Mortaumal - 10. High School

Video footage placed Mort well away from Miss Takyn when she snagged her high heel in the brown cloth and tripped. His interviewers were undivided on the question of nudity, and equally united in condemnation of Mort’s blithe assertion that according to what he’d learned at the school, she was lucky because now she was with her god in heaven and didn’t have to wait like everyone else till she was old and ugly. Marshall’s presence at both interviews tempered discussions and ensured Mort was not blamed for anything.

As he had never liked the teacher, and knew no one who would have been upset by her death to whom he might offer sympathy, he didn’t attend the funeral, to the relief of the principal, as there might have been a riot from all the pupils whose chances of stardom had been foiled when the concert was cancelled.

There was no difficulty in obtaining sick leave for the traumatised boy for the three weeks until the end of term, during which he sat an entrance test for the local High School and turned thirteen. When informed that Mort did not consider his birth was something to celebrate, Marshall discreetly forgot about it, agreeing that the time for celebration would come when he found his father.

By the end of the holidays Mort was older, wiser, better informed and more secure in himself than at any time in his life, due in part to Marshal’s library, a fair amount of which was now stored in his head, and self-defence sessions with Kim where he'd learned a number of instant responses that should cause so much pain and damage to the attacker he’d have time to run for it, or pick up a rock or stick and defend himself while screaming or blowing a whistle – if he had one.

High School, he expected, would be no different from primary school, although with nearly a thousand students he might at least be able to find a friend.

It was certainly different! More organised, more regimented, more conformist, less tolerant, more racist, more bigoted, and alarmingly homophobic. Most younger female teachers seemed a bit scatty and too willing to please, while the older women seemed to be tight-lipped critics of youth.

Regardless of age, the male teachers appeared either maniacally ‘butch’ or nerds who avoided eye contact.

Boys were called by their surnames, apparently to indicate they had no independent worth, being merely part of a family whose worth had already been decided by the behaviour of previous pupils of that name. Girls were addressed by their first name, perhaps because when they married, and it was assumed they all would, they’d lose their surname so they might as well get used to it.

Boys were careful not to show the slightest interest in other boys, or music [apart from current pop] or art, or dancing, or theatre, or reading [except for sports magazines]. On the other hand, they were careful to appear aroused by girls who giggled to attract attention, showed their cleavages, wore makeup, jewellery, made cow eyes at boys, and were constantly doing their hair or checking their appearance in windows and mirrors.

Boys who were ‘real men’ threw balls at each other during interval, mock wrestled, aggressively occupied the parallel bars, and showed off to the girls. The rest gathered in cautious groups, whispered together as if worried they’d be found guilty of something, and discussed the latest computer game, cult movie, or non-sporting hobby. Group members seemed to have been friends at their previous school and did not welcome newcomers.

Girls were either goody-goods who sat up straight, laughed at the teacher’s jokes, always appeared interested, had their hands up before a question was asked, provided exactly the answers expected, and never asked unexpected questions. Or they were vacant dollies to whom school was a prison sentence to get out of at the earliest opportunity so they could become glamorous film stars or super models. In the classroom they were bored and sullen, passing notes, whispering scandal, or flashing their legs to the boys.

Mort kept out of trouble by smiling slightly when his classmates were stupid, crude, ignorant and rude, and by pretending he wasn’t interested in even the most absorbing lessons by not answering teachers questions even though he knew the answers, and nodding his head as if he really did think the bleached little tart showing her knickers was sexy. He further cemented his image by spending lunch and interval attached to a group of ‘normal’ boys sitting on the grass, instead of checking out books in the library, while pretending he knew nothing and had no opinions that differed from theirs if asked.

He was bored. He was chairman of the bored.

In the second week at assembly the Deputy Principal announced the formation of an Athletics Club. Anyone interested to go to the Gymnasium after school.

