Sebastian
by Rigby Taylor
Chapter 4
Reginald, Ronnie & Rex
Thursday arrived hot and still, a good omen for Sebastian who ran best in the heat. He was looking forward to winning both the two hundred and one hundred metre sprints. Not that there was any serious competition with only twenty senior students in the entire school. Pleasurable anticipation was spoiled, however, when at breakfast his mother chirped, 'I've decided to come and cheer you on at the athletic sports this afternoon.'
Her son looked up in alarm. 'It isn't necessary for you to come, Mum, it's just a school sports meeting, no big deal and…' He was furious. How dare his mother go to the Sports Day! She'd never gone to his high school before for anything — not even to enrol him! Why now? He had to find a way to stop her.
'That's sweet of you, dear, but I've recently realised I've been a poor mother as far as your schooling goes. I've never even been to a parent meeting in the four and a half years you've been there. It's time for me to be less selfish. I was speaking to Mrs Blackthorn, you know, Reginald's mother…?'
Of course he did! Thinking about his tall, big-boned, sandy haired, hazel-eyed, intellectual eco freak best friend, calmed him down enough to smile. Although Reggie's karate chop could floor an ox, he was a gentle giant who preferred to use a sharp tongue than aggression. Of course there was always one dork who misread the signs. Like the previous Friday interval when a kid flapped a limp wrist and yelled, 'Hey Reg, rumour has it you're queer, are you?'
'Why?' Reginald asked innocently, irritated at being called Reg. 'Do you fancy me?'
Everyone laughed, making the idiot feel foolish enough to prove his manhood. Arms flailing he charged at Reginald yelling, 'Fucking pansy!'
Without any apparent effort, Reginald deflected a punch, leg tripped the guy and cuffed him across the back of the head as he went down. It looked like the sort of harmless slap a mildly irritated parent might give a child, but the side of the hand was hard and travelling at speed. The would-be hero staggered, fell, sat up, looked stupid, then burst into tears; unseen by Reginald who was walking away chatting to Sebastian as if he'd forgotten the incident already.
Reginald's greatest claim to fame among his sexually-guilt-ridden peers was his encyclopaedic knowledge about sex. Many a young man now slept easily because of Reginald's confident assertion that masturbation is essential to masculine health and sanity because the increased flow of blood during erections keeps the penis healthy, and frequent orgasms make a man contented. Therefore it should be practised as often as possible.
Sebastian admired his friend's relaxed, self-confidence and wished he could be as easy himself; but he didn't dare. His apparent confidence was built on very shaky foundations.
'Anyway,' Desolé continued, 'Reginald told his mother that you're the best runner in the school and would certainly win the hundred yards.'
'Metres.'
'What's meat got to do with it?'
'It's the hundred metres, not yards. It's over forty years since we went metric, Mum!' Anyway, I'm not a certainty to win and I'll feel stupid if you're watching when I lose.'
'Don't be silly; I'd still be proud of you if you came last. Wave when you see me and make sure I don't miss your race.'
Sebastian ground his teeth in impotent fury. In his first week at high school other kids had seen him in the town with his mother and asked who she was. He'd told them she was his grandmother who liked to pretend she was his mother. She'd recently forced him to go with her to the bank at the centre of town where they'd been seen by some of his classmates. The following day he'd overheard them laughing with other kids about seeing him shirtless in the middle of the city with his ancient scarecrow of a mother. The shame curdled his blood. Could a seventeen-year-old divorce his mother for being embarrassingly old and not telling him who his father was? He couldn't even go north and live with the Uncle he'd never met because he was gaga in a nursing home. Perhaps he could put his mother in a Home? She was as good as dead because she was bulimic and always sickening for something.
Angrily, he shouldered his knapsack and jogged to school.
