The first half of this episode of my school reminiscences tells something of my experiences in the fourth form at Towcester School. Those of you have read earlier instalments will know that the fourth form was the form for second year boys. Most of us were fourteen at the beginning of the year. The second half describes an incident in the second term of my period in the lower sixth form, when I was sixteen. As I have stressed before, these stories are all true. The names and a few other details have been changed, but I have stuck firmly to the basic truth. I apologise, therefore, that I have not been able to colour the stories with the sort of flights of fantasy which I guess, from reading other MMSA Stories stories, are particularly popular with readers. But the purpose of this exercise is to tell it as it was and, had I resorted fiction, that would not have been fair to you. In case there are any of you out there who like my fictional pieces, I can assure you that, once I have finished with this series, I will resume my fictional work.
I must make another apology. This instalment starts with a brief account of how my relationship with Alice progressed during the holidays. I am all too aware that many of you may find that distasteful, but to omit it would be to leave out a very important part of my complicated teenage years. Then, and indeed now, I found myself often confused by the fact that I could be, and was, so aroused by boys' whackings while, at the same time, having incredibly strong hetero_s_e_x_ual urges. To pretend that the latter did not exist would be to give a wholly misleading picture of my life as a fourteen year old schoolboy.
The long Summer holidays had been very pleasant. About two weeks before the end of term I had, you may recall, been given six strokes of the cane by Davies, the head of my House, for having a midnight swim. Much to my delight, so odd were schoolboys in those days, my bottom had continued to show evidence of that beating for the whole of the rest of the term. Of course, the stripes were fading rapidly in the last few days, but other boys were still commenting, as late as the morning of the last day, that they were still visible. For the first time, I would be able to show my father some evidence of a school caning. As I have remarked before, I have noticed from other stories on these pages that it seems to have been a common experience among other boys that a school punishment would be rewarded by a home punishment as well. That was certainly not the case in the Lineham household. Neither, I think, was it the case with any of my friends. Of course, I was not privy to my friends' letters home, but I can assure you that my own, at least to my father, were littered with accounts of canings, both my own and others'. Lemming did, actually, show me one of his letters to his parents. It was written just after I had become the first new boy to be swished. It gave a graphic account of the event and even included a drawing of a boy bending over and an older boy standing next to him with a cane in his hand. So I honestly do think that I was not alone in being perfectly happy to report home on school punishments. Anyway, now I would be able to go a step further and actually show my father some stripes. And not just some stripes. He was going to see six.
I hasten to say that I was not intending to drop my trousers and show him, just like that. No, I knew that he had to see by accident. But that was easy enough to set up. We spent the first part of the holidays at our country house in Wiltshire. There was a river which ran past the bottom of our garden. We used to swim in it (I have used it in at least one of my fictional stories). When my father and I were there alone we didn't bother with swimming trunks. On the first afternoon of the holidays I suggested to him that we might have a swim while my mother and sister went shopping. It was a hot day and he jumped at the opportunity to leave his work and cool down in the river. We stripped off on the river bank. I hovered near him, before jumping in, in the hope that he would notice the faded, but definitely visible, thin dark stripes across my still small buttocks. But he just jumped straight in without looking. That was a bit annoying, but my next plan worked. I got out before him and laid my towel on the ground. Then I lay down on it, face down, to sun bathe. Sure enough, when he got out to join me he could not help seeing the stripes.
"Well, I say Percy, if those stripes are the ones you got two weeks ago, Davies goes even higher in my estimation than he was before".
"They certainly are Dad", I replied, "good, aren't they?".
"Excellent. I'm delighted to see they know how to treat you at Towcester."
The highlight of the holidays came when Alice's parents and mine agreed that she could come and stay with us for a week in August. I had already introduced her to my parents when they had come to see our production of Romeo and Juliet. They had both been suitably impressed by their son's taste in girls. My father, in particular, clearly took a great shine to her. He said that he hoped I knew how lucky I was to have a girlfriend like her. I suspected he rather fancied her himself. Anyway, I couldn't wait for her arrival.
The day finally came and my father and I went to pick her up at the station. She was looking stunning. Clearly, her parents didn't have her school's objection to mini skirts. She was wearing the most delightfully short blue skirt with a tight white blouse. Her legs were bare and seemed to be incredibly long. I gazed at her in total admiration as she walked towards us along the platform. I remember being uncertain as to whether I should kiss her in front of my father. I didn't mind his seeing us kiss, but I thought she might be embarrassed. I needn't have been worried. She came straight up to me and kissed me lightly on the lips. Then she turned to my father and kissed him on the cheek.
When we got home I offered to show her around. I took her suitcase up to her bedroom and then we went for a walk round the garden. When we got to the river I explained that we could swim there whenever we wanted.
I will always remember those few days spent with Alice in the beautiful English countryside. We were inseparable. We generally went off on bicycles immediately after breakfast. We would ride for miles on near deserted lanes and find new places to stop for the picnic lunch which my mother provided for us. Occasionally, we would lie together on the rough grass of a newly mown field and talk of whatever came into our heads. Sometimes we would kiss, but in the most chaste and innocent fashion. It may be a cliche, but it was certainly true for us that time seemed to stand still during that week of bliss.
Our afternoons would usually be spent by the river at the bottom of the garden. We would swim, run around to get dry and laze on our towels. Alice wore a pretty brief costume for those days which showed off her budding figure magnificently. Ours was not, at least on my side, a wholly platonic relationship. More than once, as I lay on my towel gazing at her in admiration, I found myself reacting in the same way I did to school punishments. I was always careful, when that happened, to lie face down. Whether she was aware of the effect she was having on me, I don't know. But, if she was, it clearly did not distress or worry her. She seemed to be as blissfully happy as I was.
It was the night before she was due to go home. We had all had supper together. The weather was sultry. During the day the heat had been almost too much. But, after the sun set, the temperature fell to a more bearable level. I asked Alice if she would like a walk before bed. She smiled at me and said she'd love it. We went out together, with only a brief reminder from my mother that we should be in bed in an hour. Our generation may have been subject to what would now be thought to be harsh discipline, both at home and at school, but we also enjoyed far more freedom than most modern children. Never once did my parents give any hint of concern when the two of us wandered off for hours on end without any indication of where we might be going. And that night was no different.
In fact, we didn't stray far. I should explain that our garden was pretty big. I call it a garden, but, apart from that part which was close to the house, it was really no more than a couple of fields with occasional trees and a host of wild flowers (and weeds). We decided against leaving the grounds and walked slowly through the long grass, hand in hand, savouring the evening Summer smells and listening to the earnest chatter of countless grasshoppers. When we got to the river bank we saw that we had left our towels on the grass in the afternoon. Alice went to pick them up.
