Tuesday: Too Many Questions

I don't much see the point in wearing my uncomfortable school uniform this morning, since I have to take it off anyway. So I get dressed into my weekend gear and arrive at the school gates wearing heavy duty black boots, blue jeans, an open weave black mesh shirt and a leather jacket. I've also brought with me a small fleece blanket and Christian's newly washed jumper. There is a crowd at the school gate, including several teachers, most of the school, Christian, and Mr. Johnson. All to make sure that I removed my clothes. There isn't really much I can do about it, I can wait until they force me, or I can just get undressed. And so, ignoring the shouts, the cat-calls, and just about everyone there, I pile up my clothes and deposit them in the box by the gate and am left dressed in my skin, a bandana and a plain leather wristband. I've already put my shoes in the box, which is now locked.

"Morning Christian."

"Hey Aaron."

The bell goes and everyone starts going inside, still staring, and I begin to wonder how anyone is supposed to get any work done when I'm around. Not that anyone does any work in physics anyway. Mr. Eritty, is elderly, strange, and quite insane. He is late to the lesson by a couple of minutes and we only stay on topic for about sixty seconds before he goes of on a long winded tangent about football, and in the small dimly lit lab I am able to relax, if just a little. Eventually he gets back to the point and hands out a number of glass prisms, someone draws the curtains and we are plunged into darkness, except for a couple of torch beams. I'm not so surprised that these have been turned on me and I look down to find fragments of my skin illuminated by rainbows. All in all, it's not the worst torture that I could be made to endure, and no one wants me to move. Like all of Eritty's lessons, it is a chance to do no work.

Information Technology is another lesson where there isn't a lot to do. It's a bit redundant really. Everyone, including me, has their own computer, uses the internet, and probably knows more about current technology updates than the teacher. It's a good break for me, since I'm in a corner sitting next to Chris and no one can see much of anyone else anyway because these machines are bulky and old. The session is called 'Making Search Engines Work For You' and it's no surprise to look around the room and find that ninety percent of the class have run searches on sex.

At break Christian has to go and run some errands, so I decide to head to the least populated public area of the school, the library. I quite like it in there, it's quiet, deserted and safe. The library is looked over by the ancient head librarian Mr. Quinn, and his young assistant, a man of about twenty five, who is his son. Our school library is also quite big, and it doesn't take me long to disappear into the shelves. I pick my favourite book off the shelf without even looking, and settle down in the aisle, blanket over my legs, to read where I left off last time. It doesn't take long for someone to find me.

Thankfully that someone is Michael.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," He looks at the cover of my book, "Will Self, Dorian. Isn't that a re-write of that book about that Victorian fag?"

"Yeah." I say, pretending that the comment hasn't struck a chord within me, a sharp barb that drives deeper every time I hear anyone say something like that and let it slide.

"What do you want to read that for?" I'm obviously not supposed to answer as he continues, browsing along the shelf in front of him, "You know, sometimes I think it would be better if everyone was the same, like you and me and Chris, so we wouldn't have to worry and watch our backs and stuff when we're out in Brighton or whatever. It would be best if there were no poofs and no fags. Someone should just shoot them, don't you think?"

He looks down at me. My book is closed and held in a white knuckle grip. I like Mike, he's an OK guy, but right now it's taking all my concentration not to hit him. Every time I think of how nice it would be to be out in school, to not have to watch every single thing I say in case I give myself away, to be able to look at and like exactly who I want to, something like this happens. It makes me realise, for the second time this week, that being out in school would probably result in being beaten every day for the next year.

"You agree don't you?" Mike is looking at me expectantly, but I can't bring myself to say it, not again, not this time. I cannot bring myself to debase what I am. I get up, too fast and not looking at Mike, abandon my book and grab my stuff, heading for the door. I can feel him watching my back as I go.

I'm late for French, and being stared at doesn't do much for my concentration on a subject I find difficult at the best of times. I fail miserably to explain to the teacher, in French, why I'm late, and as I try and make my way to my seat she grabs my arm and starts babbling at me. I'm not good at French and eventually she drops into my natural language.

"Today Mister Caine is going to help you all with your studies!" This gets a reaction out of everyone and she pulls out a chair and instructs me to sits on it, feet apart, "You are going to practice your French for parts of the body, including bones and muscles. This is of great importance should you find yourself injured in a foreign country."