Mort and about sixty students of both sexes and all ages gathered in the gymnasium. The Sports teacher said if they were not prepared to train hard after school twice a week, take part in Saturday meets with other clubs, and compete in the inter-school athletics championships at the end of the season, then they should leave immediately. More than half left. Those who remained were divided into male and female, which seemed odd to Mort who’d been reminded several times already by female teachers, irritated at what they perceived as sexist remarks, that girls were just as good as boys in everything and must be treated as equals. The two student Athletics Captains were introduced, then the teacher wandered off.

Monica was an impressive young woman with her hair tied back in a sort of bun. She smiled at everyone and said she was happy to see so many athletes. She sat at a desk on one side of the space and wrote the girls’ names and preferences into an official-looking book.

Dudley, a tall, solid senior with pale skin, reddish brown hair and massive shoulders, stared around vaguely, then sat at a desk on the other side, scanning each face briefly before noting each boy’s name, age and class. Mort switched his gaze from the Captain to a much better looking, tall, lean, deeply tanned senior with bleached bristle hair who was lounging against the wall beside Dudley. He couldn’t help wondering if there was some special quality that made one person a captain and the other not.

The handsome guy caught his eye and Mort flushed, hoping he wasn’t annoyed. Marshall was always warning him not to stare so openly. The guy winked, sending a shiver through Mort’s groin, then levered himself off the wall and came to stand close behind him.

‘Mortaumal,’ he said so softly no one else could hear, ‘you’ve been staring at Dudley... do you think he’s handsome?’

Mort giggled and whispered back, ‘No way! How’d you know my name?’

‘I heard you tell Duddles.’

‘You’re the handsome one, and your hair looks great! It’s like a golden halo. Can I touch it?’

‘Not here, what would the neighbours think?’

‘That I was lucky.’

‘Or I was.’

‘How come Dudley’s the Captain and not you? He’s so boring.’

‘But reliable. Teachers trust that sort because that’s what they’re like themselves, boring, incompetent, fatuous wankers. They were promoted beyond their merit at school, so think they’re born to rule, and choose similar types to lord it over the rest of us.’

Mort chuckled. ‘I like you. What’s your name?’

‘Sergei.’ His grin inflamed Mort’s already aroused libido.

‘The first practice session will be on the running track tomorrow after school,’ Dudley announced as if it was a detention. ‘Bring your gear and don’t be late!’

Sergei collected his bicycle and wheeled it to the gates, accompanied by Mort.

‘When can I touch your hair?’

Sergei laughed. He had excellent teeth. ‘My girlfriend likes running her hand through it.’

‘Mort couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘You’ve got a girlfriend?’

‘Of course.’

‘Why?’

‘That’s an odd question!’ Sergei gazed suspiciously at his young inquisitor.

‘What I mean is, you look... sort of... it’s hard to explain. You seem too good for any girls I’ve seen in this place. They’re mostly scatty bimbos.’

‘Some are OK. The thing is, if I want to go to parties or dances I have to have a girlfriend.’

Mort shook his head. ‘I don’t think I’d want to go to parties if girls were there, they just gossip and giggle and spoil things—at least that’s what they were like in the schools I’ve been to. Aren’t there parties for boys only?’

‘Not when you’re at school. You’ll have to wait till you’ve left.’ He stopped, looked around to check if anyone was watching, then asked, ‘Still want to touch my spikes?’

‘Yes please.’

Sergei leaned forward and Mort placed his hands lightly on top. ‘They tickle my palms. It feels great. I wish I had hair like this.’

‘I wouldn’t like the competition.’

‘I could never be as handsome as you.’

‘As the fox taught the crow; people who flatter, live at the expense of those who believe them. You don’t fool me, young man. I know what you’re up to.’

Something in Sergei’s manner sent Mort’s heart pounding. He wasn’t sure himself what he was up to, he only knew he wanted to spend more time with this guy. As nonchalantly as he could manage he asked, ‘Do you like what I’m up to?’

‘So far.’

Which didn’t clarify anything. They continued walking, chatting easily about keeping fit, running and self-defence. At the gate, Mort asked impulsively, ‘Can we often talk like this?’

