Sebastian

SEBASTIAN’S SCHOOLDAYS

An Imaginary Homoerotic Story

By

Jason Land  

This is the first of a series of short stories each of which can be read as a stand-alone piece. However as they tied together by some of the characters, who, in one way and another, figure in several of these tales, I recommend my readers to read them in the order in which they were written which is as follows:-

Sebastian’s Schooldays

Sebastian Embraces His Sexuality

Sebastian – The Male Escort

Sebastian Meets Simon

Simon and Sebastian

Simon and Sebastian Meet Chris

Simon and Sebastian in San Francisco

PROLOGUE

My business card is very discrete. It says quite simply

Sebastian – Exclusive Male - Escort

By appointment only

Telephone 100-123-4567

For those unfamiliar with the term Male Escort, let me explain. It is a euphemism for a man who copulates professionally for money. He sells what is usually known as anal stimulation to his exclusively male clientele. And let me say, with no false modesty, that I am a consummate professional at my job and have, over a period of time, developed a faithful clientele who call upon me to ease their sexual problems. But I see that I am already getting ahead of myself, so let me stop here and start at the beginning, with the full story of how I came, quite by chance, to be in this business and where it has led me.

CHAPTER 1

My name is Sebastian Watson. Nothing special about that, you might think, other than the fact that the name Sebastian is not much used anymore today. But then none of my antediluvian names are much used any more as you can see when I tell you that my full name is a ponderous Sebastian Aloysius Mortimer Watson. Yes, indeed, I am a scion, to use their word, of what is considered in upper class American society, again to use their words, an old family. Old and good families, whatever they are, always lumber their offspring with names that no normal person would ever think of using. Sebastian is bad enough, but I have some to accept it as I am always addressed as Sebastian and never, ever as Seb; but I ask you, Aloysius Mortimer; where on earth did my late parents ever dig up these antediluvian  names? What on earth were they thinking about when they lumbered their only child with them? But that is precisely what old families do; but the hell is an old family anyway – aren't all families old?

Well, I will tell you: an old family is one which has been rich enough or influential enough over the years as to keep track of its family history: who married whom and how many children and so on and so forth. And so, they are able to tell you that their line dates back to before the War of Independence or whenever. In fact Joe Blow has just as long a lineage, but it had never been recorded and so, like most folks he can barely go back much beyond his grandparents and rarely can he tell you the maiden name of either grandmother. That, my friends, is the only difference.

American tradition requires everyone to have, if not an actual middle name, at least a middle initial; it always asks for that on those official, printed forms one gets through the post; so I decided to simplify things and call myself Sebastian David Watson, or Sebastian D. Watson. What on earth would I have done otherwise, lumbered with two middle initials? The standard American form has space for only one letter: so people like me – and there are lots of us – just have to improvise, which is what I did. You can, you know, use any name you wish as long as you are not intent on committing a crime.

In my case, of course, coming from a true-blue old family I know that we have been around in Boston since 1720. My forbears did not come over on the Mayflower, but we count nevertheless as part of the Boston would be aristocracy. We Watsons may not qualify to socialize with the Cabots or the Lodges, (they are the ones, in case you had forgotten, who converse only with God) but we hold – or  rather held –  our own in Boston society, even though we never had the cash really to live up to it. Well, lumbered as I was with my prehistoric names, I was orphaned at the age of two, when both my parents were killed in a car crash and so I have no recollection of them.

We were a very small family: I was an only child as had been my mother and my father had but one elder sister, Agatha Amelia Dorothea Watson (Oh yes, they did not stint on names, even for the girls!) who was fifteen years older than her brother and was a dried up, inward looking old spinster, truly the quintessential Maiden Aunt. I am pretty sure the maiden bit was a correct designation as she had no time for men at all and lived a solitary life, wrapped up in religion and good works, whatever they might be. However Aunt Agatha, as I subsequently called her, had that true sense of duty which goes with being from a good family and became my legal guardian from my earliest age. She was a totally remote woman who really had no time for children and engaged a series of nurses and governesses to look after me, until, at the tender age of eleven, she shipped me off to a boy’s boarding school, the Sheldon Academy for Boys, which was located in a small community of the same name in rural up-state New York.

The Sheldon Academy was a private school catering for about 350 boys and attracted boys from those apocryphal good families for two reasons. Firstly, it promised a rigorous old-fashioned education modelled on that practised in English public schools, and secondly, which was possibly more important in the eyes of many of the people sending their charges there, it offered supervised board and lodgings to the pupils out of term time. In other words, here was a place where, for a fee, you could enrol your offspring and not have to see them at all any more, unless you wanted to, until they reached the age of eighteen and left the school to pursue either a college education or find a job!

So, Sheldon was not only a school but it had a side activity as a sort of orphanage, for semi-abandoned children, to which group I numbered.

I exaggerate here somewhat, as even the most callous of parents or guardians felt it morally necessary to see their charges a few times during the year; but make no mistake, those of us who spent vacations at the school usually received the odd visit from our parents or guardian, but only very rarely went home. In my case, I never ever went back to my Aunt Agatha’s house (I cannot bring myself to call it home) until I left Sheldon aged eighteen and had to find a job. So, as you can see, from my entering Sheldon aged eleven and leaving aged eighteen plus, my school days were equivalent to a prison sentence, with no remission!

I was one of these lucky lads! Aunt Agatha religiously came to see me four times a year (it was a sort of sacred duty) and took me out to lunch, for which as I discovered, much later in my life, she had paid for entirely out of my inheritance; but from the time I entered the school, aged eleven until the day I left aged eighteen, I never ever went back to Agatha’s house! Incredible but true: but I was not the only one at Sheldon to be semi-abandoned. So, of home life I had absolutely none; I lived in an expensive, educational institution and had to make the best of it. But it was not all bad, for I had some congenial schoolmates and overall, I was not unhappy: one just gets used to things and my thing was that Sheldon became and to all intents and purposes, was my life. However, when I finally left Sheldon aged eighteen and a half, I had no clear idea what my future life would be.

                                                   CHAPTER 2

 
The Sheldon Academy was run by an expatriate Brit, who himself was a product of the old style English public school system. He had run this establishment on the same lines for over thirty years and saw himself as a sort of God incarnate whose main object in life was to put fear into the hearts of his pupils. He came, apparently, from a very upper, upper English background and rejoiced in the name of Ambrose Archibold Cedric Woodderowffe-Pryce - MA Cantab. (That’s a master’s degree from the University of Cambridge, England, in case you did not know). Yes you’ve got it; incredible though it seems, that was his name; that ridiculous collection of double letters, which was pronounced, so he drilled into us, Woodruff-Priss. With typical English upper-class disdain for any pronunciation which bore even a vague resemblance to its spelling, even the simple name of Pryce, was, according to him, pronounced as Priss.

Of course, Price, spelt with an I instead of a Y is a common enough name, but Woody’s version was with a Y. The upper class Brits were truly experts in the art of transmogrification! But I am sure you can image what we boys called him. There were two versions of his nickname; one was Woody Piss and the other Woody Prick. Once one had got to know the man better, Woody Prick was the one that stuck, as this character truly was a prick of the first water and most of us lads referred to him as the Prick, which led to the undoing of one of my closest friends; but more of that in due time..

Life at Sheldon was not all that bad. Some of the teachers were great and really enjoyed their jobs, which they saw as their true vocation. Others were just there to earn a living and were really indifferent about their work. One or two were downright awful in their treatment of their charges, among whom a man called Clarence Simmons, who was the PT and games master, was easily the worst.

Slimy Simmons or just Slimy, really was a slimy little bastard, who loved to go around the gym classes, hitting his pupils across the arse with a short strap he always carried. We guessed he had some special arrangement with the Prick as, according to the school rules, only the Headmaster was allowed to administer corporal punishment, but somehow Slimy managed to get away with slapping all and sundry with his strap during the gym lessons. And let me tell you that although I refer to it now as a slap, it really hurt! He was, moreover, an utter snitch and reported any misdemeanour, as he saw it, straight to the Prick. And let me just tell you that even the slightest deviation from the rules was blown up by Slimy into a beating offence

Now, at this time, corporal punishment in schools had not been abolished in the USA; but it was rarely still used in the state schools. Not so with the Prick, who was running a private, fee-paying school. He was a great believer in the methods of what might be termed traditional or old school and was ready (too ready, many thought) to wield his cane across any miscreant’s arse. By the time I was sixteen I had had my arse whacked by him three times; but this was par for the course, for there was a regular stream of pupils entering his office for punishment on Friday afternoons.

