He always made me feel kinda weird if you know what I mean. Sister Dorothy, the last principal at the school, had been a bitch and punished us a lot (detentions and writing lines and kneeling in the corner) and in public school, I had had some pretty tough teachers. So, this guy shouldn't have made me uncomfortable. He was this short, balding little Indian guy with an kind of British accent, nomesain? He really didn't have much control of the school, even though he was supposed to be the new principal. So, what was it about him that gave me the creeps.
I guess it must have been the way I was always aware of his eyes on me. Pervie like, nomesain? Like, I would be in gym. And all the seventh graders would be doing sit ups, and then suddenly the principal would be in there, supposed to be talking to the coach, but I felt sure his eyes were on my _c_o_c_k_ that is kinda large tenting up in my gym shorts, or straying down my long, soft, black hairless legs. Or when we were doing push ups resting hungrily on my ass crack. The other thing, and I'm only saying this because I know it won't get no further. The other thing is . . . I was worried by the fact that the perv's admiration, hungry looks both made me sick and kind of turned me on.
I know I'm good looking, but I have always been slightly embarassed about how black my skin is. I'm like real dark, dark, chocolate black. My mama don't like that, I know. She's more kinda yella black, nomesain? My father was real black, I think, but he left a long time ago. The thing is I think my dark black skin really turns this principal on. There've been times in his office when I could swear he was resisting stroking my soft black hairless skin with his hairy hand.
Really, I should be more scared of the coach than the principal. Because the coach actually paddles kids. He's not supposed to. The school is against it because all these Catholic schools are scared of the lawsuits that have been brought against them for all the pervie priests they have. So, now they don't allow the teachers to beat the kids. But the coach would talk to our parents, and if they agreed, he would take the kids who screwed up back into the room behind the gym and give them three pops. The one time I went in, it was _d_a_m_n_ed painful, nomesain. But it didn't give me the creeps or turn me on because he was obviously not getting turned on by doing it. And then I was bored to tears by his god_d_a_m_n_ed _f_u_c_k_ing ignorant lecture, nomesain.
Anyway, I hadn't turned in my homework for the third time when I was sent to the pervie principal. He tells me he has to call my mama. I maintain a stoic act (that's a word we had to review for the standardized test vocabulary. I never thought I would need to use it), but actually I'm kinda scared. Mama is probably going to whup me when I get home. I am shocked, and I think he is a bit surprised too, when he puts down the phone and says, "She says she's coming over from work right now." Now I'm kinda scared. Mama doesn't like taking off from work, particularly from her new job.
Anyway, Mama comes storming in. She and the principal talk. I am busy yessiring and yes m'aming mama and the pervie principal. Normally, I am studiedly insolent with him, and I get the distinct sense that he's enjoying being called "sir," nomesain, and that feeling makes it all the more embarassing for me. Anyway, when Mama hears I've been goofing off in this faggot science teacher's class, she says to the principal, "I would like to make him apologize to the teacher, may I principal." "Oh certainly, Mrs. Pears," he says in his queenie English accent.
She walks down the hall with me. We go into the science teacher's class, and mama grabs my right ear and twists it viciously. Apart from the pain, I am filled with embarassment, and feel my dark skin flushing. I know that Aneisha who was kinda turned on by me, with her tits that have just begun to bud, and her nice long golden brown legs (so different from my dark chocolate skin) is both embarassed for me and kinda amused. She is not looking directly at my humiliation, but I suspect she has a kinda smirk as she looks down at the table. I humbly apologize to the science teacher. I don't want to have any attitude, no way, no how. Mama will whip the skin off me back home if I show her up in front of the other kids.
Then, we go back to the principal's office. "What this boy needs is a whupping," says Mama. She talks kinda fancy normally, not really like black English if you nomesain, and she's always correcting my grammar and so on. But a "whupping" is too important a word to sissify. Her mama gave her a whupping, and by god she is going to give me one too. I can swear the principal almost licked his lips with delight. But then he saids kinda regretful, "I am sorry Mrs. Pears. Diocesan policy doesn't permit me . . . "
"Ah, but can't I whup him, " says Mama.
"Certainly, let me find you a quiet room."
"Nonsense," briskly, "It'll take a moment. I'll whup him right here."
"No, Mrs. Pears. I don't think. . . " mixture of longing and embarassment in the perv's voice.
"Nonsense, " says Mama briskly. "Brenton, turn to the wall."
I turn obediently. "Place your hands on the wall."
I place my hands high on the wall. Soft pink palms touching the wall. Soft black backs facing me. I feel a trickle of sweat run down my back, under my nice blue uniform shirt, as I hear Mama's belt coming off. I am painfully conscious of the principal's appreciative eyes boring into my back, lingering on my round arse in the khaki trousers of the school's regulation uniform. The picture of Our Lord on the wall above me looks down, and I can swear even he's getting kinda turned on at my expense.
Mama lightly touches my back with the belt. She is the master of anticipatory torture. The belt feels menacingly cool as it touches my feverish back. Then I hear the swish of it going back in the air, and then the violent gun like crack, and the firey stinging pain. Creak of delighted reaction from the principal's chair behind me. "CRACK." "Creak." "CRACK," "Creak." Slight gasp from the principal. Why? Had he come? Was he just overcome by his luck?"
I couldn't control myself. Tears filled my big black eyes. Mama pitilessly grabbed my face and twisted it around so I was looking at the smirking principal. "Look at this big baby crying. Be a man Brenton. You were old enough to slack off; you should be old enough to take your punishment."
My back was burning and stinging for a couple of days. But what really has never left is the punishment of being the object of delight for the pervie principal. Having him watch my back and arse, having him watch me be humiliated by a woman. Being beaten by him would have been far less humiliating. Mama like has a thing against faggots, nomesain. She's always talking against them, and she's real mean to her own brother who's kinda swishy if you nomesain. Yet she doesn't suspect that she unwittingly gave my faggot principal the thrill of his pervie life whupping me in front of his hungry, devouring eyes. '