Sergei was already astride his bike. ‘Unfortunately, no. I’m a senior and you’re a junior. If people thought we were friends they’d assume we were queer and we’d be dead meat. Sorry.’ He started to ride off, then stopped, put one foot on the ground and turned his body. ‘I throw the javelin and discus, and don’t trust anyone but me with them, so I usually take charge of the rest of the gear after practice as well; feel like assisting me?’

‘Yeah! That’d be great!’

‘Good.’ Sergei thought for a second. ‘At the practice tomorrow I’ll ask if anyone wants to be my assistant. I’ll make it sound dull and time consuming, but in case anyone else wants the job, make sure you’re ready so that the second I finish asking the question you stick your hand up, then I can say you were first and no one will guess it’s a set up.’

‘Brilliant!’

There was no competition for the position of general dogsbody in the Athletics Club, and no raised eyebrows when Sergei and Mort spent time together in the small storage room behind the grandstand; sorting, cleaning and preparing tapes, batons, hurdles, shot-put balls and other gear. On that first afternoon after checking the gear, they sat and faced each other on a couple of old mats they’d brought over from the gymnastics store.

Mort spoke first. ‘Why did you wink at me?’

‘I’ve been thinking about that. Because I felt as if I already knew you... as if we shared something. I can’t explain it. I spend most of my time fending off people, not letting them get to know me because I don’t trust them, and then I bloody well winked at the prettiest boy in the room. Crazy. What about you? How did you dare to ask if you could touch my hair? Don’t you know how fragile young male egos are? Anyone else would have thumped you, snarled that you were a fucking queer and demanded you be dumped from the team.’

Mort shrugged. ‘It’s the same with me. I just knew, inside me, I could trust you. I’ve had three good friends and it was the same... I knew instantly I liked them. If you’d turned nasty I’d have made a joke about it, said I was just testing or something.’

‘So, did you really want to touch my hair, or were you just testing the waters, so to speak?’

‘Oh, I really wanted to. I want to touch all of you. I’d like to...’ He stopped, blushed and looked at his feet.

‘Is there a quid pro quo for me?’

‘Quid pro what?’

‘What do I get in exchange?’

‘What would you like?’

‘Well… surely I should be allowed the same liberties as you? That’ll make you careful not to do anything you wouldn’t like done to yourself.’

‘Oh! I’d never do anything bad!’ Mort was embarrassed. Then turned red, felt hot and lost for words. Heart pounding he looked into Sergei’s eyes. ‘OK.’

‘OK what?’

‘Whatever I do, you can do.’

With a slow smile, Sergei ran long fingers through Mort’s shoulder length black hair, holding it up and letting it fall softly. ‘This is too beautiful to cut. It frames your face and makes you look handsome, so if you cut it short our deal’s off.’

Mort grinned his pleasure, reached out and stroked Sergei’s cheek and jaw. ‘It feels like sandpaper, rough and sexy. I hope I have a heavy beard like you one day, but I haven’t even got any hair on my…’ he stopped, suddenly realising what he was saying. Sergei would think he was rude.

‘Your balls? That’s good. Sleek and smooth is cool.’ He reached forward and stroked Mort’s cheek. ‘Like a baby’s bottom.’

They both laughed.

‘Do I have to ask before touching you?’

‘Ah... Rules. There must be rules because we’re doing something that could end badly if others find out. Rule one, never to be broken, is: Never treat each other as friends in public or at school. I’m seventeen, four years older than you, so it would ring the alarm bells of every god-fearing person if they guessed we liked each other. OK?’

‘Yes, it’s sensible, but when are we not in public?’

‘Here after practise, and… we’ll find times. Now, Rule two: We both must check that the door is locked with the key left in the lock so we’re not disturbed. And Rule three, we don’t have to ask before touching, but only you may initiate a new type of touching, because if I do something you’re not comfortable with, then we’ll have a problem because you’ll think you have to go along with it because I’m older.’

Mort considered this. ‘Fair enough. I’m really ignorant. You’re the first man I’ve wanted to touch like this.’ With a nervous smile he lightly brushed the outside of Sergei’s thighs with his fingertips.

Sergei smiled and leaned back on his elbows.