Rodney was looking forward to the school's Sports Day at his old school, hoping to see the cute guy in the tiny pouch. Sebastian. That was his name. Perhaps they'd…no, probably not. A quick kiss under the water didn't mean anything. Lots of young guys would do it for a laugh. He hadn't admitted he was gay but he was easy company. Rodney was twenty-three, not that big a difference in ages. Lots of young guys preferred older men. Then he remembered he wasn't into relationships. He also wasn't into deep thinking so tossed the thoughts to the back of his handsome head and faced the mirrors. He was in good shape for seduction. If not Sebastian, there were plenty of others who reckoned he was pretty hot. He gazed at his reflection. Lean and mean. No! Lean and not mean.
A recent medical check declared him to be in excellent health, although absence of body fat had the doctor suggesting he put on a few extra kilos. Rodney disagreed. His body may have cost him uncountable hours of exercise, a dull diet and sufficient sleep, but muscles as clearly defined as an anatomical drawing, a handsome face and natural grace of movement were a lucrative meal ticket he had no intention of risking.
He turned slowly between the four full-length mirrors arranged so he could see himself from every angle. Dragging long, sensitive fingers over his loins triggered twinges of arousal and he smiled in anticipation. Usually he would devote at least an hour to his lovemaking, but this morning he was in a hurry; Mt Hurmese Grammar, Sebastian and the world were waiting for him.
He hadn't been back to the old school in seven years. Would his old Maths teacher still be there? More to the point, would he see Jason Boieluv; jerk-off Jason who'd railroaded him out of school? He put on a CD with a strong sexy beat, let his body movements synchronise with the solid pulse, caressed his small but perfectly formed nipples and attained full arousal. With practiced grace he lowered himself to the carpet, planning poses and moves for that night's performance at a widow woman's fiftieth birthday party.
The booking had been made by her son who had been prepared to pay for total nudity, erotic play, and orgasm. If Rodney could entice the fellow's mother to participate in the shenanigans, then there was an extra fifty bucks. If he fucked her in front of the other guests, there was another hundred. Not for the first time he wondered at the bizarre love-hate relationship so many young men have with their mothers. He had learned to ignore such requests and play it by ear, putting on a show that everyone, especially the mother, would enjoy.
Picturing the coming evening's performance, and Sebastian at the pool, increased the pleasure of orgasm and he groaned in relief, relaxing for a minute before showering off sweat, cum and carpet fluff. Making love to his reflections was a daily reward for maintaining his strict dietary and exercise regimen. Unashamedly, he admitted to anyone who asked, that he preferred solo sex because another body not only got in the way, but was never up to the high physical standards he demanded of himself. Imperfection was a turnoff. Your body is your instrument, he lectured all who would listen, and a well tuned instrument is essential to a successful life.
But what did one wear to a High School Athletics afternoon?
Desolé checked her thinning hair, patiently rearranging strands to cover the head evenly. The rinse had turned out more pink than beige and instead of distracting, had drawn attention to the mauve blotches on her scalp. She should have dyed her skin the same colour as her hair! Ah well, a hat would cover it. She plonked on the wide-brimmed straw hat she'd bought for her sister's wedding. The daisies clambering around the brim looked a bit tatty, but no one would notice. Was it really forty years ago? She sighed in resignation at wrinkles that a thick paste of foundation had failed to fill, then stepped back to view the overall impression.
An impertinent shaft of sunlight set her wondering if showing a cleavage wasn't such a good idea. It wasn't clear which of the vertical folds was the cleavage. A swathe of pink chiffon draped over the offending flesh was rather fetching, she thought–not stopping to wonder what it would fetch.
A lifetime of bulimic bouts ensured her figure still looked youthful–as long as it was fully clothed and seen from a distance. Her friends had always admired her courage in choosing clothes, and she thought the apricot skirt and green blouse would cement her reputation. Fortunately, she could still manage six-inch heels, if the ground was firm and flat. She smiled. Her reflection somewhat unkindly reminded her to keep her lips together. It was too late to get false teeth, her dentist had insisted; they'd never stay in place. So she was stuck with the yellowing, chipped originals.
