Kostya

Well I totally neglected this thread (one of about three I have started EVER) for a while, so here's the nascent beginnings of a new School tale, I'll probably edit it a bit later.

Martyr to a Perverted Cause

Attending an all boys school will do strange things to a boy. Day in, day out, a social environment dominated almost entirely by males will lead to some very strange behaviour. Now, living, as the boarders did, at an all boys school, day and night can seriously warp people’s minds. We were all social mutants to some degree, and there was no other thing on the planet which exposed this than women. Take a thousand adolescent boys and coop them up in one place, and you will witness the terrible symptoms of testosterone fever, and in no place was this affliction more acute than in the boarding towers. A lot of guys did a lot of mad things in those years for any number of reasons, but the one caper that really stands out was the greatest case of testosterone madness I ever did hear.
The boarding towers reached out of the school ground like twin citadels, about a hundred metres apart from each other, separated by a football field. The architecture was undeniably military, each cylindrical tower was accessible at only one place, across a narrow bridge, and was surrounded by a two story drop on all sides. The windows on the bottom floors were barred with sturdy steel grating, and the innards were labyrinthine, asymmetric and brutally minimalist. There was a reason that the first few floors of the boarding towers were barred, and it was not to keep intruders out. Not that it did a bit of good, and over the years, successive criminal masterminds devised ever more fiendish escape plans. The boarders, hundreds of them, lived inside, a few to a room, and we knew that they were quite literally stewing in their hormones up there, like some terrible princess in a tower myth gone all feral. There were a good number of students at my school who were, for lack of a better word, mental, and most of them disappeared over the years, expelled or sent away due to standard run of the mill ignominious breaches of conduct, but one boy distinguished himself in his expulsion as one of the most tragic heroes for the cause of depraved teenage horniness than any before or since.
He was a boarder from Papua New Guinea, a fine rugby player and a capital fellow by all accounts. He was of average height, but for his size and build exceedingly strong and while his face had an impish playfulness, he was also tough as nails. He was a troublemaker in a boarding community presided over by Mr. Jones, the most feared man to wield a cane in the history of capital punishment, and to be that, you had to have buttocks of adamantine and balls of steel.
Now, it so happened, that our school had an Olympic sized pool, and being one of the few in town, it was not uncommon for people outside the school to use its facilities. Once every year, the all girls school from across town would hold their annual swimming carnival at our pool. You can imagine of course, the panic and insanity that this event would inspire in the rank and file of the student body and staff members made a special effort to chase boys from every conceivable vantage point overlooking the pool in the surrounding buildings, of course this only made boys more determined to thwart their prudish overseers. All this defies logic of course, and there was nothing to be seen on that day that couldn’t be seen any day of the year at the beach, but logic wasn’t exactly the prime mover in your average schoolboy’s daily life. Aside from this gigantic yearly invasion of our fortress of testosterone, on regular afternoons, women came to use the pool. The day boys had all gone home by this point, and the boarders were supposed to stay well clear.
Well of course they were supposed to stay well clear, but where’s there’s a will, there’s a way. One thing I can say for libido is that it’s a great motivating force, driving some of the most ingenious creations and solutions human beings have devised. It was the primary moving force that led our hero to embark on one of the most perilous and cunning plans that was ever staged in our little community.
The changing rooms were attached to the gym, on the left were the changing rooms reserved for the private pool users, and on the right was a far more military, dingy affair which was where the boys had to change if the pool was in use if they wanted to play basketball in the gym. Now what the school authorities didn’t realize, and what the boarders knew through the lore which had been handed down over the generations, was that there was a way to access the space above the ceiling from inside the boys’ changing room, and this space led to the space above the ceiling in the women’s changing room, which was peppered with ventilation vents…
A great many legends already surrounded that passage, some said it didn’t exist, others claimed they had exploited it to invade the privacy of unwitting female users of the pool already. As you can see, living at an all boys school will do strange things to a man.
But that passageway did exist. And one day, when a group of young women came to use the pool, our hero (if he can be called that) sidled into the boys changing rooms, deftly scaled the wall and clambered into the roof. Of course, it was dark inside the cramped little space, and he was forced to crouch as he edged along, making sure to place his feet only on the solid rafters that crisscrossed the ceiling. Between the rafters were square tiles of chipboard, that aside from their dubious weight bearing capacity, were liable to make a racket if disturbed. And so, our intrepid, perverted protagonist crept slowly along the rafters, inside the roof of the gym, on a secret pilgrimage to voyeurism and teenage angst.
Meanwhile…
One of the staff members had noticed the absence of our friend, and they went to look for him in the changing rooms. But our man was nowhere to be found, and the teacher, a formidable man, balding but athletic returned to the short corridor from which the changing rooms branched off, and was on his way back outside, his suspicion increasing.
Now, crouched as he was, in the roof above the female change rooms, presumably preoccupied with the cornucopia of feminine nudity going on below, our hero suddenly realised that he was being searched for, and that in a matter of time the game was up. So he leapt up, and rushed back along the corridor above the ceiling, bent double, deftly dancing upon the beams, and way halfway back when his foot slipped off the beam, onto the chipboard square of the ceiling, and he fell half through the roof, his leg protruding into the corridor separating the changing rooms. Needless to say, our hero was caught, made to stand tall before the man and was unceremoniously expelled that very day.
Of course, returning a boy to Papua New Guinea on short notice is not exactly an easy thing to do, and so it was that he was forced to remain on campus, living in the boarding tower for two more days until he disappeared from our lives forever. And this is the reason that I am telling you this story now, for me and a few others ran into him at lunch the following day, dejected and out of uniform, near the gym where his spectacular downfall had gone down only hours earlier, and he told us the tale as I am telling it to you now.
It was madness. It was a desperate act of a crazed youth, whose brain, if it even existed was so pickled in hormones and fantasy that it seemed like a good idea. He was a martyr to a perverted cause, a peeping tom and not a successful one at that. But we had to give it to him, he had balls, well that he had balls was clear enough, they seemed to be the cause of the whole trouble in the first place, but he did something so nuts, so insane, that we weren’t sure if it was madness or courage. There were a lot of people who went down in those years, but nobody came close to the operatic dimensions of his exit from the stage, falling from grace, through the roof.