"No dew yet then", she said, "they're as dry as a bone. Come on, let's have a swim".
"What about our swimming things?" I said, rather foolishly in retrospect.
"We don't need them, come on, I won't look if you don't. Anyway, it's dark so we couldn't see much even if we wanted to."
And so it came to be that Alice and I found ourselves undressing together by the river. She, modestly, wrapped herself in her towel as she removed her underwear. I, gallantly as I thought, turned my back on her and removed my own clothes. I didn't bother with a towel. It was an overcast night and the moon only peeked through the clouds for seconds at a time. Once I was naked, I turned and saw her dim outline heading for the river. Just then there was a sudden clearing in the skies. The moon shone brightly and I was rewarded with the clearest view of her naked back and bottom. The beauty of her form, and its deep attraction to me, almost took my breath away. I stood and stared. I could not believe that there was ever anything so desirable as Alice. It must have been only a moment, but it was one to be treasured for ever. The moon slid behind another cloud and all was black again. I went forward and reached the river seconds after she jumped in. I followed her and, for about ten minutes or so, we swam and splashed together like five year olds.
She got out first. She did not immediately pick up her towel. I lay, floating on my back, longing for the moon to appear again. But even without the aid of the moon I could now see much more. I could make out the shape of her small breasts and the curves of her thighs. I am sure I must have sighed with pleasure as I gazed on her. Slowly I swam to the bank and eased myself out of the water. I had assumed that, as she saw me approaching, she would grab her towel to protect her modesty. But she didn't. She just stood there, stark naked, and allowed me to walk towards her. As I reached her I had an overwhelming desire to put my arms round her slender form. She made no objection. Indeed, soon we were embracing each other and our lips were touching. I felt her wet fingers running up and down my back. Mine were doing the same to her. Her lips parted, very slightly. Mine did the same. It was not the lusty tongues entwined kiss of modern youth, but the tips of our tongues did touch. We each pulled the other closer. I felt one of her hands at the base of my spine. I allowed my own to drift down too. Soon, she was stroking my buttocks. Ever so slowly my hand crept further down. I felt the firmness of the top of her bottom and then the curves a little lower down. Amazingly, perhaps because I was still wet from the river, I was still limp. But then I could feel Alice pressing me into her body. My penis brushed against the small thatch of coarse hair between her legs. My chest was crushing her breasts. Soon, both my hands were on her bottom, pressing into the firm flesh. Then, inevitably, the hardening began. She allowed our embrace to go on for a little longer but then, with a last kiss, she eased us apart.
She looked down at the outline of my by now erect member. "Sorry, Percy", she said, "we're not ready for this yet. One day, I hope, but not yet."
She said it in the gentlest of tones without the slightest hint of amusement at what she had done to me. And, as a result, I felt no embarrassment at all at what had happened.
The moment of passion gone, we quickly dried and dressed again before making our way, hand in hand as ever, back to the house. Just as we reached the back door she pulled me towards her again for a goodnight kiss. Again, we fondled each other's now clothed bottoms and I felt her braless breasts through the thin material of her blouse. Then we stood lightly apart and gazed into each others eyes. Finally, she spoke.
"Percy, I really am sorry to have got you so excited without doing anything about it. You do understand, don't you?".
"Of course, you mustn't worry. As you say, one day maybe."
"Will you think of me when you're in bed tonight?"
Again, she said it without any suggestion of lewdness. We both knew what she meant, but neither of us, I think, felt in the slightest bit dirty.
I smiled at her. "I won't be able to think of anything or anyone else for a long time", I said.
She smiled back and whispered into my ear. "Well I hope you have fun. I'll certainly be thinking of you."
I suspect my parents were a little surprised that we both said we were tired and would turn in straight away. But maybe they guessed at how close we were becoming. Anyway, we went upstairs together and, with one final kiss on the landing, went our separate ways to our bedrooms. I did it three times that night. Maybe for the first time in my life, it felt as though what I was doing was a good and beautiful thing, not the sordid act of a filthy minded schoolboy.
I wish I could claim that I kept what happened between Alice and me that night as our own secret. But that would be a false claim. Sadly, in those moments of beauty and passion, I had not thrown off all the more uncivilised aspects of a young teenager's life. Inevitably, in the early days of the next term, and with some unforgivable exaggeration, I regaled the other boys in my dormitory with the tales of my conquest. Neither was it long before I learnt that my other passion, the walloping of boys' bottoms, was just as capable of arousing me as were thoughts of Alice's naked body in the moonlight.
I learnt, on arriving back at the school, that I had been chosen as one of the fourth form boys who were to act as mentors to a third form study. I was no longer in a study with Lemming and Rowntree. I was now in a two boy study with Simmonds, who was also a mentor. My three charges were Staughton, who had been in the year below me at Manor, Russell and Bainham. As Turner had done for Lemming, Rowntree and me, I gave the new boys their introductory talk in their study on the first day of term.
Staughton, of course, was well known to me as an excellent chap. I had no doubt that he would settle down to life at Towcester without any problem. But Russell and Bainham were completely new to me. I looked them up and down with interest at that first meeting. Both looked fit and healthy. Both were slim and athletic looking. One, Bainham, had blond hair. Russell had red hair and freckles. Neither appeared too daunted by their new surroundings. Both smiled easily and naturally. Yes, I thought, this lot should be OK.
I won't repeat our conversation. It was very much the same as the one we had had with Turner a year before. Obviously, I knew that Staughton was used to the cane. I was relieved to hear that both the other two had been caned at their prep schools too. With my by now experienced eye, I appraised the shapes of their trousered bottoms. Both, I thought, would be excellent targets.
The first few days of term passed pleasantly enough. I managed to keep out of trouble, but was pleased to note that Lynch and Rowntree were not so lucky. Each had acquired two black marks before the first week was out. That, I thought, was promising. In fact, we had to wait two more weeks before Pearson's ability with the cane could be judged. Lemming was the first victim. Layton was the witnessing prefect. I watched with my usual fascination as Lemming joined him in the corridor outside the prep room and, as usual, tried to picture the scene in the gym as my friend bent over to present his perfect buttocks for the cane. When he returned, smiling at us as he entered, I raised a querying eye brow to him. He placed the tips of his forefinger and thumb together in a gesture indicating that Pearson had carried it off perfectly. Sure enough, later that night, I saw the evidence of a masterful caning. Lemming's bottom was admirably striped with four vivid weals. Pearson, it seemed, did not use a run up, but Lemming had no doubt that he was just as hard a swisher as Davies had been. Before I went to sleep my thoughts were not of Alice (for the first time for ages). They were solely of Lemming and his punishment. They produced the desired result.