The High School Grandstand had been built when the student population was seven hundred, so even with about fifty parents occupying the front rows, there was plenty of space for the students to spread out and make a picnic of the afternoon. The seniors were expected to run the event with minimum interference from teachers. Mr. Sprague, as Sports Master, was in overall charge and, assisted by Charles, wandered around astonishing everyone with his pleasant chatter while ensuring everything went well.
Sebastian, Reginald and Zoltan were the judges. For the field events they traipsed around from high jump to long jump, from shot put to discus, and then it was time for the running races. For these they stood on temporary steps at the finishing line in front of the V.I.P seats.
Sebastian chose to judge third place because he would be standing on the bottom step where he had an unobstructed view of the crowds on the stands, and their view of him was equally unhindered. Reginald, in skin-tight Lycra stood above and behind, while Zoltan took the top step. Charles and Sprague came to stand beside them for a while and Sebastian nudged Reginald when he saw them touch fingers. Reginald said he wasn't jealous; he had someone else lined up as a future lover.
'Sebaaaaaaaastian!'
The high-pitched shriek caused the starter to fire his pistol too early and chaos ensued as the boys began running and had to be called back. There was nowhere to hide. Sebastian was trapped at the finishing line in full view of everyone. He gave a short wave and watched as his mother pushed her way to the front and squeezed with the maximum of fuss into a space beside the Principal.
Irritation is too insignificant a word to describe Mr. Noall's reaction to Desolé's intrusion. However, exasperated indignation at the woman quickly turned to pity for her son when he learned that this odorous, ancient crone was his favourite pupil's mother! Poor Sebastian! How on earth had such a harridan given birth to an intelligent and perfect young gentleman?
Instead of shaking hands and sitting quietly, Desolé grasped the Principal's arm and asked if he recognised her.
'I'm sorry, madam, but I don't recall the pleasure.' He prised off her claws and restrained the urge to wipe his hand.
'I was your secretary for the first month of your appointment as Principal, seventeen years ago.' She smiled winningly, forgetting to keep her lips closed.
Mr. Noall blanched visibly and shrank back in alarm. He remembered now, and dredged up a smile. 'Yes, of course… Destructiva, isn't it?'
The shriek of laughter nearly unmanned him and caused far too many heads to turn. 'Oh you wicked man. It's Desolé.'
'Ah yes,' he muttered. 'Desolé.' What a desolate month that had been for everyone, he thought. If she hadn't left, the entire staff would have gone on strike. She was the main reason not one woman since then had gained employment at Mt Hurmese Grammar in any capacity; temporary or permanent.
'I was so sorry to leave you in the lurch after only a month,' she chattered, 'but I was pregnant with Sebastian.'
'We managed to cope,' was the best Mr. Noall could manage. 'Look, the seniors are lining up for the start of their sprints. There's Sebastian.'
There were no side seams in Sebastian's running shorts. There was precious little material either. Two little flaps of flimsy pale blue nylon, one at the front and one at the back, were joined between the legs. This permitted maximum leg extension while covering the minimum of flesh. Everyone agreed he had a beautiful navel. When standing still the view was tantalising. His legs seemed to go all the way up to his armpits. Private, or in Sebastian's case not-so-private parts were bunched in his new yellow pouch making an attractive bulge at the front, and a centimetre of firm brown cheek escaped below the hem at the rear. When running, the wind lifted the diaphanous material, revealing a pair of perfectly formed gluteus maxima.
As the running track was grass and Sebastian ran in bare feet, his minimalist garb made the other runners in their Lycra or traditional cotton shorts, singlets and running shoes appear somewhat overdressed. Charming modesty combined with the fact that he was obviously completely unaware of how breathtakingly sexy he looked, meant that no one raised the slightest objection. Naturally, he won both his races.
With heavy steps he crossed to his mother.
'Well done, Sebastian,' Mr. Noall said with a smile.
'Oh I'm so proud,' squawked Desolé, sounding as well as looking like a demented parrot.
