Sebastian Sanspere - 1. Exhibition

On arriving home from school Sebastian checked the mailbox, removed the slim brown envelope, raced indoors, shut himself in his room and removed his clothes. With a grin of anticipation he tore open the package and extracted a flimsy bit of silky yellowish fabric attached to similar coloured strings. Having worked out which string went between his legs and which around his waist, he tucked his penis over his scrotum and placed the material on top. It was too small! Unless… he tightened the strings and was relieved to discover it easily stretched to cover everything. Standing back he gazed in awe at his reflection.

‘Cool,’ he whispered, deciding it was just the male equivalent of a woman’s tits in a bra, so there was no reason for anyone to object. The only thing he didn’t like were the tufts of black hair sticking out around the edges, so he ran his electric razor over the offending bits. ‘You're sleek and svelte,’ he told the youth in the mirror, who looked exactly as he’d hoped. Tall, slim and sexy; the pale gold pouch a perfect complement for his olive skin.

Sebastian had given up wondering why he hated wearing clothes. His whole life he’d always been naked at home, simply because it felt good. His mother, who wanted her son to remain innocent for as long as possible, had encouraged him, telling their few visitors that it was not only healthier but there were fewer dirty clothes to wash. Recently, however, he’d begun wondering if it wasn’t just an innocent pleasure but something darker. A character fault. Was he an exhibitionist?

But descriptions of exhibitionists in dictionaries and on the internet didn’t describe him, because he certainly did not want to shock anyone! Quite the opposite! He just wanted the right to dress or undress as he chose because it gave him pleasure and hurt no one. It was also an act of rejection, he had decided after delving into a summary of Freudian theory. He was rejecting the habits and behaviour of the people he disliked. Why he didn’t like them he had no firm idea, but he didn’t. He simply preferred his own company.

What he really wanted and needed was a trusted friend with whom he could share his secret hopes, thoughts and fears. But he certainly wouldn’t find that person if he copied the behaviour of people he didn’t admire.

After a restless night filled with unsettling dreams, followed by a never-ending day at school, he cycled to a small public swimming pool on the other side of Cairns to avoid running into anyone he knew.

There were few swimmers, but the ten-metre wide grassed area was dotted with half naked, mostly overweight bodies sunbathing, picnicking under trees, or standing around hoping to be admired. Females were scantily clad; males wore bulky shorts from navel to knee. He was going to look like a hummingbird among toads.

The thought buoyed him, but to be on the safe side Sebastian asked the pool guard if it was OK to wear backless togs. The fellow shrugged and pointed out three bare bummed women in thongs, sunbathing while their toddlers played.

‘You couldn’t look worse than those great fat arses,’ he sneered. ‘If anyone complains I’ll tell them to bugger off.’ He looked Sebastian up and down and asked, ‘You on your own?’

‘Yes.’

‘We’ve had a bit of stealing so put your gear behind the door of my office.’ He indicated a blue door to the right of the changing rooms.

‘Thanks! I owe you! It’s a nuisance having to watch stuff all the time.’

‘No worries.’ The guard moved on.

To prevent chaos, those who wanted to swim lengths were only allowed to use the four lanes in the centre, in one direction, from the diving board to the changing rooms. They then had to get out and walk back to dive or jump in again. Sebastian bravely wandered along the side of the pool, pulses thumping wildly, senses acutely aware of wolf-whistles from a gaggle of girls, stares of incomprehension from teen-aged boys, and the spotlight gaze of dozens of older men and women.

Despite a very audible, ‘Fucking exhibitionist!’ from somewhere near the middle of the sunbathers, he felt more alive than ever before in his life. Proudly unassuming. Posture perfect. Innocently wholesome. After bouncing unpretentiously a couple of times on the low diving board he dived neatly, swam to the other end and hauled himself out; giving his audience a view of firm bronzed buttocks.

The pool guard was standing in front of the office. He beckoned Sebastian over.

‘Have you stuffed that pouch?’ he asked with a grin.

Sebastian shook his head nervously, staring at his reflection in the mirror-glass window behind the guard. The pouch had contracted and his genitals looked as if they’d been shrink-wrapped. His heart shifted into his neck where it pounded wildly.

‘Is it rude? I don’t want to offend anyone.’

‘Of course not. There’s nothing more pathetic than a guy in a pouch with nothing to fill it. You're making me jealous.’

Sebastian took a quick look at the guard’s substantial package barely held in check by a red speedo, and grinned. ‘Well, I’m jealous of your physique.’

The guard laughed, flexed his biceps, winked and wandered away.

Against the diamond-wire boundary fence under a gaudy umbrella, a large woman of indeterminate age fixed her eyes on Sebastian as he sauntered a second time to the diving board and did a perfect pike. The next time he walked past she sat up, waved and screeched. ‘Sebastian! Sebastian!’ making a hundred heads turn first to her and then to the almost naked young man who suddenly wished he was wearing a wet-suit. He recognised her immediately. Massive Martha. Until this year Sebastian had delivered evening papers for her News agency. She screeched again. She’d been his boss for four years so ignoring her wasn’t an option and he realised he didn’t want to; this was his excuse to get in among the crowd. While picking his way between curious men, mothers, children and sunbathing teenagers, he occasionally looked down and winked at eyes glued to his groin.