The Prick was a real martinet with a strong sadistic streak and he seized upon even the most minor misdemeanour to thrash any errant pupil’s arse. Looking back on things now, I believe it was thrashing his pupils’ naked arses that really made his day. Not a week went by but what some poor unfortunate lads had to drop their pants and let the Prick whack their naked butts. This happened at what the Prick called Punishment Parade, a concept he had somehow picked up from the British army cadet schools. Masters who felt a boy needed correction for some misdemeanour, filled in a punishment slip which the miscreant then handed to the school secretary, a dried up old trout called Miss Pimlott, who produced the weekly list of those who were to attend punishment parade.

This was psychologically a horrible system, as instead of getting his arse beaten immediately, a boy who had received a slip, say on a Monday, had the mental agony of having to wait until Friday afternoon before receiving his punishment. All of us, I am sure, would have much preferred to take an immediate beating and get the thing over and done with. But that was not the way things worked at Sheldon; come Friday afternoon there was usually a line of boys waiting at the door of the Headmaster’s study to have their backsides warmed by his cane. Another feature of these beating sessions was that Slimy always seemed to be in attendance to assist the Prick in his ministrations.  And what made this whole ghastly system even worse, was the fact that Miss Pimlott made up the Friday punishment list on Thursday evening.  Thus any boy receiving a punishment slip on a Friday was not on parade until the following Friday; thus, the poor sod had the mental anguish of knowing that eight days hence he was going to have his arse thrashed: what a dreadful system!

I now have to turn to my own development. By the time I was eighteen I realized that my sexual orientation was towards other boys and that I really had little interest in girls – not that any of us had much opportunity to fraternise with members of the opposite sex; there just were not any girls around. But the fact of the matter is that in spite of being a keen athlete and a regular use of the school gym, I was, at the end of the day, a very timid character. I told no one of my sexual orientation, although some of my classmates must have guessed, as I never entered into their interminable discussions about girls and what they might do with them given half a chance:  an event which never materialized, of course, as there were no girls around.

As I mentioned earlier I was a keen athlete and made regular use of the gym and its facilities beyond the usual physical training classes supervised by Slimy. There is no privacy at all for the boys in a private school such as Sheldon, run on the British lines; all of us showered together every morning and evening as well as after every gym session so that we were all totally accustomed to seeing each other naked. (Cleanliness was certainly next to godliness at Sheldon; or was it the other way round?) As time passed and we all moved towards manhood, it became increasingly evident that I was developing a more muscular body than any of my classmates. But even more noteworthy was that my cock was growing at an enormous rate. By the time I was sixteen, I already had a seven inch long cock of considerable girth. I was the secret envy of all my classmates and received, as well you might imagine a lot of good natured chivvying about the size of my tool; but I didn’t mind as I was proud of my endowment. In fact, I realised after a while that they were green with envy after I read somewhere the statement: “On account of the respect which goes with sexual athleticism, most men are desirous of having a large penis.” Well at the time I read that remark, I was not actually a sexual athlete; in fact I had no experience of sex at all; but it was a reassuring thought that I would not have to join the group in the desiring mode as aged eighteen, I already had the physical attributes which might one day raise me to the level of a sexual athlete.

                                                   CHAPTER 3

Aged now eighteen, on New Year’s day 2010, I made one single New Year’s resolution: that I would find myself a sex-partner before the year was out, as I had the most urgent desire to have sex with another guy. Sex was, of course a permanent topic among all of us, but in my particular case, with my extra large piece of meat between my legs, by the time my eighteenth birthday dawned, I had acknowledged to myself that fact that I was not like most of my classmates who were only interested in the opposite sex, and that I was a homosexual. More and more I was beset by the growing, urgent need to give physical expression to my feelings. When I looked at some of the better built guys in my class, I have to say that I could hardly restrain myself from keeping my hands of them.

As boys of our age will do, we all jerked off regularly, but on the whole there was no sexual contact between us. Wanking, as we called it, was just one of those things we all did from time, just to relieve what I now realize was the sense of sexual frustration that all guys of our age experience. There was, of course, at Sheldon, no form of formal sex-education of any sort. It was an old style school, where I suppose that the staff somehow expected the facts of life would diffuse through to us by a process of osmosis. And so, as I am sure you can imagine, none of us was really sure of anything and there was endless discussions as to what men did with women, based upon bits of information picked up here and there.

This all changed when one of the more enterprising members of staff, the mathematics master, somehow persuaded the Prick that the school had to keep pace with the march of time and managed, somehow, to screw enough money out of the school endowment fund to set up a computer laboratory, where we all started to learn how to use this, to us, hitherto unknown piece of electronic knick-knackery. This was truly a remarkable development for a school like Sheldon, which, in many ways was still running much along the same lines as had English public schools at the beginning of the twentieth century, and here we now were at the end of the first decade of the twenty first!

Well, the upshot of this was that we all became very familiar with the Internet, for the laboratory was set up with Internet access. So, you can image what we all did, very surreptitiously, of course; we took every opportunity which presented itself to look at pornographic sites. So the computer laboratory provided most of us with what I guess must pass for our sex education. We all rapidly became familiar with the true facts of life and in my case, with homosexual sex, which I concealed from my school mates. I soon found out what gay men did together, whilst my classmates concentrated their research on finding out how a guy went about fucking a girl. Within a few weeks, we all thought that we knew everything about sex; with the brashness typical of youth, we gave no though to the fact that experience might also have role to play in our future sex lives.

Armed as I now was with the rudiments of homosexual sex, my New Year’s resolution to find a sex-partner became ever more urgent;  I now knew more than ever, that I wanted to have sex with another guy: I wanted to stick my cock up some guy’s arse and fuck him as hard as I could. It may sound very crude and immediate, but that is exactly how I felt. But how was I to find this partner? I had no idea whether any of my class- mates had the same gay sexual orientation as me and I really had no idea how to go about finding out, without exposing myself to the potential ridicule of the other boys. But fate has a way of intervening in so many different aspects of our lives and came up with a solution.

After games we all showered together in the changing rooms and one afternoon, in late January, I found myself as the last person in the showers together with one of my classmates, a guy called Charles Tennant. Charlie was not one of my close friends but on this occasion as we were drying ourselves off, we found ourselves quite alone, when he suddenly said to me, with his eyes glued on my cock, “You know Sebastian, you really are super well-equipped where it matters. Have you ever thought of giving your tool a little exercise, with another guy?”

That brutally direct question, as you might well imagine, stopped me dead in my tracks. Fully aware that I was being propositioned by Charlie, I decided to tread water for the moment. “You know, Charlie, I am not sure what you are getting at.” I replied.

“Come on Sebastian, don’t be coy. You know full well what guys do to each other and I was just wondering if you might fancy a little adventure with me.”

“Charlie, I’m not sure what you are suggesting.”

“Oh, come on, Sebastian, for crying out loud, don’t act so damned dumb: you must realize that I am asking you if you would like to fuck my butt, for as sure as hell I would really like to feel your cock my arse.”

So, there it was. I had been unequivocally propositioned by Charlie Tennant, of whom I was not a close friend and who, until that moment, inasmuch as I had ever given the matter any thought, was to me, like my other classmates, a regular guy. I had no inkling of the fact that he might be of the same orientation as me. I realized then that this was possibly the very opportunity I had been hoping for: to find a guy with whom I could have sex. However, before jumping in at the deep end, I said to Charlie, “What makes you think that I would ever want to do what you suggest? Why do you think that I might be that way inclined?”

“Listen,” replied Charlie, “I have been watching you for some time now when we are all together chewing the fat about our inevitable topic; I’ve noticed that whenever we get to the subject of girls and what we might do to them, well, you kind of fall off to the edges of the conversation. So I was wondering if you were gay, or possibly just wondering about your own sexuality. Look here, Sebastian, I will come straight out and tell you that I’m totally gay myself. I have known this for quite some time now, but have told no one – but now you know. However, for crying out loud, please do not broadcast the fact. You truly are the only person to know my secret, so please, if I have got it all wrong about you, then don’t let what I have told you go any further. So, now that you know, are you interested in …?”

Charlie tailed off here, leaving his question unasked; but as you all realize, he did not need to spell it out; he merely needed an answer and went on. Come on Sebastian, level with me, are you like me, gay? I was really hoping that you might be, as quite frankly, I have had the hots for you for quite some time now and would just love to take your cock up my arse. It’s just that until now, have never had a chance to talk turkey with you. So, there you have it: I cannot put it any plainer than that, can I?”

