CHAPTER 8

The rest of the term at DR Residential passed rather quickly. I went through the days going to classes in the morning, tuition and games in the afternoon, and study sessions in the evening. A friend persuaded me to join Cinema Club as a committee member.

Club activities were nothing more than maintaining an approved list of feature film titles, securing the films from a distributor in town, and screening them during weekends in the school auditorium. It was about the only form of entertainment for the student body. The committee members were rostered to fetch the film, screen and return it to the distributor within four days after the screening.

My turn came after three weeks of shadowing a fellow committee member. Summer of '42 was on the list for that particular week, and proved to be hugely popular. Most of the students stayed till the end of the movie to read the credit. I was putting the reels into their cases when someone handed me a message that the club's president was waiting for me in a club room at the back of the stage.

The club room was a cramped affair next to the auditorium's green room. Committee members held their weekly meetings in it. One wall was lined with shelves supporting stacks of files, magazines and movie catalogues. A cabinet below served as perfect stow-away for the movie projector. A small black abd white TV sat on it. The room was devoid of furniture safe for a sofa pushed against the wall. Folded wooden chairs were stacked in one corner near the door. On the door was a notice board where duty roster and other announcements were tacked on.

AJ, the club's president, was a dark and handsome fourth-year student. He was also the captain of the school's hockey team. When I walked into the room, he was on the sofa watching TV, but got up to help me put away the projector. He then inspected the movie case, snapped it shut and sealed it with masking tape.

"So, how was Summer of '42?" he broke the silence, putting the case on the shelf.

"It was OK. No problem with the projector either," I replied. "And they seemed to have enjoyed it very much."

"Yes. It's one of my favourite films, too," he smiled and went back to the sofa and resumed watching TV.

"Umm. You want to see me?" I timidly asked.

"Not really. I just thought you might want to watch the late night with me. It starts in a couple of minutes."

"Oh. What's on?"

"Marie Antoinette."

"OK." History was, after all, one of my favourite subjects.

I settled next to AJ on the sofa. From out of nowhere he produced two cans of Coke and a bag of potato chips. He dimmed the light as the movie started. The scene opened with the storming of the Bastille. Hundreds of French peasants were tearing down the heavy doors of Louis XVI's notorious fortress prison. I could not remember anything else about the movie, as on the sofa, a different kind of storm was about to brew.

AJ took my right hand and gently squeezed it. He grabbed my other hand and guided it to his lap, over his crotch. I could feel his hard member pushing against his tight jeans. As he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, he urged me to relieve him of his jeans. I slowly pulled his jeans down. He wasn't wearing anything underneath; his swollen member stood erect and proud. The sight of his naked body took my breath away. It was beautiful. His limbs were long and well proportioned, his skin so brown and exotic.

A small appendicitis operation's scar marred his lower belly. I bent down and kissed it. AJ gasped in anticipation. My lips worked their way upwards, kissing his chest, nipples, neck, nose, eyes and forehead. Then I sought his moist hungry mouth and as we kissed, images of Tony flashed in my mind. I stopped and withdrew from AJ's embrace.

"What...what's the matter?" he asked.

"I'm sorry. I just can't," I said and rushed out of the room, Tony's eyes staring accusingly in my head.