Back in school I used to daydream a lot, especially during lazy Thursday afternoons staring outside at the grassed football pitches and beyond when we had double Geography. In my mid-teens more than 98% of these retreats into my own world were sexual in content the other 2% being about food. Not much has changed since, just the food replaced with booze. And I was not alone. In boys’ boarding schools MUCH time is spent thinking about sex, sex and more sex. Just ask those who do the laundry. Most boys myself included spent the afternoons drifting in and out of a state of blissful sexual intoxication, if you’d looked under the desks you’d be poked in the eye by the numerous painful boners threatening to topple the desks over. Back then that was the main reason boys had that glazed over look in class. These days teachers need to look out for glue sniffing and mobile facebook. The good ol’ days, aaahh.
I was nearly caught out one such afternoon during Miss Ruth’s class. She was a youngish beauty with a body that made it naked into many of my classmates’ bedtime fantasies. Many boys turned out A-grades in Geography hoping madly that they would be rewarded with a cup and tinker of her double C bells. On this afternoon I was dreaming about Dan our goalie who I’d recently discovered also liked ball play of a very different kind. Anyway Miss Ruth interrupted me out of my teenporn dreamland by the window: ‘Tamaku, would you come to the front of the class and present on the effects of rural-urban migration on African cities’.
I wouldn’t because I was wooden down there. I’d done my homework on demographics and could talk for days but if I stood up now Miss and the rest of the class would see the tent in my trousers. So I hurt Miss Ruth’s feelings because I was one of her favourites and shocked everyone else when I said, ‘No Miss, you can ask someone else I’m feeling rather tired today’ – which was the gross misconduct of high school but she let me off on account of my previous unblemished record. I also suspect that she realised that beneath an insolent male teenager might lie a throbbing head.
From that day on I learnt how to park my tool so that an erection did not turn into a wardrobe malfunction (I wear to the left, facing north-east when in y-fronts). Also I find a blazer buttoned up takes care of these embarrassing indiscretions. That’s the only reason why young hot black studs love their baggy jeans and why racist policemen who are closet gays love to stop them for searches...