I paused for thought for a few moments before answering and then said. “You know, Charlie, it is really amazing that fate has thrown is together in this changing room today. You are dead right when you tag me as gay, and I have to say, I take my hat off to you. I had never ever thought of you as gay. In fact, to be quite honest, and please don’t feel insulted, but I had never ever given you much thought at all! Don’t get me wrong. I did not and do not dislike you, but as we are both aware, we are not close friends: we are just classmates and that is that. How could I know about you, as you show no signs at all of your sexual preferences. But, my God, you have based your thoughts about me on the most superficial of observations and proved yourself right, but I had no idea at all about you until now.”

Charlie went on. “So, now that we both know where we stand, that we are both in fact, gay, how do you feel about my proposition? It would be a first time for both of us, as I have never taken another guy’s cock up my arse and I imagine you have never fucked another guy either. So here we are a pair of eighteen year-old virgins. How about it? Shall we give it a try out and see if sex is, in the event, all that it is regularly made out to be and, more importantly, to test the water about our own sexuality? As the old saying goes, the proof of the pudding is in the eaten so, what do you say? Shall we sample it?”

Well, what would your response to this invitation have been? Here I had been until a few minutes ago, wondering, for what had seemed like an age, how I could find a guy to fuck and now Charlie was handing me his arse on a plate and inviting me to shaft him; so of course I said, yes. And to lay to rest any doubt about my own sexuality, I told Charlie, yet again that I was gay and that there was no doubt at all about that: it was a fact. So, I said to Charlie that I was game to give it a whirl and then asked him when he thought that out first attempt at coupling should be. So there we were; exactly as Charlie had described us: a pair of eighteen year-old gay virgins, planning to take take that first fatal step together.

“As no one else is here right now, there is no time like the present” he replied, and before I could move, he had grabbed hold of me and started to kiss my nipples. I have to say that I did not find this at all unpleasant even though it was the first time that I had ever been touched by another man, other than on the ruggerl field. I could already feel my man-meat stirring between my legs as Charlie dropped to his knees in front of me and took my rapidly hardening cock in his mouth and started sucking hard. Like many inexperienced guys, I could hardly control myself and started to exude pre-cum almost immediately.

Charlie, feeling this, suddenly withdrew my cock from his mouth and said, “Quick, try and shaft me now, as I reckon you are ready.”

Well, you can imagine how I felt, as all this had happened at such an alarming speed, that I had really no idea what I should do or had I known what to do, how I should go about it. I had wanted to fuck some guy’s butt for so long now, but all this was so very sudden that I was not in the least prepared for it. My Internet sex education had taught me the rudiments, but now faced with the reality, I was almost in a panic. Fortunately, Charlie had a clear practical bent, and leaned across a table which happened to be in the changing room, and spread his legs, to give me access to his anus. I had seen lots of lads naked many times before, but never had I had the opportunity to examine a guy’s posterior anatomy in such detail and at such close quarters as was now offered to me.

Looking at Charlie’s hole it struck me how very small it seemed to be: no more than a slight pucker in the flesh and this, I guessed was where I was supposed to stick my meat: it just did not look possible, for by now I was fully hard and sporting a cock with a considerable girth. I asked myself whether it would ever fit in what seemed a minute hole; in fact it was not even a hole, but rather a dent; his anus was very, very tight indeed.

“What are you waiting for? Go ahead and shove your cock into my hole: that is exactly what I want you to do.” came the exhortation from my partner.

“Charlie, it really does not look big enough for me to enter. It’s just a small hole and my dick is now so thick that I doubt I will ever get it into you.”

“Sebastian, you really are a dumb fuckhead! Surely you know that a guy’s hole is closed by a powerful muscle called the anal sphincter, which is why it looks so small. Just push your knob against it and eventually it will yield and you will be able to shaft me. Go on, just do it! We’ve agreed that we are going to try to fuck, so don’t give up before we have even begun. Just force your dick hard against my hole and according to all I have read, it will yield and you will be able to shaft me with the full length of your meat. Apparently it will hurt a bit for me; it always does the first few times a guy gets his arse reamed, but that is all supposed to be part of the experience. So, just press on and don’t mind me I if moan a bit; don’t fuck around; just bloody well do it. It’s  exactly what I want; what I have been dreaming about for months; so just do it; go on, stick it to me!”

I am sure that you will find me very naive when I say that I had not until that very moment ever even heard of the anal sphincter; so Charlie was really much more conversant as to what was involved in an anal fuck than I was. I guess I must have thought that I would just push my cock into a hole and that would be that. That would have to force myself into my partner was something which I had not at all anticipated. Anyway, no one could doubt that with all the exhortations Charlie had just given me that he wanted me to fuck him, so I went ahead and did what he had asked.

As the knob of my cock touched Charlie’s anus, I felt the strong resistance that this sphincter muscle clearly presented to intrusion of a foreign body; but I pressed harder and felt the muscle begin to yield and the hole begin to open, so I continued forcing my cock into Charlie until I had given him my full length. I realized almost immediately that if we were going to do this regularly, we needed some form of lubrication to ease the contact between my cock and his rectum as it was all very dry and not very comfortable. This was confirmed as I started pumping for my cock for it certainly did not slide smoothly in and out of Charlie’s hole the way I had seen it in the Internet porn channels. Anyway, at Charlie’s insistence I pressed on and it did not take me, as a beginner very long to reach a climax and I shot a huge wad of cum into Charlie.

On this, our first time together, I had no idea at all of trying to please Charlie and bring him to a climax simultaneously with my own. I simply bashed on and experienced the greatest orgasm I had ever had; that orgasm I had fucking Charlie’s virgin arse, was, I saw, infinitely better than jerking off myself: the intensity of the sensation and the amount of cum I pumped into him were in another league to what I achieved via my five fingered lover. I really have no idea what Charlie experienced as I gave him his first taste of a cock up his arse. I don’t think either of us expressed our feelings to each other, but somehow we both knew that we had to go on: this was not a one off occasion.

                                                  CHAPTER 4
      
As Charlie said right at the start of our relationship, it was in our own interest to keep quiet and just get on with copulating: no boasting, no braggadocio, no talk about our activity at all. And, as he rightly pointed out, if Woody Prick, the Headmaster, ever found out about us, we would be in for the high jump; the old Prick would surely give our arses a monumental roasting with his cane. And you can believe me when I tell you that this was an event to be avoided at all costs; my few earlier encounters with the Prick at his Punishment Parade as well as the occasional private beating of my naked arse, had taught me that however old and superannuated the Prick might appear, but he still knew now to lay on the cane; meetings with him were better avoided.  But did we, Charle and I, manage to avoid that awful event?  No, we did not, and it was all because of our own stupidity.  Here is now we came to get the beating of a lifetime from the old Prick.

Charlie and I were again alone in the shower room. It was late one one Saturday afternoon and we had both been working out alone together in the gym.  For some reason, Charlie looked unbelievably attractive standing  there under the shower; my cock had already become rock hard just standing looking at him and when I made the first move and forced my tool through his tight little sphincter; Charlie gave a sigh of pleasure as he took the full length of my meat inside him. 

“Give it to me really hard today, Sebastian; I really need it; I want you to fuck me with as much force as you can.”  

So, I obliged him by serving his hole with the longest and most powerful strokes of my cock I could muster. Finally, arriving near my own climax, I withdrew my tool completely and prepared to give my partner the hardest thrust I could with the aim of reaching orgasm as he retook the full length of my tool up his arse. However, at the precise moment as I prepared for my final thrust, a loud voice behind me said, “What on earth are you two boys doing?  Stop it immediately and get out of the shower.  In all my days as a school master, I have never ever seen anything like it.”

I turned and found myself face to face with Slimy Simmons, who had entered the shower room unheard by us, due to the sound of the running water.  As I turned, I inadvertently added fuel to the anger which was clearly already raging in Slimy’s head, for I could not stop myself climaxing and I had the misfortune to douse one of Slimy’s shoes with a good dollop of my really thick sperm, which shot forth from my still hard tool in great gobbets as I repeatedly ejaculated my pent-up load.  The stuff lodged on the toe of Slimy’s shoe, glistening in all its pristine glory; my cum, that is, not his shoe!  Alas this was a very unfortunate mishap, which did not improve matters.

After a slight pause, where Slimy observed the state of his footwear and Charlie and I tried to compose ourselves, still standing under the running shower, Slimy repeated his question and asked us what on earth we thought we were doing.  Frankly I thought it was a fucking stupid question to ask, as a one eyed blind man could have seen what we were up to, but, less  said, soonest mended: so we kept quiet.

“Turn off that shower, dry yourself off and and put back on your singlets and gym shorts, and, Watson, while you are at it, kindly wipe your emission off my shoe.”

