Young, Gay and Scared - 15. Chapter 15

15.1

For several weeks now Ryan concentrated on getting his Bronze Medallion. Because he’s passed his Surf Rescue Certificate, his course requirements for the Bronze were eased. The physical test required him to swim 400 meters in under nine minutes which he passed easily. Tony tutored him on academic issues, so in passing the final test without any difficulty, he became an accredited Bronze Medallion holder. Then one Saturday morning, before he went on surf patrol, the Club Administrator handed him a letter bearing his name. Opening it, he understood why the letter had been sent to the Club and not at home . . . it came from Gus via Long bay jail and read.

G’day mate, I wanted to write you before, but I’ve spent some time in hospital. I’m OK now, well, for the time being. You must be disappointed with me, but you also know I’m a homosexual with a high sex drive. You did warn me I know, but that Friday night I just had to well, go looking. Of course, you like girls, so you wouldn’t understand. That’s why I respect you because you didn’t judge me and stayed a good friend. I only hope I can still remain a friend.

They really stood on me to name names, but I wouldn’t; I kept mum even after they offered a more lenient sentence. I reckon they was pissed off at me, so when I got to jail they again wanted me to spill me guts. When I refused yet again, they bashed me up real good. I didn’t say nothing because all the homo friends I got are decent blokes. I can’t write and tell them not to worry because the screws here would get their names. They monitor all me mail.

So you go and have a great life Ryan, marry some girl, and have lots of little babies. Maybe they’ll allow me visitors soon, so you can visit if ya wants. I’d rather yer didn’t boyo, cause this ain’t a nice place. I’ve got good memories of our friendship and hope when I get out, we can continue where we left off.

Sorry for being such a loser,

Gus

P.S You can write if ya wants but be careful what you say.

PPS . How’s little Gus??

When he finished reading, he sat back a little confused.

What the fuck? Has he got brain damage? The letter is weird; it don’t make any sense. What is all that stuff about me liking girls and having babies? Gus knows that’ll never . . . Oh, . . . Oh shit, . . . of course, he’s covering for me. He knows the letter will be screened by the screws so he’s making out I’m a hetro. Thanks Gus, that’s a decent thing to do. Also, he’s telling me he never buckled and dobbed anyone in . . . meaning me. Shit, that’s a relief. Now I got his jail address I’ll write to him; he deserves at least that. Life is so bloody cruel ain’t it? I mean cunts like Cree and Cradox can go around hurting people and no one cares. Then they take a great bloke like Gus and shove into jail just because he’s different. It sucks!

Just then he became acutely aware of another male body invading his personal space. There was no doubting the unique aroma of Testosterone which belonged to only one person . . . Tony.

“What gives? You’re looking a bit confused. Can I help?”

“Nah, just me mate from school bringing me up to date with the Shenanigans of some of the other kids. Seems they’re giving the teachers a hard time. No big deal.”

Well, why is he writing a letter when a phone call would be better? I think Ryan is holding something back. Interesting.

“Ok. Now that you’ve qualified for the Bronze, we don’t have to hit the books so hard. It’s a beautiful day so how about we take a different approach. Let’s go for an early run tomorrow morning, then have a shower and then do a bit of study. Whatcha reckon?”

“Hey, that sounds good. The surf looks great and it’s a pity to waist on bookish stuff. Yeah, I can live with that. What time?”

“Say about 6.30 a.m. Sunrise is about 6: 10 so we can do a half hour run, then shower, and then get into the books. We can use the First Aid room, OK?”

“Absolutely. I’m an early riser so no problem. You ready old man? I’ll race yer out to where the waves are breaking. Let’s go!”

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15.2

Merle woke up Sunday morning and realised something wasn’t right. Allowing for childbirth, she’d never been hospitalised and except for the odd cold or two, she enjoyed good health. Now in her early seventies, she had remarkable resilience and enjoyed life fully. But this morning brought some concern. All night she tossed and turned as sleep avoided her; she even heard Ryan get up early to go for his run.

