridor in the school we were in I became aware of whisperings about me, because I could hear them.

“Donald’s a fag”

“He likes cock”

“He likes Tommy’s cock”

“I don’t like him”

“Who?”

“Donald”

“Oh, I wasn’t sure if you meant him or Tommy”

“Oh. If Tommy is gay then I don’t like him either”

“Oh yeah, I remember him coming out of the closet to all of us. I don’t like him then.”

“I hate gay people”

“I bet Tommy’s put his cock up Donald’s shitty arse crack!”

“Have you done the Spanish essay for Tuesday?”

“No, I’ll do it tonight”

“I hate gay people”

“You already said that”

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure if you heard”

“I wonder what Tommy’s spunk tastes like.”

“Why would you ask that? Are you gay too, Chesney?”

“No. Anyway we’re talking about Donald, not me, remember”

“Oh yes. Because he’s gay.”

“Bleugh”

“Bum bandit”

“I’ll kill those faggots on the playground if I run into them”

“Don’t go near Donald, he’ll grab your nob; he’s gay!”

“He’s walked on past now so we can talk about something else”

“Actually the bell went two minutes ago so we’re late for our DT lesson”

“Oh Sh*t* on a plate! I don’t fancy a lunchtime detention.”

“Get a move on, then!”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I’ve got a free period now, so no.”

“Oh. Why did you say ‘our’ DT lesson then.”

“I misspoke.”

These were just several of the caustic homophobic whispers that I endured by hearing them on my walk down the corridor. Oh well, I thought, as long as I have Tommy to have sex with and be gay to they can say whatever they like. I brought this positive attitude with me to my PSHE lesson, the focus of which today was safe sex. Oh, I knew all about safe sex as of a couple of days ago, and said as much to Mrs Goodwoman, my teacher.

“Oh, I see.” she replied, with curiosity. “Thank you for that information, Donald. Now we’re going to practice putting a condom on a dildo that I have here.”

She handed the dildo and condom to my hands; it was harder than Tommy’s penis was when fully erect but not as long and thick (the dildo, not the condom).

“No time like the present!” I said to the class and to their and Mrs Goodwoman’s visible surprise I put the unwrapped condom in my mouth and rolled it over the plastic penis, spluttering slightly as the tip of the instrument pushed at the back of my throat.

“See, it’s very simple really” I explained, and told them my simile of eating a Magnum from chapter three. I was disappointed, but not wholly surprised to receive neither applause from the class nor a merit point from Mrs Goodwoman for my efforts. What was more alarming, however, was the fact that all of my classmates were cracking their knuckles and shaking their fists at me.

“Faggot! Bender! Poofter! Faggot! Gay man!” they chanted until the bell rang and the lesson finished. Tommy joined me and hands with me and we walked along some more corridors together. I was concerned that the behaviour of my classmates meant that we were going to get gaybashed for being gay by them, but Tommy reassured me by saying some things including this:

“Don’t worry, Donald”, Tommy said, among other things.

As it turned out, he was right to tell me not to worry and not to worry himself and I was then right not to worry after he had told me not to do so. I had forgotten that we were both muscle-strong men and very good looking men at that, and given that most of the other children were uglier and weaker than us they felt too intimidated to pick a fight, however gay we might be. It wasn’t until lunch break time that a gang of stronger and more attractive homophobes approached us, with the intention of beating us up.

“We’re going to beat up the gayness out of you two gay boys” they all said, though not quite in unison – this is how I came to know that they intended to beat us up.

“Let’s begin” said a woman who to my money was stronger than Fatima Whitbread and Sebastian Coe’s child if they had a child and it inherited a strength of body equal to the addition of both of its parents strength.

“Yes, let’s begin that.” Agreed another person who was also strong.

They began beating us up:

Punch!

“Faggot!”

Smack!

“Cock-liker”

Kick!

“Bum-types!”

Hit!

“Stop doing this to us!” (That was me who said that!)

Biff!

“No!” (Tommy said this in response to the biff he had just received, not to my plea for them to stop.)

The beating continued in earnest. Mr Cherryblossom, who was gay and made no attempt to conceal it – something which in my view was asking for abuse – minced past the brawl, hands flapping about.

“Give those ignorants one from me, you good gay boys!” he said to Tommy and I (presumably) before skipping away, singing a song.

Tommy and I hadn’t thought of fighting back so did so and we were successful in repelling the attackers, who ran away, saying how physically intimidating yet gay we were

“Which is scary to us”, qualified one of them as they headed towards the astro turf to do something else.

Tommy had a fat lip. I had a thick ear and a big nose, the latter of which had remained unscathed during the scuffle. Tommy went to the toilet and I sat on a bench and ate a sandwich that I had with me. It was cheese. And bread and salad also. One of my classmates, who was called Fiona by the way, approached me.

“Donald, I know you have a lot on your plate right now, what with being gay and all, but Gregory Matheson (another classmate of ours) told me that he reckons that you are interested in his opinions about one of our subjects at school and that you really like him and that you would have sex with him and enjoy it.”

While she was saying this, Tommy had returned from the toilet holding a bunch of flowers and a box of chocolates and a card that said that the flowers and chocolates were a gift from him to me. He must have got them from a shop. I didn’t know that Tommy was in earshot when I said this:

“He (meaning Gregory (I didn’t say these bracketed bits to her)) thinks that I’m interested in him in that way? Don’t make me laugh. How disgusting. I have never been interested in him in that way, despite what you all must think. And no way would  have sex with him; I mean, even if I had had sex with him I wouldn’t have enjoyed it and only pretended that I had and faked several orgasms to convince him of that lie. I hate him and wish he’d stop bothering me.”

“Oh Donald!” exclaimed the eavesdropping Tommy, “how could you? I thought you were really committed to being gay with me. Our gay relationship is over.” He then stormed off.

And just like that, the gay life that I had been really rather enjoying was over in a flash. Done. Over. In a flash. Just like that. I sobbed for the loss of my boyfriend Tommy. And continued to for a long time. I hated being gay at that point, because it made it difficult to fill the hole that Tommy had filled with his gay love and his penis when he put it up inside of me or in my mouth.