Slimy went outside and waited in the corridor while Charlie and I complied with his order. Slimy then marched us to the Headmaster’s study.  The Prick was still at his desk, although it was by now past five o’clock on a Saturday afternoon.  Slimy bade us wait outside whilst he went in and informed the Prick of what he had just seen.  We were then called in to face the wrath of the Prick himself and believe me, when I tell you that what now followed was like a well directed piece of theatre.

The Prick drew himself to his full height and adopted what I suppose was his “wrath of god” expression. He began, “Mr Simmons tells me that he has just found the two of you in the showers engaged in what I can best describe as an unnatural act. Let me tell you boys here and now, that such behaviour will not be tolerated for a moment in this establishment.  You two boys are guilty of gross moral turpitude, for which you will be severely punished.  There is no way in which I will allow such behaviour to continue, now that Mr Simmons has had the good fortune to see what you were doing and to bring it to my attention, there is no way in which either of you will continue with your disgusting behaviour. I will nip the whole disgusting business in the bud right now and you will both cease such revolting practices forthwith.”

As he paused for breath, I thought to myself what a silly old twit the Prick was. Nipping it in the bud, was what he saw himself doing. Had he no idea that the whole relationship between Charlie and me was already in full bloom, so to speak, and that any buds which might have been nipped had long since opened.  What it was quite clear that the Prick did not understand, was the fact that Charlie and I were both homosexuals, almost of age, indulging in homosexual, anal sex; an act which all his prating would not stop us performing.  Sex is such a great driving force; in fact it is the greatest driving force in human or, for that matter, in animal or vegetable nature, and to think that you can stop it is like calling black white or acting like King Canute, who famously failed in stopping the incoming tide.  This guy had no understanding of human nature at all, if he thought that whacking our arses, which was obviously what he was preparing to do, would in any way alter our behaviour, he was seriously mistaken.  All we would learn from our forthcoming painful experience was to be more discreet in our activities; we certainly would not stop them.  I cursed myself inwardly for having shafted Charlie in the shower, allowing my cock rather than my head to dictate my actions. However, philosophically, it was a lesson learned, even if a very painful one.

The Prick now resumed his oration and thundered on, sounding more and more like an Old Testament prophet as he warmed to his subject. Our behaviour was totally inexcusable and words like moral turpitude and lewd, unnatural behaviour crept into more and more often into his diatribe.  And he then he came to the crux of the matter, the bit both he and Slimy had been clearly looking forward to: we would be punished, for our unseemly behaviour, indeed severely punished. If it ever happened again, then we would be expelled: and on and on it went.  What a load of bullshit; he would no more expel us than jump off a cliff, for he would never give up the juicy fees paid by our respective parents.

So what was now going to happen? Well, it soon became obvious that the old Prick was enjoying the occasion and was determined to build the whole incident into a piece of drama, acted out with Slimy as a willing assistant. Looking back on it now, one could almost have believed that they had rehearsed their dialogue, which was couched in excessively polite and overdone phraseology.

“I think, Mr Simmons,” boomed the Prick, “That the behaviour of these two boys calls for the severest punishment which the school rules allow.” 

The Prick was Headmaster, but a Board of Governors had, long ago, drawn up a School Rules Book to which the Prick was evidently now going to make reference; as if he already did not know what he intended to do do us, which was to skin our arses. Slimy voiced his agreement; yes indeed, such flagrant disobedience did most certainly call for the severest form of corporal punishment. As he said this you could almost see him licking his lips in anticipation of the spectacle that he knew he would soon be witnessing. And so now began the theatrical piece of dialogue between the Prick and Slimy, as if to demonstrate to the two of us, how gentlemen conducted their affairs.

“Mr Simmons,” began the Prick, “I wonder if you would be so kind as to search in my bookcase for the red bound book of School Rules and bring it to me here.”

Until now, Slimy had simply stood to one side, listening and clearly enjoying the Headmaster berating us.

“Certainly, Headmaster, with pleasure.” came the reply.

From the way Slimy emphasized the word pleasure, you could see that he really meant it. Anyway, Slimy then went over to the bookcase, found the book and made as if to hand it to the Headmaster, who however stopped him in his tracks and said.

“Mr. Simmons, perhaps I could prevail still further on your good nature and ask you to locate the page which deals with punishment of erring pupils and to read it out to our two delinquents here.” 

So now we were delinquents! I am not at all sure that the word delinquent really applied to our behaviour.  We had been fucking each other and, I might add, that we were both aged eighteen at the time. Our behaviour might well not have been to everyone’s taste, but in no way was it a crime.  But what was inadmissible to the Prick, was that we had been doing it whilst still at school and there were rules to be obeyed. And I suppose in one way he was quite right to exert his authority, for after all he was acting in loco parentis. But one could see that he was salivating at the thought of thrashing two muscular backsides

Slimy began thumbing through the book only to be interrupted by the Headmaster.

“Page 45, I seem to remember, third paragraph.” 

The old fart knew exactly, CHAPTER and verse, what he wanted Slimy to read out to us. 

Slimy began to read. “Outrageous conduct by any pupil shall be corrected by administration of a severe dose of corporal chastisement.  The most outrageous offences such as, for example of a boy caught stealing or in flagrant breach of the school rules or caught in unnatural acts of moral turpitude, may be corrected by sound application of the cane to the boy’s naked buttocks; the number of strokes not to exceed twenty-four on any one occasion and to be left to the discretion of the Headmaster, who shall be the sole person to administer such punishment.” 

So there in a nut-shell you had it; the Prick was going to thrash the two of us. The only question was just how many strokes of the cane did we merit as a punishment for our disobedience.

“Well,” continued the Prick, “You boys now see that the prescribed punishment to correct the the type of offence of which you are clearly guilty, flagrant breaking of the rules and gross moral turpitude, is a dose of corporal chastisement, which I shall have the greatest pleasure (and here he truly meant it) to apply to your naked buttocks with my very best rod.  I have to say that in the old days, I would have happily given the two of you a good birching, but as that admiral implement has long been abandoned, I shall have to do my best with the rod; but a rod from the pickle bath it shall be and believe me you will rue the day when you ventured into the forbidden pastures of moral decay.”

Where on earth did the old fart dig up such pompous English? Rod indeed, when what he really meant was the cane.  The way he was lecturing us went out at the end of the nineteenth century and here we were in the first decade of the twenty-first!

“Mr Simmons”, he went on, “I hate to prevail yet again on your extreme good nature, but if it would not be too much trouble for you, I would be most grateful if you could go and seek out Mr Hickman (the school janitor and the Prick’s general factotum, one of whose jobs was to maintain a supply of canes soaking in a bath of brine, as in Victorian times) and ask him to select for you three of the best seasoned rods from the brine bath, preferably specimens which have been maturing in the liquid for at least one month  and bring them to me here. I would hate to think that these two boys do not receive their punishment with what I think one might best describe as the Rolls Royce of corrective implements: a rod in pickle: that splendid invention of our Victorian predecessors, which is, in my view, without any doubt, the best of all rods for administering corporal chastisement. ”

“Oh yes indeed,” replied Mr Simmons, “I fully agree with you Headmaster, these boys really do deserve the very best and as you so rightly observe, and what could be better than a well pickled, flexible rod?” 

And with that Slimy left on his seeking out mission.

You might as well have ordered Slimy to go and find a cat of nine tails if you really wanted the nec-plus-ultra of corporal punishment instruments, is what I thought.  What was abundantly evident was that Charlie and I were going to have our naked arses soundly thrashed and that there was nothing at all we could do to avoid it.  I vowed there and then to myself that never again would I allow would my cock be allowed to rule over my head. One lives and learns and the forthcoming lesson was shaping up to be a real humdinger, which there was nothing at all we could do to avoid!

The Prick now looked balefully at us and said. “Well boys, we should not be idle whilst Mr Simmons fetches the rods.”

He made us move two chairs from against the wall and set them out down the middle of the floor so that there was enough space between each of them to allow him to address our arses correctly with his rod.  I should perhaps interject here that usually the Prick thrashed those on his Friday Punishment Parade in a side room off his main study.  There, he had installed a beating horse, built by the faithful Mr Hickman, across which the errant pupil had to bend, offering his naked arse for punishment.  Those on parade waited in his main study and were called in one by one to receive their punishment.  It was quite a gruesome experience as those waiting, for they could hear the sound of the cane as it landed against the present supplicant’s arse.  But today, it was clear from what the Prick had told us to do, that he had something else in mind, which he now made clear.

“I think,” he said, “That the time has come for each of you to assume the appropriate position for you to receive the corporal chastisement which you both so richly deserve and which I shall have no compunction in administering to your naked buttocks.”   