She found breathing difficult and experienced a nagging pain in her chest. By 8:30 she felt a bit better and, hearing her daughter in the kitchen, decided to get up.

“Morning mum how are you?”

“I’m not sure Clare, not sure at all. I didn’t sleep well because I had some difficulty breathing. I hope I’m not coming down with anything. They say these super-bugs are nasty. Be just like me to get a serious one.”

“Well, at your age you have to expect getting sick once in a while. Why don’t you go back to bed after breakfast and rest? If you’re still not feeling well, I’ll get the doctor. What about food, can you eat something?”

“That’s the annoying part, I still have a healthy appetite. I could eat a horse, I could.”

So after breakfast, Merle went back to bed, hoping the rest would make her feel better.

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15.3

He sat on his bike and watched for movement. After an hour his patience succeeded as shadows moved in, out, and around the toilet block, indicating the site ‘worked’. Still relatively early at 10:30 p.m. on a Friday night, the number of visitors build up as the hours passed. His nervous tension increased as he struggled to make the big decision whether to join the throng of males seeking sexual relief.

With Gus in custody for the foreseeable future, Ryan’s healthy sex drive forced him to look for alternatives. Gays in the 1950’s only had three ways of sexual relief; manually, with a partner, or casually. Masturbation bored Ryan, so this left casual sex in the form of locations frequented by men looking for other men. Public toilet blocks suited this purpose even though they were sleazy, smelly, and dangerous. Police used entrapment to prey on males whose only purpose being to hook up with other homosexual males. This is what happened to Gus; he’d offered himself to an undercover cop and then subsequently been arrested for Gross Indecent behaviour.

It presented a terrible risk, but what else could he do. Belmore Park remained the most popular site even after Gus’s arrest. So frustrated were homo males, they knowingly continued frequenting the facility, regardless of risk. Still traumatised by his mate’s arrest and jail term, Ryan, looking for a different location, found one closer to home – his own surf club ablution block. Why? Why his surf club? Well, with agreement from the local council, the surf club maintained the facility, keeping it clean and open after hours as a public service. It became an obvious alternative and became popular after the police entrapment of Gus. Clean, less on the nose, and bigger, because it also contained public showers for use in day time, the ablution block beckoned.

Now after hours of priming himself, all Ryan had to do was take the first step.

C’mon stupid, what’re you waiting for? I need to get off, and this is the only place I feel comfortable in. I don’t need to offer meself straight away, just mosey in and around and see what gives. No copper can touch me if I only visit the place and if they’re all just fat old men, I’ll do a runner. Yeah, that’s right, go in, stay a while in the background, and watch the action – if there’s any, that is. Shit, I’m jumpy.

In one of their talks Gus mentioned his experiences with casual sex. When Ryan wrinkled his nose, Gus reminded him the only options for homo men, besides masturbation, were to either find a reliable partner or do the ‘beats’^[1]. Now he understood the problem Gus outlined.

All day he’d psyched himself up to gain the courage to start trolling. With a decision of, ‘here goes nothing’, he secured his bike, meandered towards the entrance, and stepped inside.

Adjusting his eyes to the dimness, he assessed there must have been ten or fifteen fellas inside. There were eight shower cubicles, each with a vanity door, so he assumed the heavy action played out there. All but four were occupied. Two men were standing at the urinal masturbating each other whilst the rest were standing around waiting for a hook-up.

To his complete amazement, there were no ‘oldies’ or ‘fatties’. Most of the blokes, from what he could see, were in their late twenties or early thirties, and just a few younger than that. He appeared to be the only mid-teen in the room. It encouraged him to find so many like-minded blokes seeking a human connection.

He settled against a bare wall and just waited. A loud groan signalled that someone had orgasmed and soon two young men vacated a shower stall. The atmosphere, the sounds, the smell, and the sight of so many males looking for sex, immediately triggered an erection. He wore only shorts and a tee shirt, so his body displayed nicely. Add his tan and muscled physique, it didn’t take long for someone to notice him. Out of the gloom, a young man appeared and stood in front of him displaying a healthy erection. His heartbeat soared.

