We had a PE teacher at school, a young trainee, who never flinched at taking his gym slipper to the black short covered bottoms of boisterous 14 year olds. He did it as a game but this was the late 1950's, and boy could he whack. I bent over and felt the sting of his friend on more than one occasion. Mister Fred he called it because, and this is absolutely true, he had chalked FRED backwards on the sole. Do it today and he would end up in clink. Back then we just laughed (and cried) as someone rubbed Fred off their behind. In 2009 I wrote a story inspired by these strange incidents called, unsurprisingly, Mister Fred.
As I have aged I have got more of a kick out of the administrator being female. At least in stories. So the new teacher in this tale has changed sex and her friend is Mistress Fredericka. All else is the same. Including the sadistic male teacher, I can still remember his name, and much about him is true. Gorgeous female teachers making boy's drop their shorts is pure fantasy.
David hated Fridays. He hated them more than any other day of the week. It did not matter if the sun shone or the rain pelted down. Fridays were the pits. And he had three, possibly four, very good reasons why this was so. And all the reasons were combined and related in his young mind. Fridays, or more particularly Fridays at ten forty five , meant one thing. When assembly was over and sixty minutes of geography had past, thirty or more fourteen year olds from class 3B made their way to the school gym for the delights of Physical Education. The weekly P.E. session. Some loved it, a few loathed it, and many others cared neither way. David was one of those who loathed it. He loathed the taking off of all his clothes and the changing into the thin black shorts and pumps. He could never understand why he couldn’t wear his vest but he knew, from observation, it did not pay to disobey this rule. He loathed the lesson which followed, the awful medicine ball, the frightening vaulting horse, the climbing wall frame, and the sadistic master overseeing it all. And David particularly loathed the master. He seemed to take great delight in pushing these young boys to limits they could not endure and humiliating the ones who were found especially wanting. And the humiliation often writ large the reason for the no underpants rule. So David hated it. The lesson, the indignities, the master and, when the ordeal was over, the awful communal showering. It was less unpleasant than all that went before but David, like a few others, briefly dipped his naked body under the cascading water and hurriedly dried and dressed. The slight dampness he experienced under his school clothes was almost comforting. It told him that for another week, at least, his ordeal was over.
Anthony was completely different from David. They may have been the same age, in the same class, and were very good friends but Anthony approached Fridays at ten forty five in a much happier state. He hated the master, they all did, but he didn’t mind the exercises and, unlike David, he embraced the naked camaraderie. Getting undressed before the battle and showering together afterwards appealed to Anthony’s exhibitionist streak. Naked bodies, his own and others, produced a charge that he was too young to understand but old enough to enjoy. And if some poor lad had incurred the hated master’s special wrath he enjoyed seeing the resulting scars of the battle. A bruised and blazing bum in the showers added to the gaiety of school life. If David and a few others were hastily dressing whilst some indulged in horseplay, that was their loss. You could have so much fun in the showers. Anthony wasn’t so keen on the one and only occasion when his backside was the main attraction but it was a small price to pay for the enduring pleasantries of naked schoolboy bonding. Only the damply dressed David and one or two others would disagree.
David did disagree. The particular Friday when the hated master turned his attentions to Anthony was an especially loathsome one. The weather was hot and sticky. The dreaded medicine ball seemed even heavier than usual and the vaulting horse tested the nimblest in the class. The thick and humid gymnasium sapped all energies and all the sweaty young bodies, including the circumspect David, welcomed the distant promise of the traditional communal shower. Flimsy black shorts would be ditched in grateful unison. But if the hated master was cognisant of unbearable heat he made little allowance for it. All the usual routines, including climbing the wooden wall frame, were included in the morning exercises. Within half an hour one or two of the boys were beginning to mumble protests and, after a fifteen minute spell of press ups and running on the spot, a few were showing signs of serious fatigue. So much so that audible protests were made, especially when a second game with the medicine ball was proposed. It was Anthony who amplified what many were thinking. It was only one word. Bastard. Just the one word. And said almost under his breath. But the hated master heard it and, as he called Anthony to come to him, everyone froze. They still stood motionless and breathless when Anthony was sent to the changing room to get the paddle.