What a wordy old fart he was;  and he had not yet finished as he continued:

“Many a Headmaster has observed to the errant pupil, that the punishment he was about to inflict on the miscreant youth would hurt him, the wielder of the rod, more than it would hurt the recipient himself. Well, let me tell you boys that I do not subscribe to this sentiment (neither did I!) and as you are shortly to find out; for the pain, and believe me, the experience will be very painful, will be entirely felt by you! I, on the other hand, will know that I am carrying out my duty in correcting you, which in itself is reward enough. Now, both of you drop your gym shorts and present your naked buttocks to me for punishment.  Bend firmly across the back of the chair, as I want your buttocks presented high and tight so that I can correctly apply the rod to the greatest effect.  I am giving each of you a cork to bite on to help you bear the pain which you are shortly about to experience.” 

So there we were, the two of us, each bent across a chair back, with our naked arses sticking up into the air and our cocks and balls dangling down below.  We must have been like that for at least ten minutes, waiting for Slimy to get back from his errand with the implements of torture.

When he finally appeared, the Prick said. “Well Mr Simmons, as it is Saturday afternoon, you obviously have had some difficulty in finding Mr Hickman, but I see that with the perspicacity which is so characteristic of you, you have found the requisite rods, which I will now take from you.”  Where did he get this Dickensian language from?

And with that he took the three canes from Slimy and started to examine them to decide which one he was going to use to roast our arses.  He flexed and swished each in turn through the air and finally said that he thought one would do admirably. 

“I think Mr Simmons,” he said, “That we should explain to these to miscreants why the rod from the pickle bath is the most superior of all rods with which to administer corporal chastisement. I think it right and proper that they should know that they are to receive the very best that we can do for them.  Now, boys as you may or may not be aware, the well known Newtonian equation, P=MF, admirably describes the dynamics of the act of corporal punishment.  P is the force or pain which will result from the mass M of the rod, decelerating at a rate F, when the rod lands on the target, in this case, your buttocks.  Now, by soaking the rod in brine, one can effectively double its mass,  so as you can doubtless see by this simple expedient one can double the pain. Additionally the rod is rendered more flexible by the soaking and ensures the longest possible contact length with your buttocks. I think it always instructive for boys to learn something, even in such an unfortunate situation as the present, which is the reason why I am imparting this useful information to you now.”

My god, what a wordy old fart the Prick was!  “Just get on with it,” I thought. “Whack our arses and let’s be done with it.” But but procedure reigned supreme.

“Mr Simmons, if you would again be kind enough to assist me in this unpleasant task (the lying sod; he was relishing whacking our arses) and call out the number of strokes.  As this is the most a serious offence, I propose to administer the fifteen cuts of the rod to each boy.”

“Certainly Headmaster,” came the reply, “It will give me great a pleasure to assist you in this matter and to see that these boys get their just deserts. I fully agree with you that their offence merits fifteen strokes,  but let me add  (the rotten slimy sod!) that I consider fifteen strokes quite lenient in view of the maximum number of strokes allowed and the severity of the offence.” 

And when he said with great pleasure, you could see that he really meant it: Slimy was an absolute sadist! What a slimy bastard Mr. Simmons was; fawning as he was on the Headmaster and, metaphorically, practically pissing up the old boy’s arse

Charlie and I had now been bent over our respective chairs for over fifteen minutes and I thought: “For crying out loud, get on with it and let’s get it over with.”  The Prick now flexed the cane, (or should I say rod?) and addressed my arse first.  He gave me a few gentle taps to decide where he proposed to place the first cut and then suddenly, with a force that belied his years, brought the cane down across my naked bum with such a crack that it knocked the breath out of me. For a split second I felt nothing and then suddenly the enormous pain of the blow shot through my body and I wondered how I would ever stand fifteen such cuts

“One” said Slimy.  

The Prick now turned his attention to Charlie and repeated the same procedure making poor Charlie cry out with the pain.  “Take your punishment like a man,” boomed the Prick, whatever that was meant to mean. “And stop howling like a baby.”

So that was the Prick’s idea: he was going to give each of us one stroke at a time moving from one to the other, thereby dragging out the process.

And so it went on, blow after stinging blow, one for me and the next for Charlie, with Slimy counting out the strokes.  The Prick paused for some seconds between each stroke so that we could each have time to appreciate the full excruciating pain each time the cane landed on our arses.  And all the time between strokes, as he moved from one to the other of us, he preached to us about our sinful ways and how we would surely emerge as better young men from the ordeal we were enduring.

So he went on until we had each received fifteen cuts, which he had expertly laid across our entire arses, which by this time our buttocks were covered with black and blue welts where the cane had landed.  Whatever we might think of him, it was a sure fact that the Prick was an expert caner. And I have to hand it to him in that he really knew how to apply the maximum of pain without breaking the skin.  Black and blue we both finished up; but it was only bruising with no blood. But then, he had had some thirty-five years experience of beating butt!

Slimy had looked on lasciviously whilst we took our beating and it confirmed what I had always thought of him, that he was a sadist who found pleasure in watching someone else being punished. I could see that he had a hard on and was in a pre-cum stage, as there was a damp patch on the crotch of his trousers. We finally got dressed, thanked the Headmaster for correcting us; was part of the protocol we had been taught to follow and after yet a few more homilies from him, left. 

CHAPTER 5

But before I move on from the Sheldon Academy, there is one truly horrific event which I must tell you about, which confirmed for ever in my mind what a miserable little sod our PT instructor, Mr Slimy Simmons, really was and how he worked hand in glove with the Prick to make sure that he had a regular stream of arses to beat. This time, however, the full horror of the Prick’s caning power was demonstrated to the whole school and the victim  was our classmate Toby.

Tobias Marmeduke Fitzherbert Devlin-Smith was also an orphan from a good family, as you can see from the absurd names he had been given.  Toby, as we all called him, was a very popular guy and he, Charlie and I spent a lot of time together during the vacations, for his guardian, much like my Aunt Agatha  and Charlie’s parents, was really glad to have him more or less permanently out of the way. Toby was very popular with all his classmates and was always mouthing off some inanity for the general amusement of all. And it was his big mouth that proved to be his undoing and bring down the wrath of God, in the person of Mr. Woodderowffe-Pryce, the Prick, upon himself.

What happened was this. We were all in the showers after an afternoon on the playing field and were arsing around with each other as lads do.  I do not remember now exactly how it came about, but somehow Toby said in a loud voice, “Oh fuck old Woody Prick.”  Of course the ubiquitous Mr Simmons, happened to overhear his remark and that was the beginning of the end for poor Toby. 

Slimy told Toby that his rudeness and disrespect of the Headmaster would not be forgotten, but to our surprise he did not haul Toby off to the Headmaster’s study as he usually did when he thought he had another piece of fodder for the Prick’s cane over and above his weekly contribution of names for the Friday afternoon Punishment Parade.  For the rest of the day Toby was really nervous about what might be the consequences of his indiscretion, but as afternoon passed into evening and we all went to bed, his fears subsided and he thought that the incident had been forgotten.  Of course knowing what a miserable rat Slimy was, he should have known better: it was merely the lull before the storm.

The school was run strictly on the lines of an English public school and so we had an assembly each morning, where we sang a hymn, prayed, listened to a few nonsensical homilies from the old Prick and any useful information which he felt he should impart to us. Toby’s gaffe had occurred earlier on the week and as he had heard nothing he thought everything was OK. The Friday assembly was always a particularly tense day, for it was at this assembly that the Headmaster announced the name of those pupils who would report to him after classes on Friday evening on  his so-called Punishment Parade.

Having finished his general remarks and announced the list of pupils he expected to see in his study at the end of the afternoon, he suddenly drew himself up and adopted what I can but describe as his Old Testament Prophet look.

“The Bible tells us that we shall not take the name of the Lord our God in vain and that vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord. Well in this school, good manners dictate that you boys shall not take the name of your masters in vain and any of you who do so can expect to be punished for your misdemeanour.  There is no God here directly to exact vengeance, but as Headmaster I shall see to it that any boy who steps over the line will be severely punished.  Now it has come to my notice that one boy among you has been mouthing off an insulting version of the name of one of our masters, actually of my own name, which is intolerable.”

At this stage, Toby suddenly realised where all this was leading.

“Tobias Devlin-Smith kindly step up on to the platform,” said the Prick.

Poor Toby was now trembling with fear as he mounted the steps and stood in front of the Headmaster.

“Is the information I have received correct,” he thundered, “Did you or did you not in the showers earlier this week utter a lewd transmogrification of my name in front of your school mates?  I will not lower the tone of these proceeding by repeating what I am reliably informed you said; but answer me, boy; did you or did you not take my name in vain?”