Before saying anything Ryan looked his contact over. About early twenties, naked to the waist, tanned, and superbly muscled. He was hot! By now Ryan’s cock dripped with desire and indeed, made a mess of his shorts.

“Wow matey, you really are a spunk. I ‘d like to please you so what d’yer want to do? I’ll suck ya off if that’s what yer wants, or you can fuck me. Your choice.”

Not knowing the process or how to respond, Ryan paused before replying,

“Umm, I don’t wanna cum just yet, so I’d like to suck you, if that’s ok?”

“C’mon.”

Taking Ryan by the hand he led him into an empty stall, then shut and locked the door. With eager hands he undressed himself, then disrobed Ryan freeing his painfully hard cock. Before the other could touch him, Ryan dropped to his knees and inspected the man’s treasure. About eighteen centimetres long and uncircumcised, the thickness tapered down to a smaller than usual head, which meant perfect proportions for fucking.

Trembling with sexual anticipation, Ryan took the head in his mouth and easily absorbed the entire length. Immediately his partner groaned carnally, so Ryan responded by applying what he’d learnt with Gus, to pleasuring his companion. Remembering past episodes, his fingers massaged the man’s arse cheeks before sinking a single digit into the anus. The response came almost immediately with a whimpering gasp and a flood of warm juice down Ryan’s throat. He continued to suckle whilst massaging just inside the anal entrance. Gradually, the cries of ecstasy diminished, so Ryan let the softened member drop from his mouth.

“Bloody hell, you drained me buster^[2], for a young kid you sure know how to give a blow job. That was great! Thanks!”

“Hey I’m going on eighteen so I’m not a young kid. Also, I’m not a virgin; I know how to suck, fuck and be fucked. What would you like to do now?”

“Up to you, but ya said ya didn’t want to cum just yet. I’d love for you to fuck me, if that’s what yer wants.”

“Yes, changed me mind. You turn me on so much I don’t think I’ll last anyways. Alright if I blow inside ya?”

“Great.”

His partner turned and faced the door, then poked his bum out in silent invitation. Ryan’s cock slid gently into the boy’s body, invoking a whimper of pure pleasure. To Ryan, the sensation of his penis being surrounded by tight hot man-flesh felt so good he knew he couldn’t last too long. With a few powerful thrusts, his orgasm exploded accompanied by moans of pleasure. It took several moments for him to empty his balls into the expectant body.

“Shit, how long since you had sex. I reckon you’ve filled me up real good. It’s already dribbling outta me.”

“Problem?”

“Shit no, I love it; I love the sensation of hot male juice sloshing around inside me. You’ve done this before I can tell. Do yer want to go again?”

“No, not just yet. You?”

‘Arrh, I’m satisfied fer tonight, but I’m here every Friday night If’n yer wants a repeat.”

“Yer on, me names . . .”

“Wow there, no names, it’s too dangerous. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. That’s how the game is played. Is this the first time you’ve done a beat?”

“Sorry . . . umm, yeah, my first-time mate. I reckon that’s good advice. A real good friend of mine recently got sprung by the cops doing Belmore Park and I don’t want that to happen to me. I’m . . .”

“You mean the postie that just got ten years. The one in all the local papers, he’s a friend of yours?”

“Yeah, real good friend. It were him that told me about doing beats. We had a regular thing until he got clobbered. Yeah, I missed the sex so much I just hadda visit here.”

“Well just be careful boyo. Even if here’s not Belmore park, doing the beats can always be dangerous. Incidentally, sorry about . . . . what’s his name . . . yeah, Gus. Sorry about him.”

“Thanks . . . look after yerself, I’ll look out for ya next Friday . . . if that’s Ok.”

