Through Queer Eyes

Mac is the cutest guy in my class. His intense green eyes take me back to the lush Kerala backwaters. Those silky effortlessly flowing hair remind me of the Goan winds.
A prince’s nose and a TV anchor’s voice on an athlete’s body. He could have been every woman’s secret desire, a dream date.
COULD HAVE BEEN.
Had he not been studying at an all boy’s boarding school.
Anyways Mac is not his real name. Like everyone else in Riverdale High, he is known
By his dummy name. A gift by the seniors to the juniors on the first day of school.
A vague ritual repeated year after year,fucchha by fucchha.
So Bakhtiyar Khan becomes Bunty, Sandesh Naresh becomes sandy, Madhavan M. becomes Mac and Ramasundaram Ranganathan (that’s me) is rechristened Roxie. And everyone is thereafter known by their shorter, sleeker names.

Locked in between the towering Himalayas, with only dense forests for company all around, on the outskirts of Dehradun , Riverdale High is quite a boring place to spend your childhood at. Had it not been for Mac (he of the green eyes and broad shoulders), I would’ve long fled this place and become a forest office clerk, tourist guide or a taxiwallah at nearby Mussoorie.

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Of all the things that I loathe, the annual boy scouts trips are perhaps the most hated of them all. Navigating strange forests, spending a night outdoors at the height of Himalayan chill, is not my idea of an outing.
This too shall pass – is how I console myself every time. But this time the weather gods came to my rescue. As soon as we started the campfire, the pitter patter of heavy raindrops cooled the forest wood. We ran for shelter to our rain proof tents. It was Vikram sir’s (our scouts instructor) idea to take along water proof tents this time. He had that doggy sixth sense. He could always smell a calamity. Last year, when the lightning struck our mess-building, he already had the hall evacuated beforehand. Once again he proved to be a lifesaver.
Mac and I were in the same tent. He was wet with rain; I was wet with rain and perspiration. He took off his clothes and hopped onto his bed. It was the first time I had seen him like this.
A soldier’s body.
Perfectly cut.
Like what you see on HEALTH magazine covers. I took off my rain and sweat drenched clothes and slipped into the blanket. It was cold, and the rain made it worse. He was shivering under his thin covers, I had enough heat. The cold was getting onto him.
‘Why don’t we stack our blankets one above the other? This chill is killing me’ he suggested.
I couldn’t believe my ears. This whole idea of being so close to his near naked body sent a shiver down my gonads.
We went into a tight embrace, legs interlocked. I transferred the heat within me, vindicating all the thermodynamic laws. I could feel the bulge in my underpants thicken. He kissed me on the neck. And the next moment I could feel him inside me.
We went two more rounds.
It was that last stroke that woke me up. From that mix of slumber and mirage. He was still shivering under his thin blanket, struggling to fit his large frame into that inadequate piece of cloth.
‘Why don’t we join our blankets? It’s too cold’ I offered.
‘Are you crazy? This thing is not big enough for both of us, unless of course you want my Willy up your arse’ he blurted out unsympathetically and turned the other side.
I could see a hint of his bare back. My poppy was in full bloom. Erect. Up in the air. Defying gravity. I slid my briefs down a little, setting it free. Held it firmly with my right hand and took it smoothly down it’s length. Then again. And again. It was raining outside, and it rained inside. Pitter patter, phich phichak.
I went back to sleep. This time with an unfulfilled heart and a sticky right hand.
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Any school is incomplete without teachers. And there are loads of them here at Riverdale. Most of them way beyond their expiry dates. Uninspiring figures. Riverdale lacks young enthusiastic blood.
Maybe this is a part of an intelligent strategy. Being a boy’s school, the lady teachers are perhaps the only female presence around, if you discount all those stray bitches moving around the campus. Having eye-candy gurus in the midst of hormone driven teenagers is a potent risk.
The geography teacher Ms. Ahlawat is particularly detested for her hideosity. I think this is quite unfair to the lady. I mean she may not appeal your aesthetic senses, but she’s not a bad teacher, and anyways geography is not a bad subject either. Okay I never got great grades in the subject, but that’s mainly because I’m always dreaming in her class. About mornings in Japan and sunsets in Sweden. About me and Mac.
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Exam-time and anxiety go hand in hand. Specially for Mac, before the geography test. He’s not so bad in the written part of the exam, but he’s awful with the maps. And particularly with islands.
‘Lumps of land floating in water’ he’d say, ‘they all look the same’.
And to make matters worse, our Ms. Ahlawat was obsessed with islands.
‘What’s it with Ahlawat and islands?’ he’d complain, ‘was she a lifeguard before this or what.
I could imagine Ahlawat in a bikini, running on the beach, strutting her stuff, sagging breasts and protruding belly, providing mouth to mouth respiration to helpless beach walkers. Indecent exposure assumed an entirely new meaning.
Ms. Ahlawat’s fascination with islands became very clear when we got the question paper in our hands.

Q. On a political map of the world, mark the following;

1. The city where Taj Mahal is situated
2 Sri Lanka
3.Andaman and Nicobar islands
4. Ireland
5. The land of the rising sun

Mac was trembling. I sneaked into his answer sheet. All wrong. Sri Lanka in Poland. Japan on England, Andamans in Africa and forget about Ireland. Only Taj Mahal was in Agra. I couldn’t see his anguish. So, well, I did what I’d never done before.
I passed on my map to him. He was thrilled and passed me a smile.
It made my day.
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That evening I was not alone at my favourite sunset spot in Riverdale. Mac was with me.
He came to say thanks.
‘You know what? Had u been a girl I would’ve kissed you’ he said

‘Really Mac?’ I was surprised.

‘Yeah, in fact why not?’ he brought his rose petal lips near my face. I closed my eyes, and felt a light peck on the cheek. It left a moist imprint behind.

‘Mac’ I said. ‘Will you marry me?’

‘What’??

‘No no nothing’

‘Roxie’ he said. ‘You are such a pervert’

I couldn’t stop blushing, but by then he was looking somewhere else.