Poor Toby hardly knew what to say, but he realised that the repulsive Mr. Simmons, had, in fact blown the whistle on him and told the Headmaster what he had said.  He had to admit that this was true but added in his defence that he really had not meant it.

“I do not believe you, boy,” roared the Prick, “And I intend to make an example of you, here and now, in front of the whole school.” 

Toby’s heart sank into his boots. 

“Mr Simmons, the chair and the rod, (that antiquated word yet again!) if you please, here in front of me.”

Simmons produced the requested items, as if from nowhere and it was clear to everyone that the whole thing had been stage managed beforehand by the pair of them.

“Devlin-Smith, drop your trousers and underpants, bend over the back of the chair, put your hands on the seat and present your buttocks to me for corporal chastisement. Devlin-Smith I shall now give you a very thorough beating to teach you a lesson never again to take my name in vain; or for that matter, the name of any member of the teaching staff.  Let this also be an example to the whole assembly of what will happen if any one of you dares to overstep the line of polite behaviour.”

And so he started roasting poor Toby’s arse, bringing the cane down with the most fearsome blows.  After each stroke he waited some five seconds – a hell of a long time when you are bent across a chair having your arse beaten –  partly to give himself time to prate on about the misdemeanours of youth and the necessity of corrective punishment to set the miscreant to rights and partly to let poor Toby appreciate, if that is the word, the pain of each stroke.  

He had not announced how many strokes he intended to deliver; he just pressed on, building up the pain in Toby’s arse. It was clear to see that the Prick was intent on wreaking personal vengeance on poor Toby, for he had clearly taken the slur on his name to heart.  And so he pressed on and on until finally, after the twentieth stroke he told Toby to get up, which he did with difficulty as his arse was raging with fire. He had borne the whole beating without a murmur, much the admiration of the rest of us.  He pulled on his clothes and started down the steps from the platform, when Woody suddenly stopped him in his tracks.

“Devlin-Smith, where are your manners?” he roared, “Kindly return to the chair, drop your garments again and re-assume the position for you clearly need yet further correction.” 

Poor Toby had no idea what he had done wrong to deserve yet another dose of the cane, but could do nothing but obey.

“It is customary after you have received a beating, to thank me for having had the thoughtfulness to correct you: good manners demand it.”  intoned Woody Prick; and he then proceeded to give Toby’s raging arse another four cuts of the cane.

 And so poor Toby had had the maximum of the full two dozen cuts of the cane across his naked arse, a procedure that had taken some ten minutes.

Woody then terminated the proceedings by saying that he looked forward to welcoming (his very word) those on Punishment Parade to his study that afternoon and that they should not think that he was in any way too tired out by the present exertions not to able to do them justice. “Make no mistake” he said, “Those of you on today’s parade will enjoy the same treatment as that I have just meted out to Devlin-Smith. All misdemeanours brought to my attention will receive the severest punishment.  I am a great believer in the old maxim: “Spare the rod and spoil the boy.” So believe me when I say to you all, there will be no spoilt boys in this school” 

This was the most horrific example of sadistic brutality I had ever seen. I noticed that Mr Simmons, the instigator of this gruesome occasion was smiling smugly to himself. Toby became the hero of his schoolmates because of his impassive manner as the strokes were being administered and his classmates gazed with admiration and awe at his bruised backside in the dormitory that night.

Looking back on things, I realize now that the relationship which Charlie and I enjoyed, and that is truly the right word, for we both enjoyed every minute of what we did together, was really strange. From the moment it was established that I was using my cock on his arse, things never, ever changed. Charlie loved being shafted and had never expressed any desire to have a return match, as it were. And now, years later, although I saw Charlie naked both in the showers and when we were alone together, I cannot, for the life in me, recollect what his cock was like! All I know is that I was chivvied in a good natured way (envious, I guess) in the showers by my classmates, because, as I have already mentioned, I had, by the time I turned eighteen,  an absolutely formidable piece of man- meat, which was the envy of everyone who saw it.

And so it was that when we left Sheldon, Charlie and I simply said goodbye, as if we were both going home for the vacation and after that I neither saw nor heard from him ever again. It was as if our relationship had been for nothing. Neither of us had any emotional attachment to the other and we just parted, as friends, but without any lasting memories the one for the other. In retrospect, our liaison had been one of sheer physical necessity and when we parted, I guess we both expected that somehow we would each find an agreeably partner to pick up where we had left off.

                                                  CHAPTER 6

But, before we leave Sheldon behind forever and allow my memories of my time there to fade, it is worthwhile recounting what happened to that slimy bastard of a sports master, Mr Simmons, easily the most heartily hated master at my time at the school. It was in 2010 that Mr Simmons suddenly, as if by magic, disappeared from the school. We the boys learned of his departure at the Monday morning assembly, when Woody Prick, the Headmaster among his customary comments, suddenly announced that on the previous Saturday evening, Mr Simmons had been taken violently ill and had had to be rushed off to hospital. What the illness was and to which hospital he had been taken were left unsaid. And frankly I don’t think that any of us boys, and possibly even his staff colleagues, much cared.

Well, of course, there was a tremendous buzz of intrigue among us boys as to what had happened to Mr. Simmons, but nothing more was ever said about him. His illness, if illness he had had, clearly prevented him from ever returning to Sheldon; within a few days, a temporary PE teacher was in place and within a month the post was filled by a full time new face, Mr. Chadwick, who turned out to be a very popular staff member, both with the boys and his colleagues alike.

But fate, or better, chance, finally gave me the full story of Mr Simmons’s demise, in the form of Mr Robert Crowther, my own popular form master who taught English literature and poetry at Sheldon. I am jumping ahead of myself here, as it is worthwhile recounting what actually happened regarding Mr. Simmons and here seems perhaps the best place to explain what actually happened as it brings to an end my involvement with the Sheldon Academy.

It was several years later and at the time I was already well established as a professional Male Escort in New York. One of my regular clients, a man called Clarence Parmiter, worked at a high level in a well-known firm of publishers.  I had known and serviced Clarence for several years and he was one of my few clients who was himself gay.  I am not sure why he needed my services, but, apparently he did and I had just finished servicing his needs late one afternoon, when out of the blue, he invited me to a cocktail party which was being given that evening in honour of one of their new authors, for whom they had just published an anthology of his poems. I was not really sure why he should give me this invitation, but having nothing better to do that evening, I accepted, and so, together we walked to the nearby hotel, where the party was being held.

Well, you can imagine my surprise, when I discovered that the new author in whose honour the party was being given was none other than Mr Crowther, my old teacher of English literature at Sheldon. He was as surprised as I was to meet me there and I simply told him that I was an acquaintance of one of the senior staff at the firm and that he had invited me to join him, quite unexpectedly. Mr Crowther had no idea what I did for a living and I studiously avoided touching on the subject. The upshot was that he asked me to stay on at the end of the party and have dinner with him, which I willingly did. And, over the meal, among other things we discussed about Sheldon, here,  totally out of the blue, I finally learned the facts leading up to the demise of Mr Simmons, which I will allow Mr. Crowther to tell us in his own words.

I had, over a period of several months become increasingly disturbed by what I considered the brutal, sadistic use of corporal punishment by the Headmaster, Mr Woodderowffe-Pryce, the Prick as you the boys called him, and the way Mr Simmons was allowed to hit boys during gym classes with the leather strap which seemed to be a permanently in his hand.

I came across the first indication that there was widespread corporal abuse in the school when, quite by chance, I entered, one Friday night at lights out, one of the dorms to find the boys all intent on examining the buttocks of one of their classmates, Toby Devlin Smith, who had been given twenty-four cuts of the cane across his naked buttocks by the Headmaster. You must surely remember the incident, Sebastian, as you were still at Sheldon at that time. I had not witnessed the actual caning of this lad myself as for some reason, I forget why, I had not been at morning assembly that day. I was totally appalled by what I saw, for this poor boy’s buttocks were criss-crossed with dark welts from the cane, which were already turning black and blue. So, for the record I fetched my camera and took a photograph of the lad’ss backside. Talking to the other boys, I learned that Toby’s experience was typical of any visit to the Headmaster, who was clearly a believer in hard caning.”

“I then asked Toby what had been his offence to merit such a severe beating, to learn that he had been overheard by Mr. Simmons referring to the Headmaster as the Prick as a result of which Toby had been humiliated in front of the entire school and given 24 cuts of the cane across his naked arse. I was amazed that such a minor offence, if one could even call it an offence at all, had given rise to such a severe beating. So, my suspicions became aroused and I took to visiting the dorms regularly on Friday evenings after the Headmaster had carried out his weekly beating exercise and I rapidly became appalled at the brutality with which the cane was being regularly used on the naked buttocks of the boys.