When his partner left Ryan decided that he’d had enough for his first time. He walked out, found his bike, and left for home. For an excuse he told his parents he’d been with surf club mates, drinking and then playing cards till the wee hours.

In the ensuing weeks, usually on a Friday night, he visited the beat and participated in all kinds of sexual activities. One aspect made him curious. Usually, on a Friday night, the customers had clearly been drinking, but what amused him most was the wedding ring they each wore.

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15.4

As Merle steadily deteriorated, the doctor put her in hospital where they could monitor her condition. Coming from a country background she had a strong constitution and fought the good fight. Then again her age started to impede her recovery and to everyone’s horror, she developed pneumonia. In those days treatment remained rudimentary and there wasn’t the range of antibiotics available in later years.

Slowly she worsened, and it seemed nothing could be done. As the disease slowly drained her, she at some stage, lost the will to resist.

Ryan could only feel deepening sorrow and the frustration of not being able to do anything. When he could, he visited the hospital and became enraged at the sight of the only person he loved slowly slipping away. He cursed God for doing this. Here lay a person who’d devoted their life to Catholic Christianity, who’d only done good in her life, who’d taught love not hate, and who was now being abandoned by her God. More than cursing her God, he loathed religion for being a false concept. Better that God dies rather than his beautiful and treasured Nanna.

But it was not to be. With Ryan at her side, one dismal Saturday morning, Merle Fitzgerald departed this life.

Ryan became distraught. Although he expected her demise, the utter finality of death appalled him. His grandmother, his Nanna, the kind woman who’d supported him throughout his early travails, had departed forever. Of course he cried. He cried in the immediate hours after her death, he cried at the dinner table where her presence remained only in an empty chair, and he cried at night into a lonely silent pillow. For days afterwards he had little sleep.

And then he had to face the ordeal of the funeral. Over his objections, Father O’Brian officiated at the Mass For The Dead and read the grave-site burial ritual. His mother simply ignored his complaints about the Right Dishonourable Farter and allowed O’Brian to dictate how the funeral would be held. The Reverent Puss-heap had a standard spiel for all funerals so he simply transposed Merle’s name wherever applicable. It sounded hollow and banal, and Ryan vowed to get even.

The reception afterwards verily rang with homilies about Merle from persons who’d hardly known her. They were mostly his mother’s cronies, and they’d turned up for the free booze and food. After an hour of bullshit he departed silently and headed to his secret spot in the bush – and cried again. Then he started to think about revenge on the two things he hated most – the Catholic Church and O’Brian.

Over the next few weeks, time softened his heart-ache but then he found his nanna would never die because of the memories he held. None the less, he refined his revenge.

At work he acquired two dead lab rats and some liquified rotten egg gas. In its arrogance the Church kept front doors open all night, so supplicants could worship, pray, and enjoy solitude, regardless of the hour. One night he crept into the church, depositing one dead rat in the holy water font, and the other on the statue of Mary, Christ’s mother. Then he splashed the noxious liquid in the confessionals, around the communion rail, down the centre aisle, and all over the high altar.

A dreadful smell encompassed the whole church and by next morning it caused gagging by anyone wishing to gain entry. Indelible ink is oft used to make writing permanent and the same could be said of the rotten egg gas. It remained obstinate to remove even after hours of scrubbing with dangerous chemicals. Attendances to Mass and Confession dropped away suddenly to the delight of many young kids.

Of course, there was an outcry. O’Brian cursed the vandals who’d desecrated his church and announced that God would have his revenge. Of course the cops were called in but there were no clues to the culprits. On the other side, the attack caused great mirth and many persons wanted to congratulate the evil-doers. The incident, like the bad smell, took many months to lose its currency until eventually, it became part of local folklore. Attendances at the church never recovered from the attack. Eventually, the premises were torn down and a new edifice erected.

The dastardly vandals who’d perpetrated this evil crime were never brought to justice. Now you, dear reader, would probably consider the whole matter childish and puerile, and you’d be right. But to the vandals who’d done the deed, it became simple justice.