Boarding School (40 page)

It was also during these weeks when Fatso introduced us to the system he had for enabling us to remain high while away from the Academy for extended periods of time. A couple of weekends before we were scheduled to leave for Christmas break, Matt and I were up at their place in Boston to spend Saturday night and Sunday with them again. This time they had turned up their heat and were requiring us to go around naked all the time again. That way, if either of them wanted to have sex with us, they would simply grab Matt or me and have at us. Sometimes we’d go off into a bedroom for privacy, and on other occasions, we wouldn’t waste the time. In any event, at some point during this visit, Fatso presented Matt and me with specially designed cans of shaving cream. When we pressed in on the can at just the right spot and then twisted the bottom, the outside would then come off and reveal an inside compartment which could hold about a week’s worth of cocaine for one person—at our current rate of use.

“Cool!” Matt said as he tested the workings of one of the cans for himself. “And look! Shaving cream even comes out of it.” Matt squirted out a palm full of the foamy soap, and then he smeared it all through my hair.

“Hey!” I cried out as I felt myself under attack. After that, I allowed a moment for things to calm down again, and then it was my turn. “Yeah, you’re right,” I agreed as I acquainted myself with the mechanics of a second can. “This is cool. But what if somebody notices that we’re not old enough yet to shave?” I then filled my hand with shaving cream.

“Well then you tell them that these cans you’re carrying are a gift for your dad,” Fatso offered.

Immediately then I retaliated by smearing the mound in my hand all around in Matt’s hair.

“Hey!” Matt protested.

“He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword,” I proclaimed. And then, using all the shaving cream in the apartment that we could get a hold of, the battle was on. Sweetie managed to keep herself out of the fray, but Fatso was quick to join in and eventually, when all three of us were covered from head to toe, we ended up using the shaving cream on our bodies to give each other hand jobs. After that, we all went into the guest room shower to clean up.

“Ok, now we’re going to have a couple of rules while we’re in here today,” Fatso began as he turned the valves to get the water flowing at us from all directions. “We can’t leave the shower now until all three of us are clean, and nobody is allowed to clean himself.”

“What?” I asked as I stood next to Matt and away from the paths of the various streams until we were given permission to enter the water.

“I mean, in order to get clean, we each have to be shampooed and soaped down and then rinsed by hands other than our own.” Fatso then smiled. This was just the sort of little game he liked to play with us all the time. “So we’ll start with Matt. Matt, you stand here in the center and then we’ll get you clean.” Fatso then motioned for my roommate to walk over to him.

“Ok,” Matt accepted Fatso’s invitation and walked over to stand next to the large man. Then he closed his eyes and made his body pliable so when I walked to the center of the shower to join the two of them, he was ready to allow us to handle him in every way necessary to get him clean. “It was kind of fun,” he told me later on. “I just pretended like I was an emperor or something, and it was the job of my servants to wash me.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I kind of liked having all that done for me too.”

Whenever we were out on the weekends, we were always given a safe number—a special telephone number for someone who would always be close by—to call in case a problem developed or our safety was threatened.

Sometimes the number would be to a pay phone in a restaurant down the block with one of the upperclassmen sitting next to it. Other times, we didn’t know who would be at the other end. Normally, Fatso was very careful with who he agreed to place us with for these outings. So for a long time we never had a need to call one of these safe numbers. But on the weekend before Christmas break, all of that changed for us when we were taken to an appointment in Worcester that Mr. Stuart had set up for us.

Some restaurant up there had a party shack out in back on its property which it rented out to private groups for private functions. When a group would rent the place, it would apparently have the option either to have the restaurant’s staff serve the party, or to send its own people over to the restaurant’s kitchen and bar to collect the food and drinks it needed. When Matt and I arrived that Saturday night, the member of this group who was acting as the party’s bartender was just finishing up his efforts to set up the bar and open the tap on the keg of beer they had brought in.

At first this group seemed ok. In total, there were about eighteen men who were fairly crude in their behavior, but by now Matt and I had seen worse. And as they drank that night, they encouraged us to drink right along with them. Matt and I knew better than to get into the hard stuff, so we both stuck with beer that night so we wouldn’t lose ourselves completely. As I remember, Matt kept filling his cup from the keg every so often, while I preferred one of the brands they had at the bar in bottles.

