Holding the Man

by Timothy Conigrave

  I ran through the sunbaking bodies, up the burning hot concrete steps and into the change-rooms. As my eyes adjusted to the light I caught sight of a guy, about eighteen, taking off his purple boardies to reveal pale blue jocks. I walked past him into the other room. There was the rank smell of stale piss. I was standing at the urinal when he walked in. I could see him out of one eye as he dropped his jocks and put them on one of the hooks. He disappeared from view. I heard the hard stream of the shower.

  My body was on fire. I couldn’t relax enough to piss. Can he tell I’m not pissing? He must think I’m a pervert. My full bladder and I left the change-rooms. I went to the railing and yelled to Damien. ‘I’ve gotta go.’ I ran through the rusty turnstile. I was pissed off, but I couldn’t figure out why. I walked home as fast as I could.

  The chapel was an octagonal building in beige brick with a vaulted roof and a ring of stained-glass windows representing the Stations of the Cross. So far only three of the stations had been completed. Today was the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary and we had to be absolved of our sins, as it was a sin to receive the Eucharist without this having been done.

  Damien was chuckling quietly with Grant, a tall good-looking blond boy. I slid in next to Damien and knelt, pretending to say a prayer. ‘What’s so funny?’ I whispered.

  Damien knelt beside me. ‘Grant reckons we should see who gets the biggest penance.’

  Grant chipped in. ‘Make up something really good. What do you reckon? You in?’ Lying in confession! That’s a big one!

  The door of the confessional opened. It was Grant’s turn. Damien and I stayed kneeling, our shoulders pressed against each other. I felt happy, strong, calm.

  The confessional door clicked open and Grant burst out. He winked. ‘Six Hail Marys and two Our Fathers.’ He slunk over to a pew and knelt. Damien went in. I dug into the deepest pit of my bowels to drag up a story but couldn’t think of anything. The door clicked open.

  Damien was smug. ‘Ten Our Fathers. Told him I titted off my girlfriend.’ The judges gave him the thumbs-up.

  It was my turn. The mahogany cave was draped in red velvet. I pulled the door shut and knelt. A small curtain was drawn on the other side of the rattan grille.

  ‘In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession and these are my sins.’ I froze.

  ‘Yes, my son?’ I could smell garlic and figured it was Stinky.

  ‘Me and another boy were in the shower together and he dared me to see who had the bigger erection. We abused ourselves.’

  ‘And that was all?’ Damn, he doesn’t seem to be fazed by it. A top idea flashed into my head. ‘That was a lie. It never happened.’

  There was a long silence. Got him!

  ‘Son, many young men get confused. God can be very forgiving if you are repentant.’

  ‘Nothing happened. I was lying to you. It was a dare.’

  I heard him take a big breath and sigh, clear his throat and then mumble the absolution rapidly. ‘For your penance you must recite the rosary.’ I win!

  As I left the confessional I heard the other door open. Stinky was trying to see who I was. He shook his head in disgust and shut the door. I went over to Damien. ‘The rosary.’ I knelt in the glow of a champion. Damien punched me in the arm. He’s proud of me. The bell went and Damien stood up. ‘I’ve got to do my rosary,’ I said, not moving.

  He smiled. ‘You’re such a Catholic.’ I got halfway through the first Hail Mary and leapt after him, putting my arm around his shoulder.

  Mass that day was quite a spectacle. Father Larkin in full gold regalia and the altar boys in red soutanes and lace surplices genuflected in front of the altar, swinging the incense and ringing the bell.

  I stifled a yawn as we all sat down. Father Larkin opened his hands and began the reading. I drifted off to the land of questions. I wonder if Jesus really did have a loincloth? But imagine if he didn’t. The guy who carved the statue would have had to carve his dick and balls. I guess he would have been circumcised.

  We all stood again and mumbled a prayer. I wonder what Father Larkin would look like with his clothes off? A wave of panic crashed over me. God, I hope no one can read my mind. As the bread was broken it dawned on me that such thoughts were sins, and that I shouldn’t take Holy Communion without confessing them. As boys started filing up to the altar I hoped no one would notice that I didn’t join them.

  ‘Race ya!’ said the disembodied head of Damien, bobbing around in the waves in the middle of the baths. ‘Last one to the board is a scab.’