So, from then on, over several weeks, I built up a photographic record of the backsides of boys who had been beaten and the nature of their offences. Occasionally, a boy merited a good beating, but not in the sadistic way that I was seeing corporal punishment being administered by the Headmaster at Sheldon. But more often than not boys were being punished for piffling misdemeanours, which in no way merited the severe beatings being inflicted on them.

Then by chance, one day in the shower room, I came across a boy who had just taken six or so whacks across his buttocks from the strap which Mr. Simmons always had in his hand in the gym. His buttocks were an angry red and I learned that this was a regular occurrence during gym classes. Mr Simmons lashed out at any boy whom he thought was slacking, so that after every class there were always a few boys with sore posteriors. Again I was seriously disturbed by what I saw was a totally sadistic abuse of the system. The school rules stated specifically that only the Headmaster was authorized to administer corporal punishment, and here was Simmons lashing out at boys.

The matter became even more sinister, when I analyzed the punishment book prepared each Thursday evening by the school secretary, Miss Pimlott, listing the boys who had to attend the Friday afternoon Parade. I discovered, to my amazement and utter disgust, that 85% of all the entries had been made at the behest of Mr. Simmons. It was now as plain as a pikestaff that he and the Headmaster were colluding to see that there was always a good Friday afternoon attendance at the Punishment Parade, so that the Headmaster could satisfy his sadistic bent to the full. All this was made even more flagrantly obvious, when I learned that Mr. Simmons was always present in the Headmaster’s study when the Friday beatings took place; they were a pair of hand-in-glove sadist who enjoyed punishing the boys with the cane.

For a while, in spite of a large photo dossier documenting case after case of excessive use of the cane, I had no clear idea of what to do. I wanted to do something to change things, but what? Well, the matter came to a head and enabled me to resolve the situation in a totally unexpected way. It was late one Saturday afternoon and I just happened to be passing the door to the shower room, when I heard, through the closed door a muffled cry.

“Please sir, don't! Please sir, don't.! Please sir don’t  I don’t like what you are trying to do to me”

It was obvious that the speaker was in considerable distress and so I opened the door to see what was happening. To my amazement, I found Mr Simmons, with his trouser's fly open and his cock sticking out in process of trying to bugger one of the  pupils, a sixteen year-old boy called John O’Brian. For a brief moment as I watched, I saw Mr. Simmons trying in vain to overcome resistance of O'Brian, who clearly did not want or welcome the attention he was getting from the sports master. But, in that brief moment, as I watched, Simmons was intent on shafting the the boy; he tried, unsuccessfully to thrust is erect penis into O’Brian’s arse, which act was accompanied by a cry of anguish from the poor boy himself asking Simmons to stop.  He would surely have then gone on to fuck the boy had it not been for my intervention.

“Mr Simmons,” I roared, “What on earth do you think you are doing to this boy? You are in the process of sexually molesting a minor, a boy in your care as a master of this school and for whom you stand and are supposed to act in loco parentis, if you know what that means. You sir are nothing more than a pederast and you are in process of trying to bugger O’Brian. Stop what you are doing at once and get out of here. Believe me. Simmons, you are an absolute disgrace both to the school and to our profession. This is an end of your career in this school and as a school master in general. If O’Brian decides to press criminal charges against you, then I shall be very willing to act as a witness and testify to what I have just seen. If the police hear about this, you will certainly be prosecuted for our actions and let me tell you, you will most likely finish up with a gaol sentence. Sexually abusing a minor is a very serious offence indeed!  To compound matters, some time ago, you sent two eighteen year old boys; young men in fact: Tennant and Watson, to the Headmaster for a thrashing; and why? Well let me remind you; you came upon them having consensual sex in this very shower room, where you were, a moment ago, intent, but for my intervention, on buggering O’Brian.  You, sir, are not only a pederast, but you are a monumental hypocrite!”

Simmons started to bluster and to say that it was all a misunderstanding and that he was only trying to help O’Brian over a difficult period in his development etc. etc. ad nauseam.

“Simmons, shut up and get out of here. You are a pederast caught molesting a minor and you will be judged as such. Now, for the third time get out!”

When Simmons had left, I asked O’Brian what had happened. I learned that he had been taking a shower, after having been working out alone that afternoon in the gym, when Simmons had entered and had literally grabbed him and forced himself upon him. I further learned that O’Brian had never had any sexual contact with anyone until that moment and that he had, as I had just seen for myself, resisted the unwanted attack by Simmons. I realised that I had arrived just in the nick of time; otherwise Simmons would have clearly succeeded in his desire to bugger the boy. I told O’Brian to get dressed and find his classmates in the common room, while I decided what I was now going to do.

It was this incident which gave me the final ammunition to tackle the Headmaster and try to change the way the school was run. So, without waiting, I collected the dossier on the beatings I had prepared and went to the Headmaster’s study, which I entered without knocking and sat down in front to Woodderrowffe-Pryce without any invitation, for had decided that the best way forward was by a vigorous attack, as I was so sure of my facts.

                                                    CHAPTER 7 

The Headmaster was sitting behind his desk writing a letter as I burst into his study. He raised his head and said, “Mr Crowther, what on earth is the reason for this unwarranted intrusion? Have you lost your senses, man? You are a junior master in this establishment and as such you do not simply storm into my study uninvited and without a prior appointment and sit down in front of me without so much as by your leave. Kindly get up out of that chair and leave this place immediately, as I have no intention of receiving you now, for as you can see I am very busy. If you wish to see me, then make an appointment via Miss Pimlott. I have to tell you that your outrageous behaviour will not be overlooked. Now kindly leave my study forthwith!” And with that he turned back to his writing as a gesture of dismissal.

I listened impassively and then said: “Headmaster, kindly shut up and listen; I am not leaving his room until a very, very serious matter is settled. Do I make myself clear? I have the very disagreeable duty to tell you that just an hour or so ago, I found Mr Simmons, in the shower room, attempting to engage in an act of gross sexual indecency with the boy, David O’Brian, who was clearly deeply distressed by what Simmons was trying to do to him. Simmons was, in fact, intent on committing an act of buggery on O’Brian and it is only thanks to chance that I came upon the scene before any true damage had been done.”

By now, as I could tell from his face, the Headmaster was beginning to feel vaguely uneasy and he said more gently, “Surely, Mr. Crowther, you must be mistaken. I cannot believe that Mr. Simmons would ever attempt commit such an act; you are surely mistaken.  Come, come, Mr. Crowther, this is a very serious allegation you are making against a colleague. Think again. Surely you are mistaken.”

“No Headmaster I am not mistaken; let me spell this out to you in the most graphic detail once again. I saw Simmons, with my own eyes, not an hour ago, attempting to thrust his penis into O’Brian’s anus, totally against the boy’s will. Simmons was intent on committing a criminal act of buggery on a minor: moreover, a minor in his care. Simmons has got to go, and to go from this school immediately, or I call the police. And I might add that O’Brian has agreed that he will testify to the police exactly what happened.”

The Headmaster was now quite clearly feeling more than a little uneasy, for he finally realized that I meant business. “If things are as you say, and I have to repeat the word, if, then perhaps we should get Mr. Simmons to make a formal apology to O’Brian and promise never to allow such a lapse of judgement to occur ever again. After all, Mr Simmons is a long established and valued member of my staff and I would hate to see his career ruined because of one unfortunate incident.”

“Headmaster, be realistic; Mr. Simmons is not the kind of person who should be allowed contact with adolescent boys. But let us be quite clear; Mr Simmons, whether you like it or not, is a bugger and he has to go. Mr Simmons is your right-hand man and panders to your every whim and he is clearly a psychopathic sadist. He belts the boys across their buttocks in the gym with a heavy leather strap, left, right and centre; an act which is strictly forbidden by the school rules. Moreover, you and he work as a team to ensure that your Friday evening Punishment Parade as you call it is always well supplied with boys to thrash.”

The Headmaster started to bluster at this and to deny any liaison or collusion with Simmons, but I just pressed on.

“Headmaster, I have done an analysis of the punishment book compiled by Miss Pimlott over the last year. I was staggered to see that nearly 85% of all entries were from punishment slips made out by Mr. Simmons; and yes, Headmaster, that is the correct figure Additionally, Headmaster, you are excessively brutal in the way you beat the boys. Just take a look at these photos of the buttocks of boys whom you have caned excessively in the last year; truly for piffling offences, none of which even merited a caning, let alone the thrashing you inflicted on their naked buttocks. Frankly, if the police were to see these photographs, then you would most certainly be prosecuted for bodily assault on minors under your care.”