Alice and I were still in the drama club. The meetings were not so frequent as they had been in the previous term, but I still saw her legitimately every other weekend. And we continued our weekly illicit meetings in the park. I had told her, of course, of my conversation with Davies and of how he had known all the time what we were doing. She said she wasn't surprised because the whole of St Joan's knew about us. We agreed that, so long as we didn't do anything too foolish, we would probably be safe to continue as we had started. And so we did.
There was nothing remarkable about our meeting in the park on the last Friday before half term. I got across the bridge without being spotted. We met with our usual chaste kiss and took our usual slow walk around the park, holding hands all the time. I told her of a rugby success. She told me of a dreadfully gruelling cross-country run that all the girls in her house had done. When we got to our favourite place (a small copse hidden from prying eyes) we embraced and kissed a little less chastely. We returned to the bandstand and took our leave of each other. I hovered, as usual, by the bridge before being sure that the coast was clear. I made my usual mad dash across and I got safely back to the school without mishap.
As I was leaving breakfast on the following day, a Saturday, Pearson, the head of House, approached me.
"Lineham", he said, "I wonder if you'd mind coming to see me in my study at break?".
"Of course not", I replied, "see you then".
I didn't think much more about it. He had sounded perfectly friendly and natural. Maybe he wanted me to do some special fagging job for him. It certainly didn't cross my mind that I was in some sort of trouble.
The bell for break went and I made my way back to the House and Prefects' Corridor. I knocked on Pearson's door.
"Come in".
I opened the door and walked in. He was sitting on his sofa. He looked up and pointed to one of the arm chairs.
"Hello Lineham, thanks for coming to see me. Sit down."
I sat and waited.
"I won't beat about the bush", he began, "I don't like this at all, but old Gasket" (our name for Mr Gaskins the geography master with whom I had never got on) "has reported you to me for being in the park yesterday afternoon and ordered me to give you three black marks. In my opinion it's none of his business. What you get up to on Friday afternoons is between you, me and Mr Rolands. If he wanted to do something about it he should have told Roly Poly and I'm sure he'd have told him to mind his own business."
I could tell that Pearson was upset because he never usually used masters' nicknames when talking to junior boys. Anyway, he carried on.
"I reckon he reported you to me because he knew Roly Poly wouldn't do anything about it. But he knows that I can't ignore what a master says to me. So the long and short of it is that I am afraid I've got to give you three black marks. Of course, I know all about you and Alice, Davies told me last term. Fortunately, Gasket didn't see you with her so, as far as I'm concerned, you were just playing a harmless prank to see if you could get in and out of the park without being seen. Anyway, that's what I'll say to Roly Poly when I see him before prep. At least I won't have to give you six, but I'm sorry to say that I can't get away with less than four. And it won't be any good going easy on you with them either. Bloody Gasket gets his nose in everywhere. If you don't have a properly striped bum he's bound to find out and make a fuss. I just wanted you to know that none of this is my idea."
Poor Pearson, he really did look dreadfully unhappy. And well he might. It was a cardinal, if unwritten, rule that, except for things like smoking and drinking and misbehaviour in class, masters, other than housemasters and house tutors, should not interfere in disciplinary matters. No other master, seeing a School House boy in the park on a Friday afternoon, would have done anything about it at all, other, perhaps, than telling the boy to leave the park. I also suspected that Pearson was quite correct in saying that, had Gasket gone to Mr Rolands, he would have been given a flea in his ear. It was just typical of the man that he chose to go to Pearson and put him in the position of having to punish me. Extraordinarily, you might think, those were the thoughts going through my mind as I sat in that armchair being told that I would be caned later that evening. All my sympathy was with Pearson. For a few minutes anyway, I had no thought of the pain I would suffer later.
"That's OK Pearson", I said, "I can see it's not your fault. I'm just sorry I've got you into this."
"That's a very kind thing to say Lineham, but it's not your fault either. Thank you very much for being so understanding. And one thing you can be sure of is that I'll be telling Roly Poly how well you took this. OK, off you go and enjoy the rest of break. See you later."
I can feel, in my bones, that I have lost some of you already. How preposterous, you are saying to yourselves, that such a conversation should have taken place. Here was a boy who had been seen out of bounds by one of his school masters, why on earth should he or his head of house complain when the crime was reported? Well, all I can say is that this is all absolutely true. Day to day discipline was thoroughly understood to be the responsibility of the prefects. Of course, they answered to the headmaster and to the housemasters, but prefects would never expect any other master to interfere. I am not saying that masters had to stand idly by while boys misbehaved. Far from it. Indeed, there could have been no criticism of Mr Gaskins if he had told me to get back on to the right side of the river straight away. Had that happened, I would obviously obeyed him. I might also have been worried that he would report me to Mr Rolands, and perhaps I wouldn't have been quite so confident as Pearson that my housemaster would have overlooked the matter. But, even if Mr Rolands had decided I should be punished, I would, in those circumstances, have had no cause to complain. But, for a master to give a direct order to a prefect that another boy should be given three black marks (or any black marks) was quite intolerable.
When I left Pearson's study I went directly to my own. Simmonds was there.
"So what did Pearson want?" he asked, as I sat on one of the easy chairs.
"Gasket saw me in the park yesterday and told Pearson to give me three black marks for it."
"What? That _f_u_c_k_ing man is the end" exclaimed Simmonds. I don't think I had ever heard him use that word before. He was clearly as shocked as Pearson and I had been at the geography master's behaviour. "Pearson isn't going to swish you for it is he?".
"He's got no choice. He's being really decent about it, says he doesn't want to do it, but what else can he do? I mean, a master's pretty well told him that he's got to swish me. He can't disobey a master."
"I spose not. But maybe Roly Poly will overrule the Gasket. He can't be pleased about it either."
"I can't see Roly Poly doing that. He's not going to undermine another master's authority is he?".
"Good point. Well I reckon this is really bad luck for you. He's not going to give you six is he?"
"No. That's one of the decent things about him. He's already told me that he's going to ask Roly Poly if I can have just four. Seems the Gasket didn't see me with Alice, so he's going to say it was just a prank of going over the bridge and coming back again."
"Yeah, he's not bad is he, Pearson?"
The bell then rang for the rest of morning lessons. By lunchtime, inevitably, everyone knew about my predicament. Several boys, many in years well above mine, came to commiserate with me and express their dislike of the Gasket. Even Napier, a prefect, told me how wrong he thought it to be, at the same time as mentioning that he was to be the witness to my beating.