  I cut my way through the water to the deck. Being a stronger swimmer than Damien I arrived at the ladder first, but as I was climbing up he snatched my ankle and used me as a lever out of the water, grabbing my shoulders and clambering up me. There we were, like dogs, one on top of the other, his body surrounding mine. I tried to break his grip, prising his fingers from the rails and shoving him with my bum. I was alive with glee and effort as we jostled for the trophy.

  ‘Shit. You’re hurting me,’ he gasped.

  ‘Give in, suck, and the pain stops,’ I said, prising him off the ladder. I heard a loud splash as he fell back into the water. I climbed onto the deck and bolted for the wooden steps to the board, slipped in the slimy water but recovered beautifully, and won! Standing with arms triumphantly crossed I asked, ‘So, scab, what now? Biggest bomb?’

  We stood in line at the diving board, shivering in the breeze, watching girls swan-diving and boys bombing. I stepped over the coir matting and walked to the end of the board. As I bent my knees to spring, Damien rushed out to bounce me. I knew he was going to do it and reduced my spring, making Damien bounce himself. ‘Sucked in!’ I laughed evilly as I took flight, pulling one knee up to my chest. I surfaced to hear the fallout, ultimate proof of an excellent bomb.

  Damien was standing still on the end of the diving board. What’s he afraid of?

  ‘I don’t want to be a poofter anymore,’ he announced, then took off and dropped another bomb. My brain was a mess of crossed wires. It suddenly cleared. Only one thought was possible. Fuck, I’m a poofter.

  I had just one delivery for the day. I took the package from the pharmacy servery, walked out into the summer afternoon sun and hopped on my trusty three-speeder. Halifax Street. Doesn’t this lady have a chemist closer? I liked this work because I was on my own and it was outdoors, which was great in weather like this.

  But I felt as if I’d forgotten something, not something from the shop – something else was chewing away at me. Something not good has happened. Then the memory came back. Damien. The diving board. And that thing he said. My mind went suddenly blank. Ambling past me was a teenage girl in netball gear, a short red skirt and a busty green top. Please God, make me like girls. I made myself stare at her breasts and imagine how it would be to fondle them. It’d be sort of nice. Wonder what it’d be like to kiss them?

  ‘What are you staring at? Piss off, you pervert.’

  I blushed and rode off as fast as I could, my mind on fire, thoughts crashing in, my muscles working at their peak. Before I knew it I was at the address in Halifax Street. A dear old lady came to the wire door. I gave her the package. I wonder if she can see that I have a heart heavy with sin? She handed me a small chocolate wrapped in cellophane.

  I didn’t eat it in case it was poisoned.

  Boy In the Blue Jocks

  He takes off his purple boardies, revealing pale blue jocks. He is muscular and deeply tanned, his hair sun-bleached. He captivates me with a smile.

  ‘Can I help you?’ I don’t know. He picks up his towel. ‘Do you want a shower?’

  He swaggers towards the shower room. I watch the muscles working in his back and his hard round bum. As I follow he leans against the wall, hands behind his back, standing on one leg, the other foot halfway up the wall. Still smiling, he points to where the wall should be. Now there’s another change-room. He wants me
to keep following. I walk to the archway. This room is much larger and there are five or six men at different benches and lockers, all wearing bathers or jocks. I walk through the room towards a corridor and see the men watching me. I stop at the entrance to the corridor and my friend with the towel places an arm around my shoulder. The corridor is dark but at the end there is a brighter room, open to the sky. There are two men, naked, kissing. In the centre of the room is a large bonfire. It melts into the floor and becomes a swimming pool, lit from within. ‘It is time to become a man, to find your fire, your strength.’ He places the towel around my waist and pulls me toward him. ‘Your strength is in this.’ He places his mouth on mine and I am charged. I am strong, I am a man. We sink into the water. I am cocooned. lam whole.

  Kevin

  Kevin’s parents were going to Sydney for the weekend. They bred trotters and had a two-year-old pacer running in the Regal Handicap.

  Kevin was a year older than me. His parents didn’t think he needed a babysitter – someone to sleep over was enough. He asked me if I would stay with him. Shit, I hope he doesn’t want me to be his friend. It will be playground death if the other guys think I’m his friend.