“As of today, Headmaster, things have got to change. Mr Simmons has to go immediately and you have to stop your excessive brutality when administering the cane. I am not at all against the use of the cane, for I think a good sharp dose can stop many boys in their tracks, but not in the excessively brutal way in which you use it: You are just too brutal: and you clearly enjoy what you are doing, which frankly, is not the object of the exercise, Headmaster.”

By this stage I could see that the Headmaster was really beginning to feel very uncomfortable as he realized that I had truly got the bit between my teeth and had the evidence to make life both for Simmons and himself really difficult. He tried, nevertheless, to salvage what he could of the situation: a vain hope as I was now more than ever determined to see the thing through to the end.

“Mr. Crowther,” he said, with more conviction than he clearly felt, “You really seem to be very sure of yourself. Are you certain about Mr. Simmons’s actions with O’Brian? And as for the use of the cane and so on, that it is just part of parcel of the life in a school such as this. Surely we should give Mr. Simmons the benefit of the doubt and allow him to excuse himself, if things are as you say they are. And as for the beatings I give the boys, well I am always trying to set them on the path to moral rectitude.”

“Headmaster, the situation is as simple as this. Either Simmons goes immediately or I go today, this very evening, with O’Brian, my photos and the punishment book to the police.”

The Headmaster, now totally flustered, said, “Well, if you are so sure, let us get Simmons in here and at least give him a chance to explain the situation; and then, if things are as you suspect, we can agree with Simmons that he will leave at the end of the term. After all, we do not wish to ruin his career over one lapse of judgement, do we?”

“Headmaster, things are not as I suspect, as you put it; suspicion does not enter into the matter; the facts are exactly as I have just presented them to you. Mr Simmons is a pederast, a bugger, a bully and a sadist, and either he goes today or I go to the police, in which case, your position in the school will be totally jeopardized and frankly, the pair of you will probably be prosecuted and jailed for your actions. What I have just exposed to you is, whether you admit it or not, the tip of an iceberg of abuse, which has been going on here for years and who knows where a more searching investigation might lead. Both Simmons and you could finish up in prison, which may well be where you both belong. As for his career, well as far as being a school master is concerned, that is over as of now. This man must never be allowed anywhere near any boys ever again; he is a menace and must be stopped. So, Headmaster, decide; it is in your own hands; either Simmons goes today or I go straight to the police today. And do not even think about giving him a whitewash reference. That is totally out of the question Simmons must never again work as a schoolmaster anywhere. Do I make myself clear Headmaster?”

The Headmaster, as you might well imagine, was now in a near blind panic. What could he do? I could see the thoughts flashing through his mind as I sat there in front of him. Either Simmons went, or the police became involved and god only knows where that might lead. So, in one last attempt to salvage something from this shipwreck which I had brought upon him, and before, in sheer desperation to save his own skin and throwing Simmons to the dogs, he made one last attempt and said: “Mr Crowther, please try to be reasonable. It is now late afternoon and Mr. Simmons cannot leave today. Surely we can sort something out so that the leaves, say, at the end of the month and that way the whole thing can be allowed gently to fade away.”

He was about to go on, but I cut him short. “Headmaster, I have given you what, in modern parlance, is called a deal. As it is late in the day, Simmons may stay in his rooms tonight, but tomorrow morning he leaves before noon. That will give him time to put together a few essentials to take with him, and the rest of his belonging will have to be packed up by the faithful Mr. Hickman, the school janitor and general factotum, and sent on to him. That is the deal: you get rid of Simmons today and have a chance to save your own skin.”

I was really being very brutal with the Headmaster at this stage, but I thought that as I had already burned my own boat, I may as well go on to the bitter end.

”But where is he going to go? Tomorrow is Sunday and there are no buses or trains. How is he going to get anywhere?”

“Headmaster, it is a matter of supreme indifference to me where Mr. Simmons goes or how he gets there. He can hire a taxi and check himself into some hotel to give himself time to collect his thoughts and let me tell you, he has a hell of a lot to think about. So Headmaster, the choice is yours. Decide! Either Simmons goes tomorrow morning with no references or I go straight to the police right now!”

“You drive a hard bargain, Mr Crowther. I will inform Mr Simmons of my decision. He leaves tomorrow.”

“A wise decision, Headmaster! Things have needed straightening out in this school for a long time. Believe me when I say that there will be many a dry eye among the boys when they learn that Mr Simmons is no longer with us. Frankly, Headmaster, his nickname, Slimy, was very apt and we shall all, my fellow masters, the boys and myself, be glad to see the back of him; Simmons is an utter disgrace to our profession, which will be better off without him.”

Having got he bit firmly between my teeth, I then went on. “On another matter, I now expect to see the Punishment Parade greatly diminished. As a start, I suggest you pardon all boys on next Friday’s parade, who were put on report by the late lamented Mr. Simmons and that as you administer the cane to those boys remaining, who do truly merit a short sharp shock, you remember that you are correcting them and not, in fact, indulging your own sadistic nature on their buttocks. Is it really necessary, Headmaster, that you apply the cane to their naked buttocks? Surely that is not necessary. Enough pain can certainly be administered through the boys’ trousers to make them mend their ways. In fact, I suggest you start bringing the school into the twenty-first century, and abolish the parade completely. Good afternoon, Headmaster, and I trust you will have a pleasant Sunday.”

And with that, I left the Headmaster to his thoughts. I had surprised myself that I had managed to stick to my guns. I had, in fact, been inwardly very sure of my ground, but had had to steel myself and pull all my courage together to address the Headmaster in such an authoritative way. At the end of the day, I felt proud of what I had achieved although no-one would ever know my part in the demise of Mr. Simmons. I felt totally vindicated in what I had done by the fact that during this long and difficult meeting with the Headmaster, Mr. Simmons had never been invited to join us and, at the end of the day, Woodderowffe-Pryce, to save his own skin, was willing to throw his right- hand man to the dogs, without even allowing him to defend himself. I was sure that my analysis of the collusion between the pair of them was correct.

“So there, Sebastian, you have the whole story of what happened to Mr Simmons. Apart from myself and the Headmaster, you are the first person to know the full facts, as I have never spoken of it to anyone until today. The school in general, masters and boys included, never knew why Simmons had suddenly disappeared from the scene. The Headmaster announced at the Monday morning assembly to the staff and boys together, that Mr Simmons had been taken seriously ill and had had to be rushed to hospital. No one thought to ask where or how he was and no-one ever questioned the Headmaster on his explanation of his sudden disappearance. Also, as you must remember, on that same occasion, the Headmaster announced the abolition of the Punishment Parade so that things changed for the better immediately.”

“Well Sebastian, enough about Sheldon, how about you, what have you been up to since you left our hallowed halls? What are you yourself, doing for a living?”

Mr Crowther had now touched on the very subject which I had fervently wished to avoid, but there it was; the question was asked, what was I to say to him; that I fucked rich men’s arses for a living? I paused, trying to think of what to say and not to tell a downright lie, when Mr Crowther, smiling, said, “If it helps you, I can tell you that I know about the liaison you had with Charles Tennant during your final years at Sheldon.”

“How the hell did you know about Charlie and me, for we never breathed a word of our activities to anyone.”

“Oh, you know, Sebastian, I am a sharp observer of human behaviour and after a while it became clear to me that there was more than just a classmate friendship going on between the two of you. I am right, aren’t I? Anyway, as the saying goes, it takes one to know one!”

“Mr. Crowther, you don’t mean…”

“Well, yes, exactly. That is precisely what I mean. You and Charlie Tennant are both gay, and I myself am as gay as the pair of you! So there you have it. So, Sebastian, now that I have let the cat out the bag, tell me all about what you are now doing.”

“Well, in telling me what you already appear to know, you have made my task a lot easier. When I left Sheldon, I had no idea what I was going to do and quite by chance in New York I fell in with a group of really great guys, and finished up becoming a Male Escort. I guess I don’t need to spell out to you what that means I do for a living.”

“I should have guessed. You know why? Well that guy Clarence Parmiter   from the publishers who invited you here tonight and I have a thing going together. He’s another one of our fraternity, and I guess, now that you have told me what you do, that he is one of your clients.  Am I right?’”

“Bingo! You’ve got it! In fact I had just finished servicing him this afternoon when, out of the blue, he invited me to this party; so that is how I came to be here”

“Well, as we are together and as the party was in my honour how about you and I having a bit of action together? Not to put too fine a point on it, Sebastian, I would really enjoy a good fuck to end the day. So, how about it?”

I will end this part of the story here. Mr Crowther and I had a great couple of hours together in his room. And from that day on I have never seen or heard from him again.

THE END

Now read the next story in this series entitled

Sebastian Embraces his Sexuality