That afternoon I played in the under 15s in a home match against Winchelsea School. Although it was a draw, I did reasonably well, scoring two tries and converting both. Anyway, I was content with my performance and others seemed to agree that I had been a credit to the school. Because it was a Saturday, there was no prep. Instead, there was a period of half an hour immediately after supper when all boys had to be in their studies. It was during that period that I would be caned. After that, there was to be a meeting of the drama club, ironically in the gym (the site of my punishment). That meant that I would see Alice, which was a cheerful thought to keep in my mind as my fate approached.
As usual in such circumstances, during supper the conversation around me mainly concentrated on what was to happen to me later. Lemming had developed a theory about how to minimise the pain. He explained to me, for about the third time.
"I reckon that the reason we have to clutch our ankles and not bend our knees is that they know that the tauter your bum is the more it hurts. Well, if you're like me, your natural reaction when the swishing starts is to sort of clench your bum muscles. Now I think that that makes your bum even tauter. Anyway, I reckon the best thing to do is to try to keep your bum as relaxed as possible."
That started a fierce debate between those who favoured Lemming's theory and those who did not. I listened , in a rather detached way, to these serious deliberations. My own opinion was that it would hurt about the same whichever approach one adopted.
Supper was soon over and Simmonds and I returned to our study. I had only just sat down when Napier opened the door. That was unusual. Normally, the practice was to drag out the agony of waiting. Pearson must, I thought, have wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible.
As we walked to the gym Napier told me, again, how sorry he was that this was happening. He said that it was no secret that Pearson was absolutely furious with the Gasket. When we arrived at the gym doors he gave me a sympathetic smile and said that he hoped it wasn't too bad.
Inside, Pearson was waiting for us. He wore no jacket and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. He spoke in a kindly tone.
"Sorry about this Lineham. Anything you want to say?"
"No thanks Pearson, let's just get it over with."
"Sensible lad. Ok, jacket off, usual routine."
I handed my jacket to Napier and walked straight to the white marks. I bent over and watched through my legs. Pearson approached and put his hand on my bottom (the usual check for padding). Then, and this had never happened before, he spoke again.
"Bloody hell Lineham, I'm sorry I did that. It's just automatic. I know you'd never pad up."
"That's OK", I said, "I know you've got to do it."
Then he transferred the cane to his right hand and, standing slightly behind me and to my left, raised it high in the air. There was no pause. He swung it straight down with deadly accuracy and, despite the absence of a run up, enormous force. I grimaced as the pain seared across my buttocks. The next three strokes came in very rapid succession. Their force was such that it was abundantly clear that he was not going easy on me, but their rapidity showed me that he genuinely did want the whole thing over and done with in record time. The second the last one had smashed into me he spoke again.
"OK Lineham, that's it, get up when you want to."
I sprang up and, as I always did, clutched my bottom with both hands. I was just about thank Pearson when he interrupted me.
"No need to thank me. It's a bloody disgrace I had to do it. Look, I know you'll want to get out of here in double quick time, but I just want to tell you that Roly Poly is as furious as me. Don't ever let on that I told you this, but he said he would be having some strong words with the Gasket about his behaviour. So long as you keep out of sight of prefects, your Friday meetings in the park should be safe in future. Anyway, I'm glad it's over, you can go back to your study on your own."
"Well I will thank you Pearson, cos I know you hated doing it, but you had to. And thanks too for doing it so quickly. It hurts just as much as normal, but at least it wasn't all drawn out."
He smiled at me. "You know, Lineham, you are a real credit to the House. Now off you go."
I gratefully made for the door and, once outside, permitted myself the luxury of a post-swishing war dance as I jumped up and down clutching my bottom. Then, the immediate pain subsiding, I went back to my study to report to Simmonds and show him my stripes. They were impressive. They looked just as good as any produced by Davies with his run up technique. It fascinated me that the same effect could be produced from a standing position. Simmonds agreed that Pearson had done a good job. He had not yet been caned by Pearson, although I seem to remember that he did not have to wait that long. He said that he could see that our new head of house was just as talented a swisher as Davies had been.
I only got a few minutes alone with Alice during the drama club meeting. But they were enough to tell her all that had happened. I am not sure that she quite understood how badly the Gasket had behaved (girls' schools were run on different lines), but she was certainly suitably sympathetic with me. When no one was looking she managed a gentle stroke of my bottom and, once more, I was in heaven.
My dormitory was, of course, treated to the usual show before bed. Pearson's work had, by then, been admired on several fourth form bottoms, but we never tired of these shows. All agreed that my swishing had been well up to School House standard. Despite my righteous anger at the Gasket's intolerable interference in my discipline, I was just as content that night as I always was once the pain of a caning had all but gone. And, yet again, I had the wonderful consolation of my usual nocturnal sport, my mind flitting from re-living my punishment to the gentle touch of Alice's hand on my bottom.
I was caned once again that term. Pearson gave me four again, obviously not counting the first caning (since a second beating in a term for a fourth former would usually have been five strokes). I was gratified that all three of my third form charges underwent their first Towcester canings without any problems. All three showed me their bottoms afterwards and all three contributed to a pleasant few minutes between the sheets as I thought of their stripes.
In the following, Easter, term I managed to get away with only one beating. But I made up for that in the long Summer term by making the walk to the white marks three times. In the fifth form, the following year, I was only caned three times, once in each term. Now, I will resume the more detailed history by telling of an incident in the Easter term of my year in the lower sixth.
I was, by now, sixteen. I had grown considerably. I am now 6' tall. Then, I imagine, I was about 5' 10" or 5' 11". I was still slim and, as a result of my love of all sports, I was fit and strong. My youthful good looks, of which I have shamelessly boasted before, had not left me. My relationship with Alice, and this must have been a record, was still as strong as ever. Our kisses in our favourite copse were now much more passionate than in the early days and, during the previous holidays, when I had been staying at her parents' house, I had achieved a great first in a boy's life. I was still a virgin, but she had helped me perform that act which, till then had been a solitary one. It happened one afternoon. Her parents were out and we had the house to ourselves. She had blossomed into a beautiful and immensely attractive young woman. She was still slim. Her breasts had grown, but they were delightfully firm with no sagging. Her bottom was now rounder, but still almost that of a boy in its firmness and slimness. As ever, when we were alone together without fear of being seen by others, we found ourselves quickly wrapped in each others arms. We were on the sitting room sofa. I allowed my hands to roam over her wonderful body. Hers were doing the same to mine. It was only a matter of minutes before I felt the familiar stirring. Her hand was on my thigh. It crept, delightfully slowly, towards my groin. When it finally arrived I was almost fully erect. I felt her touch it. I feared she would pull away. But she didn't. She gently rubbed it through the fabric of my jeans. Then she whispered into my ear.