As the evening progressed, we were treated as if these men were making us members of their club. Each person we talked to wore a name tag with just his first name written on it, which made me believe that although the guys at this party shared some sort of common interest, they didn’t actually ever see each other all that often. There were also the initials “I.L.B.S.” printed on each tag. After a couple of beers, I had worked up enough courage to ask one of these guys what these initials stood for.

“It’s the I Love Boys Society,” the man answered in a drunken voice.

Well that figures,
I thought to myself.
After all, it’s not as if they called us here to sell them boy scout cookies or something.
As soon as the chance opened up for me to do so, I let Matt in on what I had learned.

This party shack was actually a two-room structure. The room in which Matt and I and all of the other attendees were mingling had a bar, a ping pong table, and a couple of pinball machines in the back along with a couple of small tables with chairs around them. The other room was all tables and chairs and had been set up for the dinner they had yet to serve to themselves.

About an hour and a half into the evening, several of the men began to get pretty belligerent, and started to make their advances toward Matt. While I talked with other society members in another part of the room, I tried to keep my eye on Matt to make sure that he was all right. And then it happened.

“Auh!” Matt cried out in pain.

I excused myself and raced over to a spot near the keg to back up my roommate. I reached him just in time to see him get slapped again.

“Auh!” This time the force from the man who was hitting him knocked Matt off his feet.

“That’s enough!” I shouted out to the drunken man. “We’re not here to be bashed around!”

“Oh really?” The man looked at me for a moment and then he bent over my friend, who was still lying on the floor at this moment, and grabbed Matt by his shirt to lift him off of the floor and back to his feet. “Well how are you gonna stop me, little man? Huh? I can do any damn thing I want with you two little pricks. So if I want to slap a boy’s face to watch his reaction…”

“Auh!” This time Matt was able to remain on his feet.

“Then that’s what I’m gonna do,” the assailant concluded.

To me this guy looked as if he was about to increase his level of abuse against my pal .Also, nobody in the room seemed willing to come to our aid, so I made a snap decision to divert this guy’s attention away from my friend and onto me. “Yeah well, regardless of what you think, I’m not gonna let you hit him again.” I then set my beer bottle down on the ping pong table and immediately put myself into a horse stance which did, then, take this guy’s attention off of Matt and place it squarely onto me.

“No, Clint!” Matt blurted out to me in fear as he held a hand to his face.

“Just stay out of the way, Matt.” I was too committed now to back down.

“You’re challenging me?” the guy was amused and irked at the same time by my brazen behavior. “All right, you little shit. Let’s see what you’ve got.” The man then prepared himself to actually fight me.

There was nothing I could do now. As I drew him out into a more open area of the room, I kept wondering why the others in this group weren’t stopping this guy. I then realized that most of them weren’t even paying any attention to us yet.

“Hey, Sully,” the guy behind the bar finally spoke out. “Leave the kid alone, willya?”

“Shut up!” the guy responded with his characteristic eloquence. And then he threw his first punch at me.

I blocked him successfully and then delivered a forward punch to his chest in response. I figured that this would demonstrate to him that I was capable of defending myself, but I wouldn’t hurt him enough just yet to make him become even more mad at me.

“Hey, guys! Sully’s fighting one of the kids.” At long last, some other guy in the room called out to everyone else.

As all the other men in the shack suddenly stopped what they were doing to watch us, Sully threw his next punch at my head. Again I was able to block it with no trouble, but this time I gave him a forward punch to his stomach and as I did, I tried to put all of my weight behind it.

“Uhoof!”

An “oo” sound then rose up from the crowd as Sully bent over a bit from the force of my blow. And then everyone in the room began to laugh when they realized that I had actually managed to land a good one on my opponent. Apparently, though, I had also embarrassed Sully. He didn’t like having his friends see that he could be bested by a boy half his size. And I guess he figured out also that he was too drunk to be able to land a punch on me, so he picked up my beer bottle from the ping pong table and cracked me over the head with it.

