Learning “love” in a cubicle…
Exhibit: Jacob Rees-Mogg: Eton
Sex arrives in the form of an all-consuming bonfire of passion (complete with fireworks) in an isolated, all male environment. A first sexual experience in the romantic setting of a cold, cream, metal, toilet cubicle scented with stale water and a hint of pine..
Toilet cubicles: rows of monkish cells where you could gain at least a hint of visual privacy (open at the bottom, open at the top), even whilst the audio is amplified by reflections off the metal walls and terracotta tiled floor. Do boy wanks echo? Yes, they do. Overhead water closet, dangling chain with rubber bulb and Bakelite seat.
Toilet use: no access during lessons. Always choose the cell at the end, or, as with urinal etiquette, the cell furthest from any other occupied cubicle. Once defecation is done, the wiping ceremony follows. Imagine a roll of empty crisp packets on a wall dispenser. Try again. A roll of uncoloured, old fashioned (non-metallic) crisp packets. Tear one off, fold it over and then scrape your vulnerable bottom with your origami creation to lend a whole new meaning to the phrases “paper cuts” or “knife edge creases”.
Salt and vinegar toilet paper anyone? Izal brand toilet paper – the bastard offspring of tracing paper and a crisp packet. If not pooing but wanking, post pleasure you must decide whether you’ll risk a DIY circumcision or just buff the tip with the rougher side of paper that could equally be used to smooth the edges of wooden joints. (“Once you’ve chamfered the edges, Izal the surface ready for varnishing…”).
He has not been party to the whispered, furtive (and not so furtive) conversations amongst the others, the descriptions and comments via older boys. His formal sexual education has simply comprised the classical embarrassed parental book donation (knowing the “Facts of Life” was a requirement for all boys before joining the school).
His father had said “Read this and let me know if you have any questions…” with a tone of voice and body language that said with absolute clarity: “We will never speak of this again – and not even then…”. Husband and wife; love each other very much; lie down close together; penis becomes hard etc etc. No mention whatsoever of pleasure, no mention of wet dreams and the wonders of wanking. No mention of any of the side effects from the tidal wave of hormones soon to engulf him.
He reads the book in around 30 minutes and, perforce, at no point had any questions whatsoever.
…
A chill winters night, once again awakened by “almost”, by dreams of “so nearly”, by visons of finding a toilet. Without the prospect of release from an undistended bladder followed by the pleasure of no more pressure, he slips from his bed. His little erection, somewhat subdued by the cold, threatens to protrude from his pyjama portal as he pads down the corridor. Wood turns to tiles, and there’s the sanctuary of a metal cubicle door with white porcelain and familiar rubber handled and rubber smelling metal flush chain. The cold cream cubicle cell penance place feels so warm, so inviting, such a fittingly romantic and life enhancing environment for his first time.
He sits, leaving his pyjama trousers pulled up to spare his bottom from the Bakelite. His feet are cold on the tiles. He sits with his erection poking, experimental and expectant, a small, ignorant boy with needs and feelings he doesn’t understand and doesn’t know how to satisfy. Such a small erection to elicit such a large urgency.
…