"Percy, do you remember that night by the river at your place, two years ago?"
"How could I ever forget it?", I whispered back breathlessly as the gentle rubbing continued.
"I said then that, one day, we might be able to do something. Do you remember that?"
"I dream of it every night".
"Well, what about now?", and then she quickly added her terms, "I don't mean go all the way, but I could help you relieve the pressure if you want. Would you like to come up to my bedroom with me?"
Can fish swim?, I thought to myself.
"Oh Alice, that would be just heaven".
And so we made our way up the stairs. Once in her room we embraced again. Then I felt her hands undoing my belt. Next it was the button at the top of my jeans. Then the zip was slowly pulled down. I was as hard as I had ever been. She eased my jeans down, over it. My underpants followed and I felt the tips of her fingers on the tip of my penis.
"If you want to", she whispered into my ear, "you can undress me too."
We were soon both absolutely naked and, still in the deepest embrace, we gently lay together on the bed. As my hands explored her and my lips kissed her nipples, she slowly began to pump. I was much too excited. I held it back for as long as I could, and I think I managed surprisingly well, but it can only have been about five minutes before the best climax of my life. It spurted all over her naked midriff. We both lay back exhausted. I lifted my head and gazed at her. She was gently fingering the creamy fluid on her pale flesh and the expression on her face was one of absolute pleasure. I leant forward and gently kissed her lips.
So it was that I returned to school having, to my mind, grown up immeasurably in the short holidays. But, as when I had been fourteen, I had lost none of my interest in that other subject. Now that we were in the lower sixth, there wasn't nearly as much opportunity for seeing striped bottoms. We were still theoretically at risk of the cane, but it was uncommon for sixteen year olds to suffer that fate. Three or four lower sixth formers in School House had been caned in the previous term, but that was all. Fortunately, there was still the showers after games, when younger boys could be seen showing off their stripes to their friends. So I was not completely deprived of my favourite occupation at school.
I regret to say that, partly as a result of my conviction that I was now almost adult, I had taken to smoking. I was not addicted to the habit. Indeed, as a general rule, I only smoked on Sunday afternoons when a few of us would generally wander down to some woods about a mile from the school and furtively light up from our shared packet of ten cigarettes. Once the cigarettes were finished, we would solemnly suck Polo mints in order to disguise the smell on our breaths and return to the school.
It was three or four weeks into the term. Lemming, Rowntree, Lynch and I set off after lunch to the woods. On the way, Lynch, whom we thought to look the oldest of us, went into a shop and bought ten Players No. 10 cigarettes. We walked to the usual place and sat on a fallen tree trunk while we lit up. Players Number 10 were about the smallest (and certainly the cheapest) cigarettes on the market. They only took a very short time to smoke. We had all finished, except for Lemming, when we heard a rustle in the undergrowth behind us. Lemming, instinctively, dropped his cigarette end on the ground and stamped on it. We all turned to look. There was no one in sight. But then, a second or two later, we saw the familiar figure of Smith Major emerging from behind a tree. I remember thinking how fortunate it was that we had not lit up a few minutes later. If we had, I thought, he would almost certainly have seen us. As you will have guessed by now, Smith Major was a prefect.
"Good afternoon", he greeted us in a perfectly normal tone.
"Hello" I replied.
"So what are you four up to then?"
"Just having a rest on our walk, Smith", said Lemming.
"Jolly good, do you mind if I join you?". He walked round the tree trunk and we edged up to make space for him, all carefully keeping our shoes over the tell tale cigarette ends.
We sat silently for a moment or two. Then he spoke again.
"So, what do you smoke? Let me guess, Players Number 10?".
Rowntree was the first of us to splutter a response. "What are you talking about? Course we don't smoke. It's against the rules".
"Oh I know that", said Smith, still in his calm tone, "but I'm still wondering if I'm right. You see, I couldn't see the packet when you were lighting up and Lemming put it straight back in his pocket before I could get a better view. Maybe I can tell from the fag ends. Why don't you lift up your feet and let me have a look?"
We knew we were done for, but none of us spoke and no one moved his shoes.
"Sorry lads", Smith said at last, "but the fun's over. Three black marks each. Oh, and Lemming, hand over the fags please."
Lemming retrieved the packet from his pocket and handed it to the prefect.
"By all means stay here for a while", went on Smith, "but I'd be grateful if you could drop in on Turner in his study in an hour's time" (Turner, who you may remember as our mentor in our first year, was, as you will have guessed, the head of house by now). With that, he wandered off in the direction of the school.
I should perhaps explain that the regime for the punishment of lower sixth form boys was a little different from that for other boys. Our punishments were not administered at the set time used for juniors. In the event of a lower sixth form boy acquiring three black marks, the head of house was informed as soon as possible. The felons would then see him and given an opportunity to make representations as to how they should be dealt with. He would then go to the housemaster who, in theory, would make the final decision (in fact he would rubber stamp whatever recommendation the head of house made to him). The decision would then be conveyed to the wrong-doers and, if it was that they should be caned, the punishment was immediately carried out. The reason for this different treatment, I imagine, was that caning was not the automatic punishment for a lower sixth form boy with three black marks. Indeed, it was not even the usual punishment. More often, such boys would be confined to school grounds for a period of two or three weeks, or have to get up every morning an hour before normal and go on a run, or write a long essay. In fact, there were quite a few punishments available other than corporal punishment.
In the case of smoking, however, there was only one punishment which was ever given. We had no hope of avoiding the cane and, of course, we would be bound to get the maximum of six strokes. We were under no misapprehensions as we sat, disconsolately on that tree trunk contemplating our fates.
"I'd rather hoped I'd got my final swishing over and done with", said Lynch.
We all nodded in agreement.
"When Keston got it last term", said Lemming, "he said Turner was _f_u_c_k_ing hard".
"So I've heard", said Rowntree.
"Do you think we'll get it in front of each other?" I asked. Yet again I was attempting to console myself with the thought that the pain of the beating would be alleviated by the thrill of watching others suffer as well.
"Bound to I should think", said Lynch, "makes it more of an ordeal".
"Yes", I agreed, "it's much easier if you get it in private". That, of course, was not what I was thinking at all.
"Oh _s_h_i_t_", said Lemming, "this is bound to put paid to any chance we might have had of being prefects."
"Don't be so gloomy", I said, "don't you remember that Lynch got swished in the lower sixth, and look what he is now".
