Unwanted Label

...

I have always liked looking at girls; the beautiful dresses they wear and how well groomed they appear. Most other guys would probably say the same but would probably put it in sensual terms. I have never seen girls from this point of view.
I grew up without a father and in a house full of big aunties and my beautiful mother. I guess I always assumed I was one of them. At the tender age of nine, my mother sent me to boarding school. I was horrified at the prospect of not being able to spend my saturdays going through fashion magazines and discussing every detail of what the women were wearing. I was incredibly disheartened when I realised I was going to spend the rest of my many days living with aggressive boys who had volumes of testosterone bursting through their veins, having to deal with horrible, difficult school work. On the first day, after my mother dropped me off at the school entrance, I turned to her to wave goodbye with tears welling up in my huge eyes but seeing other boys; bigger boys not even seem bothered as they walked into the hostels without waving at their parents, I held back my tears and soldiered on into the school. I consoled myself with the thought that i would be re-joined with my mother soon.
After the episode with my mother, I was shown along with a group of other boys into a room. It was a noisy, stuffy 10 bunked bed room. The room looked a bit like a huge prison cell. The iron looking bars at the sides of the room behind each window did nothing to make matters any better. I roamed the entirety of the room with my eyes hardly hearing anything the tour instructor was saying. My mind was busy making conclusions about the people in the room. One of them had his face dipped in a bowl of grainy food, he grubbed very quickly and smiled heartily. A hugely built person he was. I immediately labelled him a glutton. I saw two smallish looking boys probably my age. One was sleeping, surprising to me how anyone could sleep in the noisy environment of that room. The other was reading a Harry Potter novel, I immediately liked him. He had a lovely dimple on the left side of his face.
Before I could roam any further, I was tapped on the shoulder by a fellow new boy, who told me our next destination had been announced.  On my way out of the room, I saw the glutton boy snatch a 40leave notebook from a smaller boy to ‘fan’ himself with, after his hearty meal. I was immediately gripped with fear as I realised he was also somewhat of a bully. I prayed against ending up in his room.
The tour was soon over and I was handed uniforms, nametags and assigned to my room. My night was spent in sobs. While the other 19 people in my room were fast asleep with most of them snoring loudly, I was crying and wishing for an end to the horrible dream that was the beginning of my secondary school days.
The first few weeks went by in a blur. All I remember is senior boys having fights in the hall way. Most of the fight were either because of a girl from the neighbouring school or over food rations or bets. I painfully missed my saturdays going through fashion catalogues and admiring girls dresses. Sometimes playing make-up and wearing my mother’s cloths. In school, any boy caught doing such was said to be “gay”. It was the sacred 3 letter word in school. Every boy tried to act macho to avoid being called that.
Every junior boy was expected to be the “servant” to at least one senior, that’s if they were being nice. Some heavily unliked boys had 3 or more “masters”. We had to make their beds every day, get food and every other thing in between. My master was one of the most popular boys in school. He had approached me during the week school resumed. We formed a bit of a friendship, If that’s what I should call it.
He always protected me from getting bullied by other boys. He gave me extra food rations and was always there for me to talk to. On many occassions, I caught him looking at me strangely, almost as if he were in a trance of some sort. One late evening, after prep time was over, he called me into a small empty room and asked me for a foot massage. He had never done this before. I went quite happily with him. I massage his feet and we conversed till late in the night, after lights-out. Suddenly, he got off the chair he was on, walked towards the door and locked it with a key I didn’t even know the door had.
Strange things happened to me afterwards, in simple terms, I was penetrated. Later on, he tucked me into bed quietly. Althrough to the morning and beyond, my shit-hole hurt and walking felt like a task. However, i was pleased about the events that had taken place the night before. I assumed my master and Iwould become even closer than we already were. Soon after lunch, I was called into the head master’s office. The atmosphere was tense and I felt a rush of guilt. I was bombarded with questions about the night before. I found that I had been reported by a student who had seen it all happen. Being a horrible liar, I cracked under the pressure and told them all about it.
After my confession, my mother was asked to come to schooI. They ordered me to go and pack up all of my belongings and leave. It was a silent ride home and my mother has never broached the subject since then. I haven’t seen my school “master” either.
If you have reached an anti-climax/no climax, there’s a continuation next week……. same time.