Martha, solid and squat in a black bikini that made no attempt to cover everything bikinis were supposed to, was ensconced on an enormous towel, propping her bulk against the wire of the boundary fence. A profusion of solid flesh, straight grey hair hacked off at the level of her earlobes, aggressive mouth and determined jaw gave no inkling of the heart of gold she insisted lay beating in the depths of her beefy bosom. She turned to the elderly hippie beside her.

‘Lysander, this handsome young man is Sebastian—he was my best paperboy for years.’

Lysander held out a limp hand. As skeletal and feeble as Martha was robust, his grey hippie ponytail and ridiculous earring made him seem much older than he was, while a sagging faded speedo exaggerated the scrawniness of thighs and buttocks. A warm voice and smile compensated for the wrinkles, so Sebastian took the proffered hand and waggled it about.

‘Sit!’ Martha ordered, patting the towel between her and Lysander.

Sebastian sat, and immediately wished he hadn't. This was not what he'd come to the pool for.

‘Lysander is an anthropologist,’ Martha announced proudly.

‘Good for him,’ Sebastian nodded, having not the faintest notion what an anthropologist was. Deciding to make the most of his situation, he leaned back on his elbows, the better to display his charms.

‘I want to congratulate you,’ Lysander said in a husky voice, eyes fixed on the well-filled pouch.

Sebastian frowned at the older man. ‘What for?’ He asked sharply, hoping the fellow was only a voyeur and not expecting to touch the display.

‘One of my fields of study is expressions of male sexuality in different cultures. It’s an extension of Margaret Meade’s work in the Pacific Islands.’

Sebastian nodded in incomprehension.

‘Did you know that more than half of all Australian men are more or less impotent, and eighty-two percent feel insecure about their bodies and sexuality?’ he asked, reluctantly shifting his gaze to Sebastian’s chest.

Sebastian shook his head.

‘This insecurity and inability to achieve an erection translates into anger and depression. Most people don’t realise how this, and female reactions to the problem makes men feel so frustrated and angry it can lead to wife-beating and rape.’

‘Gosh.’ Sebastian wondered what this had to do with the present situation.

‘Did you know that boys do much better in single-sex schools than in co-educational schools?’ Lysander looked up owlishly.

‘No,’ Sebastian replied, awed that someone had studied such things, still wondering what it had to do with him. ‘I go to a single sex school.’

Ignoring the interruption Lysander ploughed on. ‘Male-self-image-problems are caused by the American fashion for Bermuda shorts that conceal thighs and the shape of genitals. Most men feel naked wearing anything less than knee-length board shorts! Lethal things that fill with water, prevent boys from learning to swim properly, and cause several drownings a year.’ He paused for a much needed breath. Tar-filled lungs being no use to an orator.

‘When I was young we went bare-chested all summer, swam in speedos and were proud of the bulges in our groins!’ Audible sniggers failed to stop the flow of unwanted information. ‘You, Sebastian, are not like those emotionally deprived excuses for men,’ he gazed vaguely around. ‘You proudly display your manhood and the muscles that allow humans to stand upright.’

He paused as if for applause.

Sebastian was too embarrassed to speak or listen properly. Titters and open laughter from spectators increased his discomfort. If Lysander epitomised sexy manhood in middle-age, then Sebastian hoped he’d die young!

‘Thanks,’ he said softly. ‘But not everyone agrees with you. Someone over there yelled that I was an exhibitionist.’

‘Ridiculous!’ Lysander snorted. ‘Perverts are people who think men should look sexless!’ He glowered around. ‘The perverted belief that nude is rude is the reason so many men post naked pictures of themselves on the internet. They daren’t strip off in public—they aren’t brave like you, Sebastian. Those moral retards are too stupid to realise it is their censorship that is creating the demand for pornography!’ He glared at a fat young fellow in long orange board-shorts, who gave him the finger.

‘Everyone likes the Olympics, but don’t realise the Greeks did sport naked!’ He coughed again ostentatiously scratching his groin.

‘I take wrestling.’ Sebastian muttered.

‘Naked?’ Lysander demanded.

‘Of course not.’

‘But you'd like to.’

‘No. It’s only me and the teacher. The other guys prefer karate.’

Their growing audience giggled audibly. Sebastian wanted to dissolve. This was not the sort of attention he was seeking!

‘I’m jealous of you,’ Martha interrupted. ‘I’d love to wander round bare chested, but haven’t your courage.’

As she was already exposing at least three times as much flesh as Sebastian, he thought she was being somewhat greedy.

‘Be a dear and fix my cushion,’ she demanded, leaning forward.