"Good point", Lemming cheered up, "maybe it's not so bad after all."
We stayed, talking on and off, for about three quarters of an hour. Then Lynch suggested that we make our way back to the House to have our punishments confirmed. We agreed that, when asked for our representations, there would be no point in trying to argue our way out of the cane. The general consensus was that it would be best just to get the whole thing over and done with as soon as possible.
At the appointed hour four rather depressed looking sixteen year old boys presented themselves to Turner in his study. The interview was brief.
"Ah, come in", he said as we opened the door. "I must say I haven't been looking forward to this since Smith told me about it. But there's nothing to be done about it I'm afraid. OK then, I'll hear from you each in turn. Lineham, how do you think you should be punished?".
"Six Turner". That was all I said.
"OK, Lemming?".
"Six".
"Lynch?"
"Six".
"Rowntree?"
"Six".
"Fine, well that seems straight forward enough. Roly Poly's in his study now, so I'll go and clear it with him straight away. Perhaps you could make your way to the gym and find a prefect to witness it on the way. You can all wait for me in the gym. I might as well bring this with me to save time". He unhooked a cane from the hook on the back of the door, opened it and ushered us out.
I suggested that we get Bentham to witness the punishments. That was because I had, for some time, suspected that he shared my predilection for canings. I had noticed (as they say it takes a thief to catch one) that he always seemed to be in the vicinity of the showers after a boy had been caned and, more than once, I had caught him gazing at a caneable bottom with obvious appreciation. The others had no objection and so we knocked on his study door on our way to the gym.
"Come in", came the response.
I opened the door and put my head round.
"I say Bentham, would you mind witnessing some swishings? Lemming, Rowntree, Lynch and I have just been done for smoking and Turner asked us to pick up a prefect on our way to the gym."
He glanced at his watch, no doubt (I thought) trying to indicate that witnessing canings was a bit of a bore.
"OK, I think I've got time".
He rose from his chair and followed us down the corridor.
We had to wait for about five minutes in the gym. We were all, I think, a bit pale and nervous, but we did our best to keep the conversation going. It wasn't that difficult. Bentham was keen to know where we'd been smoking and how we'd been caught, so we told him the whole story. All the while my insides were doing their usual pre-caning churning. I don't imagine the others were any different. Then Bentham suggested that we all take our jackets off straight away and fold them over a piece of gym equipment. My immediate thought was that he wanted a clearer view of the targets. But it seemed quite a good idea to me too. So we removed our jackets. I glanced at my fellow miscreants as each in turn placed his jacket over a bar by the wall. In order to do so, they had to bend slightly. Although I tended, when in bed at night, to imagine the canings of younger boys (usually thirteen or fourteen year olds) I had to admit that my friends' bottoms were in very fine shape. None was in the slightest bit flabby. All looked slim and firm. At least, watching their punishments, I thought, I should get some degree of excitement.
At last, Turner arrived.
"Well, no surprises, Roly Poly agrees with your representations. I think I'll just take my jacket off too". He placed his jacket with ours and then slowly began rolling up his sleeves. "OK, alphabetical order I think. That means Lemming first, then Lineham, then Lynch and finally Rowntree. I know you lads well enough to know I don't have to bother checking for padding, so Lemming, take your place please."
As he spoke, he walked back to the door and Lemming walked to the white marks.
"Sorry, Lemming, do you mind going a bit further away? I'm afraid I need rather a long run up for lower sixth formers".
Lemming walked about ten yards beyond the white marks.
"Will this be OK?"
"Yes, that's fine".
Lemming placed his feet a few inches apart and bent over, clutching his ankles. I suspect I have mentioned before, in accounts of his younger days, that Lemming had a wonderful bottom for the cane. It had not deteriorated with age. It was as slim and firm as a fourteen year old's. But I was not savouring the moment as much as I would have liked to. I was all too conscious that I was next, and I was not encouraged by the mammoth run up that Turner was obviously intending to take.
Turner stood by the door appraising his target. Then, pulling the cane behind his back, he sprang forward. The run up was about fifteen paces. By the time he reached Lemming he was sprinting. At the last moment he swung his whole body round and swiped the cane across Lemming's bottom. The sound as it hit echoed round the large room. I noticed Lemming jerk very slightly as he felt the blow. But that was all. Then, walking very slowly, Turner returned to the door, turned round and waited for a few seconds before launching himself for the second. The whole procedure was repeated for all six strokes. After the last one, he again walked slowly back to the door, leaving Lemming bending over. Once he got there, he told Lemming he could stand up. He did so, quite slowly and obviously in considerable pain. He clutched his bottom and rubbed it furiously. Then he walked slowly back to where we had been watching. At the same time, I started my walk to the spot he had just left. We passed mid-way and gave each other a wink as we did so. He managed a weak smile too.
I bent over and waited. This time, I decided not to watch through my legs. I shut my eyes tight and listened. After a few seconds I heard his bounding footsteps. When he was almost on top of me I heard the cane swishing through the air. Then I heard the echoing crack. I felt my body moving involuntarily forward with the force of the blow. Next, a second or so later, my buttocks felt as though a red hot poker had been pressed into them. I had been telling myself that the beating could not be too bad. After all, when I was only thirteen, I had had six from Davies. If I could take that without too many problems then, surely, at the age of sixteen, I should have no trouble with six from Turner.
Now I knew that Davies's six, which at the time I had assumed to be as hard as it ever got, were nothing compared to what Turner could manage on a sixteen year old bottom. I realised that it was going to take all my will power to take this beating as well as Lemming had just taken his.
Somehow, I got through all six silently and without moving more than an inch or so. By the end, the intensity of the pain was overwhelming. My bottom was throbbing and, with each throb, a surge of pain would rush across it. As Turner made his slow walk back to the door before telling me to rise, I blinked back the tears which were beginning to form in my eyes and tried desperately to think of anything except the dreadful agony in my bottom. At last I was given the order to rise. As Lemming had done, I clutched my bottom and walked, almost hobbled, back to the others, passing Lynch on his way to the execution block. I remembered to give him a smile, although I doubt whether it was very reassuring.
I was grateful for Turner's slow routine. It gave me time to get over the worst of the pain before watching Lynch's beating. Even so, I was all too conscious of my own discomfort as I tried to concentrate on the show being presented to me. Lynch was now the tallest of us. I should think he was about an inch taller than me. But he was still a slim youth and his bottom was almost petite. His trousers were tight round the cheeks. I remember wondering whether, with such a small bottom, he would be able to take the agony in store for him. But of course he did. I watched transfixed as, six times, Turner made the sprint forward and lashed the waiting bottom. By the time of the last stroke I was sufficiently recovered to be able to benefit from the beginnings of a reaction between my legs.