And the torture begins. From somewhere has been produced a long stick, which is used to gesture at various parts of my anatomy, working from head down. Everyone is searching through their dictionaries, probably trying to find the lewdest term for 'penis' they can pronounce. It is not a good class.

Being a closet gay in a school containing attractive guys takes some self control. It's a skill I have nurtured over the last couple of years, to be able to control myself in certain situations, like while changing for sports. Unfortunately controlling myself and being around Nate Adams are two things that never coincide. I have geography with Nate, and to my normal delight, he sits next to me. Unfortunately I'm naked this lesson, and Nate is just as attractive as always.

I've had a thing for Nate for the last three years or so. The guy is gorgeous, maybe an inch of so shorter than me, a bit narrower on the shoulders, athletic. He's on the school swim team, and from what I've seen of their competitions, he looks really good in swimming trunks. Short spiky hair, tan skin, wide chocolate eyes, and a ready smile. He grins when he sees me, sitting on my blanket.

"Hey Aaron, how's being naked?"

"Chilly."

"No kidding," he takes his seat next to me, "And the hair dryer in the changing rooms has stopped working. We can't keep coming out from swimming with wet hair. I'll catch cold and then where will we be?"

"Losing," I say, and it's the last word before the lesson begins.

Mr. Webster is strict as they come. He's been at the school so long he taught some of our parents. But that doesn't stop him being stern, formidable, keen on silence and a good shot with a board rubber. And we're doing fucking rivers again. I swear the whole of GCSE geography can be summed up in three words; volcanoes, cities, rivers. You can only get so excited while listening to a middle aged man talk about the formation of ox bow lakes, in detail, for a fifth time in your life. Unfortunately that also means that my attention is distracted by Nate. He's not doing anything specific, just shuffling around in his seat, his leg brushing against mine every so often, running hands through his hair, chewing on his pencil, fiddling with him fingernails. And I'm not watching him, not directly, but part of him is always moving in my field of vision, and well, it's Nate. I'm aroused by his very existence, not to mention him sitting next to me, sharing oxygen, text book, space. I breathe really slowly, thankful that there is a desk between my erection and him and when the bell goes for lunch I take longer than normal packing my things away. It's not like he waits for me anyway, Nate Adams is in a whole different league to me. We have a purely geography based relationship.

By the time I have to get up I'm only nursing a semi and the fact that I have to go to bathroom gets rid of that fairly quickly. I head over the cafeteria where I get served again pretty quickly, and find a table at which to bolt down my food as fast as I can. I heard rumours that Program students got their food for free, but that doesn't seem to have taken on here, since I have my bag, and therefore my wallet, it doesn't seem like too big a deal. I'm planning to make another run for the deserted library. Unfortunately Michael finds me first, a gaggle of girls in tow.

"Hey Aaron," Katie seats herself next to me while her fellow girls arrange themselves around me and Mike, all preening themselves and looking at me, "I heard a rumour that your not playing on the same team as everyone else."

"Yeah," Laura, the blonde girl from yesterday pipes up, "Is that why you didn't like us hanging around you?"

I glance at Mike, not really trusting myself to speak. He looks grave, worried and suspicious. Before the conversation can get any further a group of guys come along, no doubt attracted by the presence of so many pretty girls. They are mostly guys in my year, Nate is with them, he grins at me and my heart skips, sending a jolt straight down to my groin. Talk of all the inappropriate times to get aroused.

"I, um... that is..." I don't get to finish my sentence, which is good, because I didn't know where it was going anyway, due to the fact that Katie has leaned over and wrapped her hand around my growing erection. The action takes me by horrified surprise and I jump up and push her off me at the same time, resulting in her falling to the floor. I doubt it was actually painful, but she bursts into tears and suddenly every guy there looks as if he wants to kill me. This big guy, rugby player, Jason, grabs me by the bandana round my neck and jerks it painfully. He's practically lifted me from the floor. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife and use it to make toast. Then, fortunately for me, someone watching knocks over a tray of plates. In the ensuing chaos I rip my bandana from Jason's grip and make a run for it.

There isn't really anywhere to hide for the rest of lunch, not to mention the fact that I am still hungry, so I make the serious mistake of going for a walk. That action alone exposes me to more students than I thought was possible, the cafeteria being as crowded as it was. Groups of girls hang around the corridors, a large gang of first years are seated in the open space by the science labs. They simply stare and I run away. No eleven year old should have to be exposed to me naked.