Sebastian got to his knees and adjusted the cushion to better to protect her back from the wires. As Martha lay back he slipped a loose strap of her bra over a hook-shaped wire protruding from the fence.

Desperate for an excuse to leave the unlovely pair, Sebastian noticed a young man in a white speedo beside the diving board. ‘I’ve just seen a friend over there I promised to meet. I’ve got to go.’

‘I feel like a swim too,’ Martha announced. ‘Pull me up.' She extended her hand.

Sebastian grabbed it and heaved violently. She careered forward, tumbling onto a young couple immediately in front. Her bra remained on the fence.

Pretending not to notice, Sebastian leapt agilely over recumbent bodies to the pool and confronted the young man. ‘Please pretend you know me and we’re friends,’ he pleaded. ‘I have to escape those people.’

‘Only if you kiss me,’ the fellow replied with a grin, dropping a casual arm across Sebastian’s shoulders

‘What! Here?’

‘No, underwater. Come on.’ He dived in.

Sebastian followed and the kiss was brief, but sufficiently crazy to excite him.

They surfaced, breathless.

‘I’m Rodney.’

‘Sebastian.’

They swam for a bit then lay on the warm concrete as far from Martha as possible. Sebastian’s usual manic desire to communicate soon had Rodney laughing.

‘Well, she said she wanted to go topless.’

He was surprised when Rodney asked about his school and showed interest in the athletic sports the following week. Pleasure turned to nervousness when asked if he had a girlfriend.

‘No,’

‘A boyfriend?’

Sebastian’s heart pumped. The world stood still. His throat constricted. Was Rodney a gay basher? They were everywhere. ‘No.’

‘You're too good looking to be het, are you gay?’

‘Are you?’

Rodney just laughed and gathered up his things. ‘Look for me at the Sports Day, I’ll come and cheer you on.’

Sebastian stared after him. Mind a blank. What had that been about?

Gay. The word was meaningless to him. He wasn’t ignorant, he’d read magazines, surfed the internet for sexy pictures of guys, knew what the word meant to other people… but it didn’t describe him. No single word described him! He was a son and student who loved reading, dancing, singing, acting, sprinting, sunbathing wrestling and swimming. Who hated team sports and individual competitions unless he was sure of winning. He was a bit of a loner and didn’t seem to have much in common with most other students. He enjoyed exams and looking after the few plants in their garden–flowers as well as vegetables. He’d enjoyed woodwork. He’d also made himself a pair of shorts on his mother’s sewing machine. He didn’t object to girls, just never thought about them. He wasn’t sexually attracted to any of the boys at school. Well, one, but he’d never told him and they’d done nothing in the four years they'd known each other. Sometimes he wanked when thinking about Mr. Achilles in his Lycra wrestling gear. He shook his head. Gay didn’t describe him! He was just a normal seventeen year-old who found a few men sexy.

Some kids used gay as an insult, but they also used Boong, Wog, Nig, egghead and four-eyes as insults. So as Sebastian’s neighbours were Indians and he liked them; his best friend was an asocial, super-intelligent eco freak; and the school principal wore glasses to read, he’d always imagined there was no logic in any of the insults. The only girls he saw were usually giggling and whispering on street corners, and none of the girls at the pool today had interested him. Rodney was sexy, and Sebastian wouldn’t mind kissing him again. And the guard. He was sort of tough and rough with broad shoulders and a tattoo on his biceps. He was sexier than Rodney.

Sebastian entered the office feeling somehow deflated. The guard was standing staring out the window and Sebastian realised he must have been looking at him.

‘Is that guy your boyfriend?’

‘No, we've just met.’

‘He’s sexy.’

‘Not as sexy as you,’ Sebastian blurted, breaking into a nervous sweat. The guy would probably thump him. One day he’d make a mistake and say something stupid like that to a nutcase with a flick knife that he'd bury in his chest after hacking off his balls. ‘Just joking,’ he added hastily. ‘Great tat.’ He added, indicating the seahorse tattoo on the guard’s biceps.

‘My name’s Ari.’

‘Sebastian’

‘There’s a butterfly on my bum if you wanna see it?’ The grin was cheeky.

A swarm of butterflies were flapping in Sebastian’s throat and chest.

‘Okay.’

Ari kicked the door shut, then instead of just pulling down the top of his togs, he pulled them off, tossed them into the corner and twisted to show the tiny butterfly. Sebastian touched it lightly. Ari took his hand and wrapped it round his erection. Sebastian grinned at another wank fantasy coming true. Within seconds his pouch was off and they faced each other, touching, stroking, exploring. With lips locked in a kiss that Sebastian hoped would never end, they lay on the cool tiled floor and brought each other to orgasm.

‘Gee, Ari, that was my first time and…and it was just so great I…I…thanks.’

‘My pleasure. Come again.’ Ari’s smile clearly questioned Sebastian’s claim to virginity, but he wasn’t stupid enough to spoil the moment.