The real treat, of course, was Rowntree. I think I probably enjoyed his canings more than those of any other boy in my year. It was a combination of factors at work. Obviously, there was the fact that his build was perfect. The proportions were ideal. His bottom was rounded to just the right degree and the flesh was of exactly the right firmness. But there was also his cheeky grin, which he somehow always managed to display just before a thrashing. Why that should have contributed to the excitement I don't know, but it certainly did. Anyway, he flashed it at Lemming and me as he set off on the lonely walk and we both winked back at him.
By now I was almost comfortable. Well, that's an exaggeration. The pain was still awful, but it was easing. I found that, if I kept both hands cupping my bottom, the agony was reduced. The thrill of what I was watching was becoming greater by the moment (as was a certain part of my anatomy). I was determined to let every second of Rowntree's punishment imprint itself on my memory. You mustn't get me wrong. I had no desire for my friend to be hurt. I winced with him at every stroke of the cane. But there was no doubting the fact that this was a show to be treasured for ever. The energy that Turner put into every blow was just astounding to watch and the stoicism with which Rowntree took the thrashing was strangely arousing. It was impossible, as I had found, to remain absolutely still when Turner's cane bit into your bottom after such a long run up, but Rowntree somehow succeeded in staying almost motionless. There was s slight tipping forward with each stroke, but it was only very slight. I was mightily impressed by his fortitude. Funnily enough, although I certainly imagined how his flesh was changing colour with every lash of the cane, I remember thinking that I actually preferred seeing the beating over his tightly trousered bottom, rather than bare. I knew, of course, that I would be able to see the stripes at leisure before long, perhaps it was that knowledge which enabled me to enjoy the shape of his bottom through his trousers. It would be tedious to describe the caning, blow by blow. I am sure you can imagine what it was like to watch. I was just close enough to see how the cane indented the firm muscular flesh as it slammed into his bottom. And, having just undergone the same treatment, I was well able to imagine the pain my friend was feeling as that happened. I knew, when Turner finally took his last walk to the door before telling him that he could stand, that Rowntree's pain at that moment would be at its worst. I could guess how he was longing for the release, so that! his hands could fly to the seat of his trousers. And, when the release did come, I desperately wanted it to be my hands, not his, which gave the soothing rubs.
Rowntree walked back to join us. His face was a mixture of his cheeky grin and a certain amount of wincing. By now I was conscious that anyone looking would have seen a bulge at the front of my trousers, but I was confident that no one was looking.
Lemming first, and then each of us in turn, thanked Turner for our punishments. We all congratulated him on the force of the beatings and he, for his part, said we'd taken them very well. The normal pleasantries having been exchanged, we grabbed our jackets and, still all holding our bottoms, gratefully left the gym.
We went straight to my study and, as soon as the door was closed, lowered our trousers and the backs of our underpants to inspect the damage. The sight we were met with was truly awesome. For the first (and only) time I could actually see specks of blood on some of the stripes. They were uniformly raised and fiery in appearance. I think we were all stunned for a few moments by seeing the evidence of the severity of the punishment we had taken. Then Rowntree spoke.
"_f_u_c_k_, I'm not going to smoke again till the hols".
We all agreed that smoking at school was definitely off the agenda from then on. Gingerly, we each eased our underpants back up and pulled up our trousers. I suggested that a cold, wet flannel might be a good idea. The others agreed. We set off for our bedrooms. In the lower sixth we shared bedrooms, two to a room. I shared with Lemming. He came with me.
Once inside, we shut the door, placed a chair under the handle to deter visitors, and again took down our trousers. I went to the wash basin and soaked our two flannels in cold water. Lemming was already lying face down on his bed. His underpants were still on. I asked him if he'd like me to put his flannel on his bottom. He grunted a yes and eased his underpants down. I gazed again at his perfect bottom, now striped in vivid purple, and then gently placed the flannel on top. He held it in place with both hands for a few moments and then asked if he could do the same for me. I gracefully lay on my bed, pulled my underpants down and then felt the coolness of the flannel. He went back to his bed, replaced his flannel, and we both lay still for several minutes. The pain was, slowly but surely, easing. At the same time I found that my state of arousal was becoming more and more marked. I knew I had to do something about it soon.
Finally, I could bear it no longer.
"Hey, Lemming, try thinking of Mandy", she was his new girlfriend at St Joan's, "I've been thinking of Alice and its certainly taken my mind off that swishing. Fact is, Im ready for a wank."
"_f_u_c_k_ing hell Lineham, I never know how you do it. Even in the third form you used to manage a wank straight after a swishing."
"It's the only way to feel better. Come on, why don't you give it a go? Won't be so bad if we're both wanking at once."
"I'll see what I can do. You go ahead, don't mind me."
I needed no persuasion. I turned onto my left side, so all he could see was my back (and bottom of course) and started to rub, very very slowly. I wanted it to last as long as possible. I closed my eyes and pictured my friends, one after the other, bending over for the cane. Then I thought of Alice, of how we would meet the following night (I had earned a lower sixth privilege of being able to go to a concert in the town with Alice) and of whether I would be able to use my caning as an excuse for dropping my trousers for her again. I had not been going long when I heard the familiar movement from Lemming's bed. I knew that he, too, must be on his left side (he was right handed) and that, while he was masturbating, he would be able, if he wanted to, to look at my striped bottom. I wondered whether he was doing so and, for the umpteenth time, whether the sight was arousing him at all. I hoped, for his sake, that it was. But I knew I would never know the answer. There was no way either of us would say anything to indicate the slightest possibility that we could be excited by anything other than girls. But I could dream. And the dreaming was, no doubt, partly responsible for the magnificent eruption that soon followed I used the flannel to catch it. Then I lay still and marvelled yet again at how lucky I was to be able get such relief after a beating. It was only a minute or two before I heard Lemming groaning with pleasure.
We were silent for a good five minutes. Then, in a whisper, Lemming called to me.
"_s_h_i_t_, Lineham, I wish I'd discovered your trick a lot earlier. That was fantastic. And my bum feels miles better already. What about you?"
"Good as new", I replied, "it never fails".
Later that night we treated a few favoured friends to a view of our bottoms. We were, by then, almost completely recovered, but we still all swore that our smoking days, at least at school, were over.
