The immediate impact of the gender separation was a subtle change in the dynamics of the group. I couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but it felt different. I was reminded of rugby changing rooms at school. A sense of searching for a place in the hierarchy. Or that might just have been because I was the youngest by a good few years. Greg came to the fore here. He seemed more confident, less in Annie’s shadow. He arranged us in a crescent with a seat covered with a gold damask throw. This was the ‘throne’. I bridled at his rather masculist terminology. I didn’t want to be a ‘king’ with all that word implied. So I was starting with negativity colouring my feelings. Not good. The session that followed was focused on what it is to be male. I contributed nothing. I felt I had nothing to contribute. There was much about primal energies and power hierarchies and loads of other stuff I didn’t understand or agree with. Nathan was almost shouted down for suggesting that if we allow ourselves to be defined by our chromosomes or our sex organs we are thinking in purely binary terms which erases all subtleties of difference. I thought he was right but didn’t feel confident enough to challenge the orthodoxy that Becky defined as the patriarchy in a room containing a throne to a male ‘king’. It was a useful experience though. It made me realise that I felt like Nathan. I didn’t want to be anything other than me. I have feelings and feelings are independent of gender. But I sat quiet and waited for the end. I envied Caroline her bubble of serenity. Next time we were together I would try to learn how&nbsp;she creates it. Monty plonked himself opposite me as we assembled for our first single-gender meal. “You and Caroline seemed to be getting close in the tub last night,” he guffawed. I never know how to respond to people like him. “Tub was so full I couldn’t help it,” I replied, hoping that would indicate I didn’t want to rise to the bait. “She’s a hottie, but not much up top, if you know what I mean. I need something to grab hold of.” Monty was trying to goad me and he was succeeding. But before I could put my foot in my mouth Peter, sitting next but one to me, said “That’s exactly what I’d expect you to say, Monty. Why do you have to be so predictable?” “Hey guys, let’s not start arguing over the women,” called Jason, the guy with the muscles who’d been next to me in the opening session, “anyone fancy a game of scrabble?” And so I spent the rest of the evening playing scrabble with Peter, Nathan and Jason. Monty went off to talk with Jerry and Mike and several others, I think about football, judging by the vehemence of the arguments. The hot-tub was closed. *** With Covid tests out of the way we were a smaller group for the meditation next day. After a bit of arguing with myself I decided to be naked for this one too. Raj, who had been naked in the very first meditation, continued as he had begun. Nathan also. All the rest of the men were clothed. I felt quite brave! It was a good meditation, for me at least, helping me to find my centre. Monty accosted me as I was coming out of the shower. “I don’t know what that girl sees in you,” he said, following me into the dorm. “I don’t think she does see anything in me,” I replied as calmly as I could, but I was already way off centre. “Bah! I’ve seen you together. I know her type. Know yours too, fucking cam whore poncing around, showing everyone your willy.” I was angry because of his insinuation that he knew Caroline’s type. I was angry because men like him use girls like her without a second thought. I was angry because I couldn’t defend Caroline. They are just pieces of meat to be bought and displayed in the passenger seat of the Aston Martin. I felt an overwhelming respect for Caroline and her choices. I was angry with Vicky, who had to be the source of the information about me. Maybe she’d told the whole course. That was not a pleasant thought. I was angry with Monty because there’d been boys like him at school who delighted in finding a weakness, a chink in the armour, and working at it until the subject lashed out or ran away. I wanted to hit him. He knew I wanted to hit him. I could see it in his eyes. And all at once my anger evaporated into pity. I turned my back on him and went to my bunk. “Well done,” said Nathan, sitting on my bed. “I thought you were just a pretty boy. If it had been me I’d have hit him.” “No you wouldn’t. They’re like zombies. They keep coming back for more.” Nathan laughed. “Well, well, the pretty boy has a sense of humour!” I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or a jibe worse than Monty’s. *** The dance session was different, not simply because we were all men but because Greg was playing different music. Much more metallic, heavier, more aggressively insistent. At one point I thought it was going to turn into a sort of haka like New Zealanders do at rugby matches, all stamping feet and lolling tongues. But it was rather fun watching them all trying to pogo around in time with the beat.When the music ended Greg asked us to sit in the crescent again facing the throne. It was a sharing session – what is it that makes you a man? Raj volunteered to go first and went to sit on the throne. He talked&nbsp;about his journey as a spiritual transformation becoming one with the universe. Monty stepped up next. To him being a man was making the big deals, climbing to the top of the pyramid, earning kudos. Peter said that being a man was about being responsible for one’s family, community and the planet. Nathan that it was to achieve balance between yin and yang, male and female, dark and light. And then Jason went up, sat for some seconds staring at his hands and then looked at us and shouted ‘I want to feel’. This was greeted with a cheer and claps. At least two others said something similar. The we all stood up and echoed him. It was wonderful! When it came to my turn my mind was a blank. I went slowly to the throne and sat, looking at the faces. What was it that would