Mr. Noall turned to Desolé. 'It's been a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Sanspere.' He stood up to go, then relented, turned back to her and added vaguely. 'Perhaps you would like to join the staff and parents for afternoon tea?'
Desolé simpered her acceptance and Sebastian raced away to catch Rodney who he'd seen talking to Mr. Boieluv, the Technical Drawing teacher. As he approached it looked as if they were arguing. Curious, he sauntered over.
'Hi, Rodney.'
Rodney turned and his angry scowl transformed into a knee-melting smile.
'Hi. Saw your races–nearly as brilliant as your shorts! Where'd you get them? Show me round the school.' He draped an arm across Sebastian's shoulders and they sauntered off, leaving Mr. Boieluv to simmer. Sebastian turned back and was shocked at the fury on the teacher's face.
To his chagrin, Desolé trailed Mr. Noall up to the Staff Room for afternoon tea where, desperate to offload his unwelcome guest, he hailed the Economic Studies teacher.
'Peteru Viol, meet Desolé Sanspere.'
Mr. Viol, a swarthy, balding, overweight fellow in a tracksuit, kept his hands in his pockets and looked blank.
'Desolé was the Principal's secretary seventeen years ago, Peteru. You were here then.'
'Don't remember,' the fellow replied insolently, turning away to grab a cream cake as he exited the room.
Mr. Noall shrugged. 'Young teachers today can be as rude as their pupils.'
'He's not young. I remember him clearly,' Desolé said with quiet venom. 'He is thirty-eight and in poor physical condition. He arrived on my fifty-fourth birthday. A young graduate of twenty-two; full of himself and arrogant to boot.'
'Yes. Well, as they say, no one really changes. I'll have to excuse myself I'm afraid, Mrs. Sanspere, but I'm required to circulate. Perhaps we'll meet again.'
Finding no one prepared to talk to her, Desolé tottered back to her car, wondering why she'd come and wishing she hadn't worn such high heels; her bunions were killing her.
Sebastian and Rodney found a quiet spot under a tree and lay on the grass in the shade.
'How come you know Creepy Jason?' Sebastian asked.
'Who?'
'Mr Boieluv. The way he looks at me sometimes gives me the willies. You looked furious as if you were going to hit him.'
'He wasn't always like that. When I was here seven years ago he directed the school play. I was desperate to be in it. After my auditions he said I was too short and looked too young, but he'd give me lessons and then perhaps find me a small part. The lessons were at his place and he reckoned I'd learn to move more naturally if I took off my clothes. I didn't object; I was too keen to get on stage. Then he said an actor had to be prepared to take parts he disliked as well as parts he liked. I said I understood that.
'When teaching me to stand and walk properly he pushed and stroked me on my bum and thighs, which I didn't like, but in a funny way it made me proud to have an adult paying me so much attention. I got an erection and tried to hide it but he told me to be proud of it—it proved I was a man. Then he said there was a kissing scene in the play, so he'd act the girl. I refused to kiss him because his breath smelled like rotten horse shit. He got angry, dropped his tweeds and forced me to suck his cock. Everything went cold. I couldn't think. I…I've never been so scared in my life.' His face turned pale at the memory. 'I still can't talk about it. Sorry.'
Sebastian didn't know what to say. He was horrified. 'Did you get the part?'
'I had three more lessons and had to do it each time, but then he said I wasn't good enough. When I protested he threatened that if I told anyone what he'd done he'd deny it and tell everyone I was a crazy queer who'd made it up because I hadn't got a part in the play.'
A shocked silence.
'I was a mess. I refused to go to school. My parents are Jehovah's Witness so I couldn't tell them or they'd have locked me away, then shamed and blamed me in front of the whole congregation and had them pray for my damned soul. So went to live with an aunt in Brisbane for four years. When I finally got the courage to return, they'd gone to a mission in East Africa, thank goodness. I never want to see them again.' Rodney sat silently as Sebastian digested this.
'And today you confronted him?'
