This blog is different from the rest of the material on this site – if you have fairly conservative views on sex then the rest of the material is not for you – but this blog is intended for all readers of all ages over 12 years old.
I know the central character well as it is me (although like most relationships there is always more to know) and I knew of the other characters mentioned but since the events took place over 30 years ago, you’ll forgive me if their names are a bit sketchy. However the details of what happened that Sunday morning are as clear to me today as they were on the day when they happened.
Why am I telling you this? Once you have read the events below, you’ll understand that I am telling you this not because I want to get a cheap thrill or give you a thrill either. I simply want to deal with these events in a way that might help someone who suffered something similar, maybe far worse, to know that it is possible to find a way to find some peace if you will let it. I haven’t found a way to forget and in a way I am not sure that I should (although their is a part of me that would like to forget) but these events are part of me and what makes me who I am today – warts and all. If you have a view on this point I would love to hear from you or if you have experienced or are experiencing something similar then please do get in touch. Maybe you just want to leave a comment – fine by me, but remember that other people maybe broken by their own experience will read what you leave behind. In particular I am interested if anyone thinks what happens here is just boys being boys and things getting out of hand or if this was rape. Ok unusual but nevertheless an individual being made to do an act against their will.
I have written the story in the 3rd person because I want to help you reader to identify with the scene as it unfolds – as if you are blind and need a narrator to help you.
In the UK the state system provides free school education to 18 years old. There are also the public schools or independent schools that are fee-paying. There are great institutions such as Eton, Rugby and in Scotland there is Fettes and Gordonstoun. This story is set in a school very similar to those. Typically these schools were boarding schools although not all of them were exclusively so. Many were single sex and there are equivalent great institutions for girls. SOme have become co-ed and some taken on day pupils in order to stay afloat in changed economic times.
No one really famous went to my school but the school’s reputation was built around individual character building and developing leadership. It had a strong outdoor pursuits focus with rugby, hockey, sailing, cross-country, hill walking and track and field taking up most of our time out of class. There was also music, art and drama for those who found the hardy outdoors too hard core.
It is 1977.
In the scene unfolding in one of the dormitories in the junior house John (the main character) has been the subject ofintense bullying for probably 9 months and is in a state of isolation. Co-existing with 30 other boys who have made his life intolerable and miserable in the junior house (aged between 11 and 13 years) but not a part of them.
On this particular Sunday morning John is again the butt of several jokes and jibes by the other boys in his dormitory. John hates Sunday’s in particular because there is an extra hour in bed compared to the rest of the week. This affords the other boys the opportunity to take out some pent up aggression by picking on usually, but not always, him. It isn’t clear why they pick on John – most likely because he is soft – a polite boy who doesn’t swear, see the need to use aggression and is not overly competitive.
His parents sent him to school at the beginning of term with a goodie bag of home baking and sweets to make life more bearable and more like home. Amongst the items packed the morning he travelled to school on the train with a group of other boys was a slab of his grandmother’s fudge. Very sweet and sickly but a real delight and a huge sugar rush.
Normally the jokes and jibes result in shoes being thrown at John as he lay in bed trying to ignore everyone else. Suddenly in the room there is a hush as two or three boys huddle and whisper with one another. The hush is ominous and John lies uncomfortably, unsure what to do next. The junior house rules are that boys should stay in bed until 8am (still 30 minutes away) unless there is need to go to the toilet. Everyone knows that on a Sunday morning the housemaster often wakes the boys still in his dressing gown and slippers and then disappears to get washed and dressed. So as long as the boys are quiet in their dorm, they are very much left to their own devices.
John is tossed out of bed by one of the ring leaders to bring some of his fudge. Thinking that if this is the most that happens, today is going to a good day, John quietly slips down the stairs and into the locker room. On his return with said fudge he finds two boys in deep discussion. He puts the fudge on a bed and the boys devour it.
“Right then John. Come here” he is instructed, “Kneel”.
“What for?”
“Do as you’re told.”
John kneels.
“Suck Michael’s cock”.
“What?”
“You heard.”
“No way.” Thump “Aargh, that hurt.”
““Suck Michael’s cock”.
“No way.” Thump “Aargh, that hurt.”
The ring leaders kicked John up the bum again.
“Do it and then we will let you go – no more questions.” Kick.
Tears well down John’s face as the rest of the boys, about 8 of them, jeer and mock him. Instead of “fight” “fight”, “fight” it is “Do it, Do it, Do it, Do it” they whisper.
It is Michael’s penis that is produced, his pyjama bottoms held as thigh height. A flaccid, limp looking thing about two inches long – Michael has little or no pubic hair – he doesn’t reach puberty for probably another 2 years.
Tears fall salty onto John’s cheeks and into the edges of his mouth. The digit is hanging in front of John’s face.
Another kick “Come on”.
Swallowing deeply John inches closer on his knees. He takes about half of the digit in his mouth and then spits it out. Kick. “More – take all of it,” a voice says.
Sobbing now, John feels the digit on the edge of his mouth. He takes it gingerly inside – not daring to close his mouth, his tongue flat and sticking out beneath, trying to avoid any contact.
“Close your mouth.”
“Aw no”, John muffled voice says. Kick.
“Do it”.
The rest of the boys carry on chanting “Suck, suck, suck”. The odd dissenter shouting, “Oh gross”.
Kick
John closes his mouth. Holding the digit in his mouth. Then there is pandemonium.
Michael decides he can no longer hold on. The cock swells in John’s mouth and the salty vile taste of a boy’s pee erupts into John’s mouth. John doesn’t wait and lets the digit fall away mid-stream. Pee flies out of control, soaking his pyjamas, hitting his face and spraying onto his hair. The crowd falls away trying to avoid the out flow.
John leaps to his feet as the crowd erupts in its own venomous disgust but instead of turning on Michael and the ring leader they deride John for being so weak. He surges through the crowd, spitting pee from his mouth as he stumbles for the door to get away. The crowd continues to laugh as John tumbles down the stairs for the nearest sink . He takes great mouthfuls of water from the tap, gargles and spits out copious amounts avoiding the temptation to swallow. He gags and retches.
Finally, still in his pee soaked pyjamas he returns to his dorm, anxious to avoid his housemaster and the questionning, where the rest of the boys watch him. Some quietly ignore him, privately ashamed but not daring to stand from the crowd and some continue to belittle him. Michael tries to talk to him explaining that it wasn’t his idea and it was really either him or John.
It isn’t too long before the housemaster arrives and tells the boys it is time to get up. John does his best to clean up, but as bath day isn’t until Tuesday, he does his best to deal with the smell. He makes a note to get a shower in the afternoon if it is quiet in the changing rooms.
The events were never mentioned in front of John again, but there were mutterings in the queue for breakfast an hour later about someone smelling of piss – “That’s you isn’t it, John?”
The rest of John’s school life didn’t get any worse but it didn’t get any better for probably about 4 years. John learned to adapt his behaviour and develop the sense of something about to kick off and not be there when it did. It was miserable.
However, by the time he reached 16 or 17 years old, John had become a trusted team member in one the school’s services and respected by the younger boys in his group as well as by the teachers and staff who lent a hand. The boys of his own age recognised his skills and he was largely left alone to get on with it by them.
During his last two years at school, John became a member of the school’s rugby second XV and was a substitute a couple of times for the first XV. He played hockey for the first and second XI teams and earned school colours in cross-country and was the captain of the cross-country team. He wasn’t the fastest or the best but he stuck at it and achieved far more than his early and rocky start would have anticipated.
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