Gaining confidence, Mort shuffled closer, knelt beside his friend’s chest, leaned across and lightly kissed him before sitting back to see the result.

Sergei smiled dreamily. ‘So that’s what it’s supposed to feel like. My girlfriend wants to do it all the time, but this is the first time I’ve enjoyed it. Do it again?’

‘Serious?’

‘Yep.’

They lay side by side kissing and fondling. After a while, both lay flat on their backs gazing up at the ceiling, arms and thighs touching.

‘It’s much nicer than I expected,’ Mort said.

‘Mmm... I’ve still got a hard on.’

‘Can I...?’

‘You don’t have to ask, remember.’

Within seconds, shorts, singlets and running shoes were in a pile and by the time they’d satisfied their curiosity, including how far each could ejaculate, it was late and they had to hurry.

At home over dinner Mort told Marshall everything. The pleasure was rekindled in the telling.

‘Sounds exactly what you’ve been wanting,’ Marshall remarked with an amused nod. ‘You’re lucky.’

‘I am.’

‘And you’ll see him twice a week after athletics practice.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Want to invite him here?’

Mort thought this over. ‘He’s a senior. If anyone finds out, we’re dead. And I like doing sexy things with him, but we’ve not much in common. He’s more into sports stuff than me, and he likes parties and dancing. I don’t because I feel as though I don’t exist if there are more than two or three people in a room. He’s popular, I’m not. It’s the first time for both of us and I reckon he’s going to lose interest in me pretty soon.’

‘Does that worry you?’

Mort laughed. ‘Of course not! I feel so different now I know I’m not an ugly oddball that no one would ever want to touch. I’ve already seen a boy in my class who’s a bit like me.’

‘You mean gay?’

‘No! I hate that word. Leo did too. He said if you tell people you’re gay they’ll assume you’re a scatty queen or prancing fairy who wears women’s clothes at home. I’m…’ Mort thought for a bit then smiled. ‘I think these are Leo’s actual words; I’m a sexual animal, like most other living creatures, and, like about ten percent of males I prefer to be sexy with my own sex.’

‘Yes, that sounds like Leo. I do miss him.’

‘Me too,’ Mort said sadly, and sniffed. ‘I miss Fystie even more. Even though he wasn’t queer we understood each other in ways Sergei and I never would. We’d bore each other to death if we spent much time together.’

Mort easily retained his place in the middle of the class academically, and soon changed his opinion of most of his teachers and fellow students, including many of the girls, deciding they weren’t such a bad bunch after all. The athletics team did reasonably well in the Saturday meets, coming third in the inter-secondary schools competition. During the season Mort won seven, hundred-metre races, and six two-hundred-metre events, so he was satisfied. When the holidays arrived he shook hands with Sergei and said it had been fun.

The classmate he’d told Marshall about was the same age as Mort. Quiet and tall with dead straight light brown hair, an incipient moustache he had to shave every third day, runner’s legs, wary hazel eyes and an extraordinary ability to be overlooked. When teams were picked for playground games, no one thought of Zoltan, who was not interested anyway. When teachers chose students for jobs, Zoltan was always left reading quietly in the back corner. Mort, however, had noticed the way Zoltan looked at him and began sitting beside him in class.

Before long they’d share a complicit wink and slip a hand into the other’s nearest pocket, keeping a record of who was first to get a hard on. Zoltan was the first to remove the lining of his pocket, making for a much more sensitive experience. They discovered a surprising number of similarities of taste—Science fiction, concern for nature, walking, the bombastic music of Tchaikovsky and Handel, greasy fish and chips, mucking around in the water.

In the new term they both took up Cross-country running as a way of avoiding thuggish team sports like rugby and league. The teacher, Mr. Caprine, a lean, long-legged, unsmiling but not unfriendly man in his late thirties who taught physics, would hand each runner a map and compass, discuss possible hazards, check they had water bottles and whistles, running shoes and shorts, then squeeze ten boys into his Land Rover and drive to a nearby forestry reserve or national park.