Since I had never learned a technique for blocking an assault from directly above, I wasn’t prepared to stop this guy from hitting me in the head. And so I lost consciousness after that. To recount what happened to me next, I have to rely on what Matt told me later.

“Hey, you knocked him out,” some other guy in the crowd hollered.

“Yeah, it’s about damn time too,” Sully snarled. And then he put down the beer bottle and bent over me. I had landed on the floor stretched out on my stomach, so when he pulled my shirt off over my head, he made my arms extend out in front of me. Sully then reached down again and lifted the middle of my body just enough to get his hands under me so he could undo my belt and unfasten and unzip my pants. Then, after he had removed my shoes and socks, he reached around under my waist to get a firm grip on my pants and underpants, and with one good yank as my outstretched palms slapped the linoleum, he pulled both garments off of me so I was left to lie there naked and still unconscious on the floor in front of the entire society. As he did these things to me, Sully was also working the crowd. Each time he removed a piece of clothing from my body, he would hold it up in the air for the rest of the men in the room to cheer over. Then he would throw the article off into the crowd and bend down over me again to remove something else. “All right! Are you guys ready for some action?” Sully yelled out after he had separated my underpants from my pants and had tossed them both into the air.

A loud cheer then rose from the crowd again as he picked up my limp body and, with little concern for my well-being, threw me down abruptly across the top of the ping pong table so he could bend my lower half over its edge. “Ok, the line starts behind me,” he yelled out. And then Sully reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small jar of Vaseline. Apparently he had intended to do something like this all along. And then, without wasting any time, Sully dropped his pants, greased up his penis to make himself hard, and then he penetrated me in my ass.

“Oh man, this boy’s nice and tight,” he yelled as he began to thrust himself repeatedly into my body. “Ah! Hey! Where are you going?” he yelled at the bartender as he noticed the man moving toward the front door of the shack.

“It’s time for me to go and get the dinner,” the bar tender responded nervously. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.”

“Jerome, you go and help him. Huh?” Sully said to a friend of his in the room that he knew he could trust.

“Yeah, ok,” Jerome answered. And so the bartender and Jerome left the shack together.

Matt knew he was powerless to do anything to keep these guys from raping me. And as he watched a line of men form behind Sully so that more of them could have a turn with me, Matt decided that the only way he could help us both was to make himself look unavailable and thereby keep the others, hopefully, from knocking him out as well. So while no one was paying attention to him, Matt sat down on the floor against the wall next to the keg, and then he allowed the beer in his cup to spill out all over his crotch. As soon as he felt his appearance was convincing, my friend then closed his eyes and slumped down against the wall so he would seem to the others in the society to be passed out. At the same time, though, he did peer at me through partially closed eyelids every so often so he could keep a watch over the men as one by one, they greased up their penises and took their turns at gang raping me.

In all, Matt told me that nine of them rammed their penises into my buttocks. And all the while the bartender with help from Jerome, kept running back and forth through the bar so they could carry in the food for everyone’s dinner and get things set up in the next room.

At about the time the ninth guy was ejaculating into me, Matt told me that he suddenly heard a voice call out from above him. “Hey, what’s with this kid?” It was Sully, and he was apparently looking to do the same with Matt that he and the others had just finished doing to me. “Is he passed out, or did somebody knock him out too?”

“I don’t know,” Jerome hollered back from the other side of the room. “He’s been like that for a while now.”

“Well let’s wake him up then,” Sully proclaimed. With the beer keg only inches away, Sully then bent down and grasped Matt’s head between his two palms and then he moved my roommate’s head sideways a little until he had placed my friend directly under the tap, and then he threw open the handle all the way so that the beer could flow out. “Ha!” Sully exclaimed with a sense of devilish fun. Immediately beer began to gush down all over the top of the boy’s head. “Hey, wake up, kid!” As Matt’s hair became soaked down by the beer, Sully grabbed my friend’s wet face with one of his large hands and began to shake Matt’s head around in an attempt to awaken the boy. “Dinner’s ready!” the bartender cried out.