  I hardly knew Kevin. He was the best long-distance runner in the school but he was a real loser. Teachers picked on him. He wasn’t a wimp, in fact he was quite beefy from all the running and could defend himself well, but he was so easy to get a rise out of. I felt sorry for him. He was quiet and very nervous about asking me. The poor bastard probably felt I was the only person who wouldn’t say no.

  The street was short. Kevin’s parents had pulled down all the other houses and built their own, with tennis-court and pool. I stood at the white door with my schoolbag over my shoulder and pushed the brass bell.

  Kevin opened the door wearing track pants and a windcheater. He was like an excited puppy, eager and nervous. He took my bag and offered me a glass of milk, some Twisties, a seat in the living-room. I sat but Kevin stayed standing, looking lost.

  The interior was all white brick and stained beams, with parquet floors, bright pink shag rugs and a purple vinyl settee. The pride of the room was the Fantasia lamp, a hairdo of optical fibres that changed colour. I found it mesmerising.

  He offered to show me the trophies. I followed him into the billiard room where he took a photo off a shelf. ‘This is Red Falcon. She won the Finster Derby three years in a row. She broke her forelock a couple of weeks ago and had to be destroyed.’

  On another shelf were many bottles of different shapes, one like a monkey, one like a bunch of grapes, filled with coloured liquids. ‘Prizes. Liqueurs, I think.’ He took down one that looked like a windmill and pulled the cork. He sniffed it and then took a swig. He offered me the bottle. I said no.

  ‘It’s nice, it’s like chocolate. Have some.’ I let the sticky chocolate run down my throat. It had a hot aftertaste. I handed it back but he was up on a stool trying to get another one down, a big yellow cone with a soldier painted on it.

  ‘Won’t your parents have a spak if they find out we’ve been drinking the trophies?’

  ‘They won’t know if we only have a mouthful of each. Like bottle-o.’

  I had only been drunk once before. Damien, Grant and I had hired a squash court a few weeks before and drunk some red wine I had stolen from Dad’s cellar. We felt weighty and stupid as we left the courts. On the way back to Grant’s house I pashed with a dog, then took a chuck on his parents’ driveway, fascinated by the vomit splashing on my shoes. Grant’s old lady drove me home to a very embarrassed Mum. As I lolled around on the bathroom floor I spotted my sister. ‘Anna, you gotta do my chemist round, I’m pissed.’ Dad was very understanding but asked me to pay for the wine.

  ‘Wow, nice. Mint.’ Kevin took a couple more swigs. ‘This was my favourite pacer.’ He read the inscription on the plate around the bottle-neck. ‘Shakespeare’s Daughter.’

  ‘Slow down. Not so much. Your folks are going to know we’ve drunk it.’

  ‘Not if we put water in it.’

  As I took a swig, that weighty feeling started to come back, and with it a sick feeling. I stumbled to get my Craven As out of my schoolbag. Shit, I’m more pissed than I thought.

  Kevin grabbed another bottle, took one mouthful and handed it to me. I’ll pretend to take a swig.

  ‘I’ll fill this up.’ He headed out of the room but the bottle of green stuff slipped from his hand and smashed on the parquet floor.

  ‘Oh shit!’ Kevin tried to pick up the pieces. ‘Better get the brush and pan.’ He stumbled into the kitchen. I sat there smoking, the air filled with sticky mint, then went to look for an ashtray. Kevin was standing at the open fridge. ‘I’m starving,’ he said, opening the freezer. He took out a bag of frozen chips and I took a bite out of the side of the pack. Pulling pieces of plastic out of my teeth I let the chip defrost in my mouth. It tasted quite good. Kevin took a bite out of one. ‘It’s revolting, you spak!’ He took my cigarettes from me and lit one. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’

  We stumbled into the street, then Kevin pulled me back into the house, seized by an idea. He rooted around in the broom cupboard and found a can of paint and a brush. I followed him back out to the street and down the path to the railway line. A long corrugated-iron fence ran along the path. ‘Needs a big sign, don’t ya reckon?’ said Kevin. ‘You keep a lookout. Got any ideas?’

  ‘Led Zeppelin?’

  ‘Lead what?’ He is such a dag.

  ‘Stop the H-bomb.’