"I told him what a vile pig he was. He started to argue. Said he thought I'd enjoyed it and it was me who'd come on to him! I'm such a wimp! I wanted to strangle him but… Thank goodness you came along.'
Sebastian took Rodney's hand and stroked it, unable to find words of comfort.
'Speak of the devil! He's over there with Mr. Trovert. What the hell's Trovert doing with such a bastard? Lets follow.' He dragged Rodney to his feet.
'I liked Mr. Trovert. He let me hide in the library during sport.' Rodney said listlessly. 'I can't believe they'd be friends.'
'I think they're going to the swimming pool. Come on.'
The pool gate slammed shut as they crept to the rear of the enclosure, out of sight of anyone passing. The clink of bottles and voices made them curious enough to climb onto the roof of the pump room, which served as part of the wall. Peering over they saw Boieluv and Trovert sitting with their backs to the wall directly below.
'What a fucking circus,' Jason Boieluv complained.
'Yes. You said you wanted to talk to me.' Mr. Trovert's voice was impatient. 'What about?'
'Just had a run in with an ex-pupil. Reckons I sexually abused him seven years ago and forced him to leave school without any qualifications.'
'Did you?'
'No! Well… perhaps… but not intentionally. It was all a misunderstanding. He wanted to be in the school play, but was a bit of a short-arse. Good looking kid though. I offered to give him tuition and if there was a part for a runt he could have it. He came to my place after school. Randy little bastard; the most beautiful kid I've ever seen… and sexy with it. And what a flirt! I got a hard on whenever he fluttered his eyelashes at me. Wondering what he'd do I said he should try acting naked. Yes, I know, I'm a fuckwit, but I stupidly thought that's what he wanted—he certainly didn't object; dropped his tweeds and pranced around like a priapic young satyr. Had a bloody big cock.' Mr. Boieluv took a swig of beer, burped then continued.
'I used the excuse of teaching him how to move to feel him up. He didn't seem to mind. Kept his hard-on. He was sixteen and I imagined he knew what he was doing. I tried to kiss him. He said my breath stank.'
'It does. You're a smoker. You all smell like incinerators. I can't understand, though, why you thought he knew what he was doing. I sure as hell didn't when I was sixteen. You were the teacher supposed to take care of him, not seduce him.'
'Yeah. I was a total idiot. I've no idea what got into me. I've never done it before or since. I'm not a paedophile. I'm not interested in boys. But some young men are irresistible. I guess testosterone was raging. Then I told him to suck my cock. He didn't want to, I could see that, but I was too far gone to stop. He came twice more for lessons and the same thing happened, but then I got frightened. If anyone found out what I was doing to a pupil I'd be in prison getting raped. So I told him there wasn't a part after all. He raced away crying foul and I never saw him again. It's the truth. He just took off and I've felt rotten and terrified for seven years'
'Terrified? Of what?'
'You see in the papers guys in their forties and fifties suing teachers who fiddled with them thirty years before! For seven years I've broken out in a sweat every time I think about it; imagining I'm going to get a court summons. I tell you it's ruined my life and it's all my fault. I tricked the poor kid and abused his trust.'
'Did you tell him that?'
'No. I was going to, but then thought if I admitted I'd done it he'd sue me. I'm a fucking wimp.'
There was nothing to say, so nothing was said for several minutes.
'I've also had an unwelcome blast from the past today,' Rex Trovert said quietly. 'Did you see that old crone who sat beside the Boss? She was his secretary when I first arrived. Hoity-toity bitch. It was my first teaching post so I tried to make a good impression by offering to drive her home after the first of Noall's long staff meetings. It was raining and she didn't have her car. She invited me in for a thank-you drink, then demanded I screw her!'
'Rather you than me! She looks a hundred now so she must have been ancient then.'
'Fifty-four, she told me.'
'Tell me you're joking.'
'I kid you not! When I refused she threatened to have me fired. Said she'd accuse me of attempted rape and I'd never get another job. I was too innocent to know any different.'