They were supposed to remain in pairs, although they seldom did, being rabid individualists, and no times were recorded because Mr. Caprine reckoned competition destroyed the intrinsic pleasure to be gained from an activity. The routes were always circular; starting and finishing in the same place, and the students took off at two-minute intervals wearing the regulation brief nylon shorts for freedom of leg movement, and light, strong jogging shoes. As the routes were usually under the shade of trees, the boys copied their teacher and ran shirtless so as not to overheat.

Mr. Caprine aroused neither positive nor negative emotions in his charges. Out of sight, out of mind would describe their attitude to him, and that suited him perfectly. He liked teaching, but craved privacy. Other staff members thought him standoffish and left him alone, which was a relief. He only ever felt truly alive when running fast and free through nature, over rocks, along beaches, across barren tracts of land, along faint forest tracks.

About a quarter of an hour after the last runner took off, he would lock his vehicle and follow to make sure no one was in trouble.

The runners had an hour to get back to the van. How they filled in those sixty minutes was up to them—the teacher hoped they’d take some time to sit and contemplate nature, but mostly they simply ran flat out, then relaxed near the Land Rover until everyone else returned.

Mort and Zoltan always ran together as fast as they could to give them time to find a hidden spot and jerk each other off.

Marshall agreed to a sleepover. Zoltan enjoyed the meal and was impressed with the apartment, but wouldn’t like having no real garden. He and Marshall got on well, and he was jealous of Mort’s private bathroom. On one of the weekend camping trips he shared a pup tent with Mort. Marshall was pleased to have a tent on his own for a change.

On the fifth cross-country run, the two lads found a pleasant private spot as usual in which to relax. Mort was lying with his eyes closed on his back groaning softly while Zoltan performed an expert fellatio. He opened his eyes and Mr. Caprine was standing directly behind Zoltan with an odd expression on his face. He put a finger to his lips, winked, then with a smile, vanished. It was the first time Mort had seen him smile. The knowledge that he’d been watched by someone who found it amusing made him feel sexier and the orgasm was better than usual. He decided not to tell Zoltan because he’d imagine all sorts of problems.

Back at the meeting place and the following days in class, both teacher and pupil acted as if nothing unusual had occurred—which, Marshall assured him, was the case. Clearly, Mr. Caprine was a fine man.

‘My mother’s not like Marshall,’ Zoltan warned after having invited Mort for a return sleepover.

‘Not surprising, seeing she’s a woman. What’s your father like?

‘Me, I suppose. Haven’t seen him for three years. He and Mum split when she told him he was a messy, irrational and useless heathen. I went to live with him for a year but his new wife got up my nose—or I got up hers. So I was sent back to Mum who made it plain she preferred life without me.’

‘Did she tell you that?’

‘Yes. At the airport while we were waiting to collect my luggage. She hoped I hadn’t picked up my father’s slack habits, and if I didn’t want to be put up for auction I’d go to church with her and do as I was told.’

‘She speaks her mind.’

‘Yes, and often makes people very upset. So you’re prepared. Try not to be upset if she says something that makes you feel rotten. Think of it as a variation on Tourette's syndrome—where a person suddenly swears and uses filthy words.’

‘I’ll try to be understanding. Meanwhile, you’re at her mercy?’

‘Yeah. I can do whatever I want, as long as it’s what she wants.’

‘Poor you.’

‘Sounds worse than it is. Usually she’s not interested enough to care. Then suddenly she’ll decide to be a parent and I have to toe the line. She’s been OK for a while; I hope it lasts. She owns a health food store in the city. Has half a dozen employees who’ve been with her for years, so she can’t be a total nutter, it’s just that I’d like you to come for a sleepover, but I don’t want you to be shocked if she says something horrible.’

‘About what?’

‘You never know what will set her off. A while ago it was cleanliness and she’d inspect me after every bath.’

‘So that’s why you smell so nice.’

‘Do I?’

‘Mmm...can’t wait to smell your sexy armpits.’

‘Fuck, the bell’s just gone and now I’ve got a boner! Can’t hide it in these shorts.’