HIGH SCHOOL DAZE....(part 1.)

Sitting in the classroom / Thinking it's a drag
Listening to the teacher rap / Just ain't my bag
The noon bells ring / You know that's my cue
I'm gonna meet the boys / On floor number two!
Smokin' in the boys' room
Smokin' in the boys' room
Now, teacher, don't you fill me up with your rules
But everybody knows that smokin' ain't allowed in school. 

Like most gay boys, High School wasn't the best time of my life.  It was 1975, white Australia and living in the outer suburbs you were expected to be rough and tough.  Besides the culture shock of going from the security of primary school to the insecurity of high school I had a lot of things going against me.

I was small, a 'wog' (something which had never been an issue before) and gay.  In those days you were gay if you didn't play football or cricket - end of story!  I did ballroom dancing and played tennis.  I didn't particularly like any of the boys in my class, though I did befriend some who I knew my parents would approve of, which would later give me an excuse to visit my real friends on the weekends or after school.

This was a time when bullying was the norm.  Being fat, wearing glasses, having red hair, being small, or having an accent were all  open invitations to get bullied.  As for being effeminate, well then you were fair game for all.

There were 3 boys in particular who took great delight in bullying me.  For the first 6 months every change of class, every moment waiting for the teacher to turn up was a nightmare.  You can take the punches, the dead legs, the spitting, being tied to the basketball pole by your tie, but what gets you the most is the indignity of having it done in front of 20 odd other boys, none of whom ever stepped in to help.

This never happened in the playground though which was a blessing. Firstly, my sisters were both going out with older boys in the school and the bullies were soon to realize I had protection.  Secondly I hung around with some fairly wild boys from other classes. Thirdly I was a smoker and got early entry into the toilets where only the toughest boys hung out.  All my life I seem to have had an affinity for really tough, wild boys.  They liked me and I liked them.  Often this came with a price tag - but one I didn't mind at all!

For such a rough school I was surprised how many boys were into gay sex.  In fact years later I would run into at least 6 of these boys all working the streets of Kings Cross.  Sadly every last one of them would be dead within the next few years from heroin overdoses, including one boy I had known since I was 7. 

When all else failed and my protection wasn't around, then like most gay boys you would find me hiding in the library at lunchtime!  There were two days a week when most of my friends did lunchtime sport practice and I became a library monitor.  Here I could indulge my passion for reading, lord it over the other misfits, and took great pleasure in reporting overdue books from any boy who bullied me to the librarian.

Walking from school to the station each afternoon could sometimes be a problem.  Few of my friends went the same way so the bullies would often waylay me before I reached the train station.  Once there though I was safe with my sisters and their boyfriends.  Or Cory was always there to keep an eye on me.

The teachers weren't much better either.  Most were young and ineffective in controlling the hooligans who made up a large part of our school, or they were old and took every opportunity to stop class and cane boys.  We had one teacher in particular who delighted in this.  He was small and used to jump down off a chair while administering the cane, always making sure he hit you right on the end of your fingertips where it hurt the most.  If you tried to pull your hand away, then it was instantly two more canings!

We had boys though who thought this great sport and held competitions throughout the year to see who got caned the most.

By the end of my first year, the bullying died down, mostly.  Being my 'own worst enemy' I would infrequently invite another round by back chatting the bullies, or blowing kisses at them, just to stir them up. Doing impersonations of famous gay TV characters was my specialty.  While most of the other boys found them hilarious, my 3 bullies would sneer and indicate that they would be waiting for me.....

One day however sometime during my second year, they got their timing wrong.  They had ganged up on me in one of the corridors during change of class and were pushing my head into a cupboard and 'dead-legging' me (this is where they knee you really hard in your thigh), the cupboard was to help stifle my agonized yells.  One of my older smoking mates suddenly came around the corner and told them to 'fuck off quickly', which they did.

That afternoon at the train station, at least 7 older guys were waiting at the station for them.  They hammered the living daylights out of all 3. For a school where daily fights were common this was the worst I had seen.  Bloody noses, black eyes, screaming girls - even the station attendants were to scared to intervene.  The message got across though and aside for continued name calling or derogatory comments these boys never touched me again.

Everyone of my 'heroes' calmly and happily took 6 of the best the following day from the headmaster.

I spent all my pocket money buying them fags, and regularly gave head jobs to 2 of the boys as a way of thanks. 

So I got through my first 3 years of high school, made enemies, made friends but found the freedom from home that teenage years allow.  Year 3 would be a traumatic time for me, but this was due to family issues, that would drastically affect me and ensure that the remaining years at high school were both torturous and a time of rebellion and limit testing for me.