make me into a man? “I want to be honest,” I said. People looked at me. Maybe they hadn’t heard. I stood up. “I want to be honest!” I said more loudly and then realized it was more, much more than that. “I want always to be totally honest with myself. Never to be afraid to look strangers in the eye. Never to walk away when someone needs my help. I’ve got a long way to go yet. But when I do all that, I’ll be a man.” There was a dead silence for two or three heartbeats and then a ripple of claps and yeahs, and even whistles. The afternoon session, after the dancing, even louder and more bass beat driven, was touch - male on male touch. I was teamed up with Jason and Dan, who was probably the oldest in the group. All of us knew that this was the last session before the return of the women and whereas there had been eager anticipation before the touch sessions with the women, this session seemed to be approached with a universal dread. Dan volunteered to go first. We began with boundaries. He would remain clothed. No genital touching. No touching feet. What did he want? Just gentle touch. Nothing hard or rough. It was an anodyne session. Just touch for the sake of touching. Then Jason. He kept his underpants on. No genital touching. Be gentle. It was quite pleasant touching Jason, but sort of boring too because he gave no feedback. It was as if he were daring himself not to feel. Finally, it was me. I surprised myself by saying: “I’ll be naked. No prodding and poking in orifices, no pulling, pinching or rough stuff. Nowhere’s out of bounds. I’d like a nice sensuous touch, I want to feel like I’m valued.” Then I undressed, lay on my sarong and waited. If I was expecting a delicious erotic experience it didn’t happen. The touch was very genteel as if they were afraid of arousing me. Pity, I could have done with some excitement. Nevertheless it was pleasant. I got dressed again. We had a short feedback session in which none of us said very much other than ‘it was an interesting experience’. Then we came together as a group and Greg explained that the women would be coming back after supper and we should make plans to welcome them. To my surprise, Monty was one of the leaders of the reception committee. We were told to go and have supper and return quickly to set up the room. Cynically I told myself he was just dying to see the women return but, although that might have been part of it, he really was a good organiser. Paper and flip-chart pens were brought, candles were found, hangings discovered. Although it took the whole available time the room was transformed and it was largely due to Monty’s continuous cajoling, directing, encouraging. We were all sent off to shower, put on our best clothes and prepare ourselves so that, at 7:30, we would be waiting expectantly for the women to return. *** The women came back, led by Annie, gathering at the end of the room. The excited expectation from our end was electric! The women had made a special effort for us with their hair, make-up and clothes. I looked around at the other men, we were as nervous as teenagers! For some tense seconds we at our end and they at their’s stared at each other. It was like some appalling parody of a school dance. Then we men remembered that it was up to us to welcome the women back - to go and bring them back into our space. I don’t know who made the first move, it certainly wasn’t me, but whoever did triggered a mass move forward, not a stampede but a concerted, almost tidal, surge. I saw Caroline and burrowed towards her, holding out my hand. For a moment I thought she was going to refuse it and go off with someone else. I seized her hand. I was afraid she would escape. I almost dragged her to our end of the room. Although it was only twenty-four hours it had felt like an eternity. Annie and Greg formed us into another circle in our pairs and we discussed the experiences of being apart in our own gender groups, especially how different that was from being together. Compared with the women’s stories of closeness and sharing we men had less to say. There was not the same closeness between us men as there seemed to have been between the women. One of the men did wonder whether we men might have shared a greater closeness if we had been out in the wild, cutting down trees and making shelters. Although that suggestion raised a laugh it rang true and Greg did talk about the peculiar power of men bonding in those sorts of group. The evening ended with more dancing. This time it was more like a club with people dancing together rather than the usual more individual behaviour. I suppose that was to be expected. “Are you coming to the hot tub?” Caroline asked, taking my hand and almost pulling me through the room. We were the first in, although it filled up fairly quickly. She leaned against me, her head against mine. Her hand strayed across my thigh and began to fondle me. I responded and she continued gently fondling. It was intimate and yet oddly playful. She didn’t object when my hand slipped between her thighs and traced the groove of her vulva. The hairless lips were soft like velvet. She reached down and directed me to her clit. “Just gently,” she whispered. I wasn’t the only one to get out of the tub with an erection but the people in the tub were oblivious, engaged on their own intimacies. In the shower she pressed herself against me “Oh, you are so tempting!” She kissed me quickly and pushed me away. “Sadly I have to go to bed in a roomful of women. ”

First steps on the journey

The First Day

Developing Trust

Becoming naked

Looking in the mirror

Separation

Letting go

Sweet sorrow

large_Marcus cover pic3.jpeg

medium_Marcus cover pic3.jpeg

small_Marcus cover pic3.jpeg

thumbnail_Marcus cover pic3.jpeg

Marcus cover pic3.jpeg

Being a Boy

Being a Boy

Optiskeptic

Share

Want to continue reading?

Advertisement

About Author

Optiskeptic

Advertisement

Reviews and Comments

This story has not been rated yet. Login to review this story.

Other stories by Optiskeptic

A Day's End

Browse