On the following night Lemming and I made our way to the concert hall in the town. We waited at the entrance for the arrival of Alice and Mandy. Like us, they had been allowed out (after lots of promises of good behaviour) without any chaperone. We kissed them and went into the hall. As the orchestra was tuning up, I felt Alice's head resting on my shoulder. I was, yet again, in heaven. I whispered to her that I would quite like to slip out in the interval and go for a walk with her.
"If we see the first half we'll be able to tell everyone what it was like and no one will guess".
She smiled at me and said she thought it a wonderful idea. I leant over and told Lemming my plan. He asked if it would be OK if he and Mandy did the same.
"We can go to different ends of the park if you like".
I said I thought that a brilliant idea.
I sat, longing for the interval, but trying to concentrate on the music (so I could sound intelligent about it when talking to the music master the next day). Eventually it came. The four of us got up, as though to get a drink from the bar. We slipped out into the cold, clear night air. We quickly made our way to the bridge, arms entwined. A hurried look in each direction confirmed that no one else was about. We crossed safely. Alice and I made our way to the copse which had become our own. Lemming and Mandy set off for their own secret meeting place.
Once under the trees, I wrapped my arms around Alice and pulled her close to me, to keep her warm I said. She giggled and squeezed me tight. There was more passionate kissing and our hands wandered all over each other's bodies. I felt her hand on my bottom and let out an involuntary squeak of pain as she pressed into the striped flesh.
"What's the matter?", she asked.
And so I told her the whole story.
She was, as I expected, horrified to hear of my punishment. Her hands returned to my bottom and gently stroked it. After a pause she spoke again, in a gentle whisper.
"Can I see it Percy?"
"Won't it upset you too much?"
"Well, of course it'll upset me, but I need to know what they really do to you at that place. You're my boyfriend after all."
"OK", I said. And I felt her fingers undoing my trousers. Incredibly gently, she pulled them down to my knees. Then I felt her fingers slipping between my underpants and the flesh beneath. I heard a slight gasp from her as she felt a raised cane stripe, but she carried on. In a moment my underpants were down too. She did not immediately look. She just kept me in her embrace, hands stroking my bare bottom. I was, obviously, fully erect. But she had seen and felt that before and we felt no embarrassment. Then she gently pushed me back and turned me round.
"Oh God, Percy. That's awful".
I quickly reassured her that I was fine and that, apart from the odd twinge, I was hardly aware I had been caned so recently. I turned back and folded my arms around her again. Again, she stroked my bottom. Then, wonder of wonders, she whispered again.
"Do you want to take my jeans down?"
Even now, so many years later, the magic of that night has not left me. I am afraid I cannot destroy it by describing exactly what happened and how. Anyway, I can hardly claim to have carried it off with the polished air of an experienced man about town. There was, I suspect, far too much inexperienced fumbling on my part before, at last, the two of us became one. The surroundings could well have been more suited to the bonding of two sixteen year olds discovering, for the first time, the greatest joy that life can offer them. The night was cold, the grass on which we lay was damp. But we could have been in the bridal suite of the Ritz for all we noticed. When it was over we lay, arms around each other, sighing with pleasure, and probably shivering with cold as well.
How foolish we are when we are young. Or, perhaps I should say how foolish we "were". Today's young are so much more worldly wise. I can honestly say that the thought that she might become pregnant just never crossed my mind. Fortunately, she did not. Neither, much to my regret, did we repeat the exercise again. It had happened on the spur of the moment. On reflection, Alice, sensibly, concluded that we should wait until we were properly grown up before doing it again. Sadly, at the end of that school year, we went our separate ways. She was sent off to a finishing school abroad. I remained for my final year at Towcester. We wrote to each other, daily at first and then weekly, for a few months. Then the letters became further and further apart. We saw each other in the holidays, once, after my first term in the upper sixth. But, after that, I didn't see her again until we were both in our mid-twenties. She was married. I wasn't yet. As so often happens, I guess, we were not fully at ease with each other. We didn't speak of what had happened that night. But she hadn't really changed. I remember thinking how lucky her husband was and what might have been. I am pleased to say that, as the years went by after that meeting, we did see more of each other. I became a regular tennis partner of her husband's. Whether he knew who had taken her virginity, I do not know, and I never asked her. But, if he did, there were no ill feelings. Indeed, my first Godchild was their first son and his father, Alice's husband, is Godfather to my own first son.
But I digress. My readers will not thank me for it. There is only one other incident in that penultimate term in the lower sixth form which I must mention. It was three days before the end of term. Turner came to my study in the evening. He said that Mr Rolands would like to see me.
"Oh God, what have I done now?" I exclaimed.
"Nothing to worry about", he replied with a smile.
I was not completely stupid. I will not say that what Mr Rolands had to say to me was something I had never thought possible. But it had really only been in my wildest dreams that I had thought it so. As I made my way to my housemaster's study I told myself that this was just one of those occasional meetings between master and boy which carried no significance at all. But I was still nervous as I knocked on the door.
I was called in and he gestured towards an armchair. I sat down. He stood with his back to the fireplace, warming his hands behind his back. There was a pause during which neither of us spoke.
"Well Lineham, I expect you're wondering why I've asked to see you?".
"Yes Sir".
"I won't drag it out. The long and the short of it is that I would like you to agree to be a prefect next term and head of house next year."
I had got through innumerable beatings in the previous four years without once shedding a tear. But now, as I heard those wonderful words, I felt the pricking of tears forming in my eyes. I looked down and blinked them back. He obviously took my reaction to be one of doubt.
"Of course, if you want to think about it, you must. Talk to Turner. He can tell you all about the job. It's not all fun, but I honestly believe that you can do it well."
I had recovered my composure. I coughed and, rather hoarsely, spoke.
"No Sir, I don't need to think about it. I was just so surprised by the honour you're doing me. I am in no doubt at all. I'm not saying I'll do it well Sir, but I'll try my hardest. Yes, Sir, I agree to do it."
It wasn't perhaps the prettiest of acceptance speeches, but it came from the heart. And, though I won't pretend that I did not think of this later, I can honestly say that, at that moment, I had no thought whatsoever of my future disciplinary duties. My thoughts were of how unworthy I was but, also, of how determined I was so to do a good job for the House and school.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
I must apologise again for having strayed from the subject in this story, but I hope it has not been too tedious for you. I am most grateful to those of you who have sent me encouraging emails. Do, please, continue to do so. I should also say that I am very sorry for having failed to reply to one of them (his name began with a J and ended with a Y): I clicked on what I thought was "Reply" but in fact it was "Delete". So I have no way of emailing him my thanks for his kind words. The next instalment ("The Burdens of Office") will deal with my days as a prefect and then as Head of House. I promise that I will try my best to keep to the topic.