Dirty Lesson

12th May 1982


The wooden chair outside the heads office had seen my backside more than once. The secretary glanced at me through the open door and slowly shook her head to herself. It was familiar to see me there. I’m not exactly a bad person, it’s just that whenever I act the goat or get up to mischief, I always seemed to get caught. This time though I was fighting and deserved to be in front of the head once more.

We all knew that there was a temporary replacement in at the moment. We had seen her taking assembly. Some hard nosed bitch, only young it seemed, taking control of the school temporarily. Even the teachers treated her with disdain we gathered. Working her way up the ladder and furthering her experience and CV as much as she could. Well it would not work with me. I had my reputation to keep.
I looked at my clothing, my gym kit was dirty and sweaty from the track (running was my forte, the gym master wouldn’t normally let me do contact sports because of my short temper, unless there was a competitive fixture where he needed me) but still smart in my white shorts and rugby top. The door opened and the headmistress motioned with her quick nod for me to enter. I strolled in trying to make it look so matter of fact. “Stand up straight Taylor” she said. I looked up straight into her eyes smirking, trying to look the ever present rogue, but she just stared at me with such repugnance, that I dropped my smirk, and just met her stare and felt her eyes burning into me. For the first time I felt belittled by a teacher at this school. This woman obviously exuded confidence and authority. I could feel this just from her stare. I stood straight and looked at her.
“This is the first time I have seen you Taylor, but it appears that its not the first time you’ve been in here is it?” “No miss” I said. “So what is it? Why do you have to rebel against the system? For goodness sake Taylor, you are 16 years of age and still not accepting that you are nearly adult. Tell me what to do with you?” “Pardon Miss?” I looked at her standing there, black headmistress’ robe, black trousers, high heels, not too high, white blouse with a black cravat looking all the more a figure of authority. Good looking woman too…”Well?” the sudden sound of her voice brought me from my daydream. “Sorry Miss, I don’t know Miss, I thought that was your job Miss.”

She sat down with a sigh, “Its supposed to be isn’t it, but whatever this school does to try and tame you it seems they and you always fail”. Sitting back in the large chair, I looked at the perfectly formed breasts under the crisp white blouse, the perfectly made up face……….christ what was I doing?? This is a head teacher for christs sake. Here I was getting seriously turned on by a woman who was supposed to be my arch nemesis. I flushed red as I realised that my eyes had betrayed me and the blood pumping through me was now finding another channel to flow through.
I lowered my head, trying not to look at her. But my state of arousal was all too apparent. Face flushed, breathing increased, and there was of course the fact that I was concealing myself by pulling down my long rugby top.
“Can we just get on with it Miss,” I said holding out my hand. I looked in the corner at the umbrella stand. Selections of canes, slim and long were standing in there. A few quick strokes, sudden sharp pain, burning for a while then it was back to the field. She stood up and moved to the corner retrieving one of the implements. Standing in front of the window, silhouetted against the light, I looked at her. Legs apart, bending the cane in her hands and…did I see that? Did she just wet her lips? Did I see her tongue? Once again more blood surged through me. I was only 16 but was not short of sexual encounters, when you are the school bad boy it was not hard to get the right kind of girl. I recognise a sexual signal when I see one. But I must have been wrong, this was the head. I was in the dusty, old, book covered office where countless times before I had seen the cane in the hands of wrinkly old Hawksey the old head. I held out my hand further. “Need to get back to the field Miss, we got a game tonight, have to practice,” Once again the eyes boring into me, “Ahh! yes, our star rugby player, talented young Mr Taylor, very good at contact sport, loose cannon, troubled teenager, I’ve read your reports”. She walked towards me and stood side on. I gulped; from where she stood – Miss Petter… my excited state was all too plain to see. I saw her looking down and again the wetting of the lips…….I saw it, I did. The cane placed on my hand. I waited for the familiar swish and then delayed pain to register, burning.

“This is too easy for you isn’t it boy?” I looked at her. “Miss?” I said.
“Its too easy, too familiar, its not helping you or us to simply hit you on the hand. There’s something else troubling you and I intend to find it”. I almost laughed out loud, I had heard this so many times. Troubled boy, teenage problems. Peer pressure. What could she possibly find in me, many others had given up trying to look for.
“Bend over that table”. “Wh…. What Miss?” “You heard Taylor, now get over the table”.

This was unusual, I only ever got my backside whacked by the games teachers and their slippers or trainers, and they were male.
My heart sank and pounded, was she serious?