  Kevin struggled to get the can open. I watched him paint the words and then throw the can and brush into the grass. The paint flew through the air like cream in slow motion. We tore off back to the house. Out of breath and exhilarated we crashed through the front door and fell about laughing on the parquet.

  ‘I’m rooted. Gotta lie down.’ He climbed the stairs. I grabbed my schoolbag and followed. As I arrived at his bedroom door, I saw a small mattress on the floor with a sleeping-bag. ‘That’s you there, unless you want to share the bed.’ He struggled to get his windcheater over his head. He sat on the edge of his bed, drunk, his body lean and muscular. His room had the tangy smell of sweat and running shoes. He fell back onto the bed, kicked off his runners and drifted off to sleep. Fascinated, I stood watching his stomach muscles heaving. Got to lie down. I struggled to change into my PJs, trying not to lose my balance. I unrolled the sleeping-bag.

  ‘You don’t have to sleep down there,’ Kevin slurred into the universe. I said I’d be right. I crawled into the bag and listened to him breathing heavily.

  I was bothered some time later by the hardness of the floor and the bright light on the ceiling burning into my brain. I turned over to shade my face and rolled onto one of Kevin’s running spikes. ‘Oh, fuck!’

  He’d seen what happened. ‘Come up here.’ I said I was fine. ‘Suit yourself, I’ve gotta take a piss.’ I watched Kevin’s red track pants walk out of the room. Fuck this, let him sleep on the floor. I crawled into the warmth of his bed and rolled over to the wall.

  I heard him come back in. He crawled in beside me. I pretended to be asleep but every cell of my body was suddenly alert. Kevin turned toward me. I felt his hand reach around to my crutch and check out my dick, which swelled in his hand. We lay like that for some time. Hormones, adrenaline, testosterone.

  The boy in the pale blue jocks is standing beside the bed, nodding gently.

  Kevin rolled me onto my back and climbed on top of me. I could feel he had a fat, he rubbed it against me through his pants. He undid my pyjamas, slid his trackies down and lay back on top of me, our cocks flesh on flesh.

  His warm breath smelled of cigarettes, banana, stale chocolate. His warm hand wrapped around my tool, tugging it gently. He undid my pyjama top. Hard chest and sweet burning skin.

  The boy is in the corridor to the change-room. He puts his hands on top of his head, revealing tufts of hair in his armpits. We are hurtling down the corridor. The boy and I are in freefall.

 
‘Kevin, get off me, gotta go to the toilet! I’m gonna piss myself.’ I can’t stop it. Hold it in! The weight of his body was crushing me. ‘Get off me,’ I barked.

  I slid off the bed and stumbled out to the toilet. I stood at the bowl, holding the wall with one hand, trying to piss. But nothing happened. On the window-sill was a ceramic clown with a cactus growing out of his stomach. My pyjamas were wet, my stomach sticky. How embarrassing, I’ve pissed on him. I put the toilet seat down. I sat drifting between now and the boy in blue, a long way away.

  I hauled myself back to bed and slept badly, until I saw the sky coming to life through the window. Small birds cut across the blueness. My head was a fog of hangover and hunger, my mouth dry, my guts tired and achy. Kevin was asleep beside me but tossing a lot. Does this mean I’m not a virgin anymore? Suddenly he sat upright on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. He tried to shake himself awake, like a horse whinnying.

  He pulled on his track pants and skulked out of the room. I could hear him crashing around downstairs. Broken glass was thrown into a bin, taps ran, cupboard doors closed. He crept back into the room. I smiled and he tried to smile back but he wasn’t really looking at me. He was changing into his running gear, red satin shorts and a red singlet. He waved and left.

  The sun was beginning to bleed into the room. I got up, dressed and started to put my stuff into my schoolbag, dragging myself into the day. I felt sick. Better go while Kevin is out running. I stole downstairs to find the front door open and Kevin sitting on the doorstep, dripping with sweat. ‘Going?’

  ‘Lots of homework.’

  ‘Me too.’ Now he looked like the guy we all picked on at school. ‘I need a smoke.’

  ‘You’ve just been for a run.’

  ‘Feel like shit, may as well really do myself in.’

  We sat smoking in silence. Kevin started to undo his running shoes. ‘You remember much about last night?’ He wasn’t looking at me. ‘What’d we do? I can’t remember anything.’