'A bloody dangerous situation. Any man who goes anywhere alone with a woman he doesn't know well, is asking for a lawsuit. They're always believed. So what did you do?'
'I shut my eyes and thought of a Bavarian Gateau. But once wasn't enough. The following week she demanded another. I was on the point of quitting when she disappeared. Suddenly she was gone! I was free and never saw her again—until today. She's got her reward, though. She was a plain Jane then, now she's a really, really ugly old carcass. Luckily, I recognised her and stayed well away. Just looking at her made me feel dirty. Let's go for a swim.'
'No togs.'
'The place is surrounded by two metre high concrete walls, the gate's locked and Sebastian Sanspere's been swimming naked all week at lunchtimes with the boss's approval. Did you see his running gear today? Bet that turned you on.'
'Had a hard-on all afternoon watching him. That body! In the pool he's as lithe as a seal, on the track he's a god.'
'You come at lunchtimes to watch?'
'Of course.'
'He's certainly a great kid.'
'I'd like to lick him all over.'
'Kinky.'
'Bet you do it to your lovely wife.'
'Fee is not seventeen and not a male. Come on! Get your gear off.'
They stripped. Jason Boieluv boasted a sickly paunch, unhealthy sagging skin, limp buttocks and a tiny penis. Rodney thought he'd never seen anything more revolting. Rex Trovert was in better shape, but if he didn't take care, budding love-handles would spoil the effect of smooth, naturally dark skin, narrow hips and wide shoulders.
'Well, I'm going for a swim,' Rex sighed, diving cleanly into the water.
Sebastian's face was white from shock. 'That means…' he muttered.
'Wait here,' Rodney whispered, lowering himself down the side wall of the filter room into the enclosure, out of sight of the swimmers. He slithered round to the front, grabbed their clothes, tossed them over the wall, and clambered back himself, joining Sebastian who'd already scrambled down. Gathering everything up they raced back to the main building, dumped their plunder behind the door of the Principal's study, then retreated to the almost deserted car park and Rodney's Mercedes Sports.
'Can I come with you?' Sebastian couldn't face going home to his mother. He had to think seriously about what he'd just heard.
'Where are your bike and clothes?'
'The bike's locked and safe enough. This is all I wore today.'
'You cycled to school and spent the day wearing nothing but those two flimsy flaps of cloth with your bum practically hanging out?'
Sebastian looked confused. 'Yes? Why not?'
'What're you wearing under it?'
Sebastian pulled his shorts down to expose his yellow pouch.
'Very nice. Aren't you worried about getting raped?'
'I ride too fast. Get some good wolf whistles though.'
'I'll bet. Okay, get in.'
At that moment, Reginald ran up.
'Rodney! What're you doing here?'
'Visiting my old school.'
Reginald stared at Sebastian in dismay. 'Are you two…?'
'No, Reginald, we aren't.' Rodney gave a sudden laugh. 'Don't tell me! Sebastian is the guy you're up to the eyeballs in love with!'
Reginald blushed furiously.
Sebastian seemed not to have heard. He just stood staring into space, face creased into a frown.
'Well, you've good taste and we'd love to stay and chat, but we're going back to my place.'
'Can I come with you?'
He looked so sad Rodney let Reginald fold himself into the space behind the two bucket seats. Like an automaton, Sebastian lowered himself into the passenger seat and ten minutes later they pulled into the basement garage of a modern three story block of flats. Upstairs, Sebastian sat in silence in an armchair while Rodney took Reginald into the kitchen and told him what they'd just done while making coffee. Their voices and laughter passed over Sebastian as he pondered the revelation that Rex Trovert was his father. It explained his olive skin, almost black hair and brown eyes, but what else did it mean? He felt happy and nervous and sick. At least his father liked him. And he'd always enjoyed his classes. And he ran the library brilliantly.
The other two returned with their coffees, sat on the sofa and chattered.
Sebastian stared across the city to the sea and wondered what to do.
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