For all the sadistic propensities of the master a paddling in the gym was a special event. It only happened once every month or so but when it did it etched itself, for a long time, on the minds of those who witnessed it. On the mind of the one who suffered the memory probably remained forever. The sudden silence when, in stentorian tones, a boy was singled out and told to fetch the dreaded implement from the changing room told its own tale. It was always placed there before physical education lessons began, defying anyone to touch it. And it was more a half size cricket bat, both in length and thickness, than a paddle. Any boy picking it up from the top of the master’s numerous multi coloured files knew that it would sting like hell and bruise the buttocks for weeks. Anthony knew this. He knew because he had seen it in use and seen the resulting scars. And he had heard the cries of anguish and seen the uncontrollable tears. A fourteen year old boy clutching his bottom and howling, in front of thirty or more school mates, was not a pleasant sight. And now it was him for the chop. The walk to the changing room was long and lonely. The walk back, paddle in hand, was even longer and lonelier. And the silence in the gym screamed even louder. He handed the paddle to the master, the hated master, and at his bidding bent over and touched his toes. Or at least his calves. Thirty pairs of eyes surrounded and watched; all glad it was not them. And they continued their silent and breathless watching as the master pulled up the black shorts of the bending Anthony and exposed most of the lower half of his unblemished cheeks. And then he placed the paddle, the cricket bat, call it what you like, across the buttocks and, with a twist of his arm, raised it and lowered it with a savage force. Three times, that was all, three times the paddle lashed into Anthony’s backside and three times the boy grunted and stumbled forward. But he held onto his legs and absorbed all the searing pain. A searing pain in his bottom which echoed around the gym each time the paddle landed. He didn’t get up until the master said he could. But when he did he was holding back tears and he was rubbing his bottom, rubbing it with a spurt of energy rarely seen on that humid day, and David and the other boys were still watching. They were still watching and thinking when Anthony, uncomfortably, returned the paddle to the master’s multicoloured files. The incessant throb in his bottom told him he would be badly bruised. But the word in his mind was still bastard and the tears in his eyes told him that would always be so. David and the other watchers could only, silently, agree. Anthony may have enjoyed the attention his bruised bottom gathered in the later showering but he did not enjoy the continuing pain. And neither did the watching David.
It was the third Friday in October, well into the new school year, when news all desired but none dared hope came to its blissful fruition. The hated master was leaving. A new school was to get the benefit of his attentions. Most of 3B, now 4B, declined an invitation to contribute to his leaving present and one or two, not David or Anthony, spit on the card suggesting two shillings as an appropriate amount for schoolboys. If some were willing to hand over a metaphorical fiver to rid themselves of the man, none were keen to hand over real and actual coinage. Goodbye and a blessed good riddance was the general view. Whoever took his place could not possibly be worse and, hopefully, he would be considerably better. Within a couple of weeks they found out who that replacement was and within a month they realised that they were considerably nicer and friendlier than the now departed old master. And unlike that ageing sadist they were younger and taller and better looking. And, as surprise and shock had initially registered, undoubtedly female. The class of 4B may have blinked in astonishment when a woman turned up for their lessons but they soon got used to it. One or two of the boys found themselves captivated. When the new PE teacher smiled more than a few stomachs were churned. And David was one of them. They could not make David like P.E. but they made it bearable. Compared to the predecessor the new teacher was almost perfect. In fact Anthony said she was perfect. A female temporary supply teacher with a formidable CV. And very used to boys. David almost agreed, in fact he did so until he discovered during one memorable lesson that the new, young and friendly female teacher with the CV had a friend. Her friend’s name was Mistress Fredericka, or Fred for short, and on her third session with 4B she introduced the boys, or one unfortunate soul, to this friend and her special talents. After the first two P.E. sessions all the talk in the showers and changing room, teacher mercifully absent, had been about this new and surprising authority figure. After session three all the talk, and the speculation, was about her Mistress Fredericka.
Mistress Fredericka was the new teacher’s special friend. She helped her keep order, or that is what the new teacher told the boys after the dramatic introduction. Being so nice and friendly the boys had relaxed during the first two sessions with the hated master’s replacement. They joked and they teased, both with the new teacher and their classmates, and an incipient schoolboy anarchy threatened to erase all memory of the past iron discipline. On her first session with the boys the new teacher merely tutted when a few thought it would be fun to feign stomach cramps when the medicine ball was brought into play. Within five minutes the whole class was affected by this collective disease. And twice in the second lesson a number pushed their luck when either doing half hearted press ups or ducking, literally, the demands of the vaulting horse. But, as the saying goes, give a chap enough rope and he will hang himself and in the third session someone crossed an unspoken and unexplained line. They should have known. Early in the session a few boys started a quasi fight which threatened to get out of hand and, to puzzled expressions, the new teacher warned that they were dangerously close to meeting her best friend and companion. She said it with a smile on her face and her demeanour was still friendly but the astute and knowing, David among them, registered the situation. But one boy at least was blind and deaf to the warning signals, and when he pulled down his pal’s black shorts as the latter climbed the wooden wall frame the new teacher struck. All she said, quietly, was that it was about time that 4B made the acquaintance of her friend. Her name was Mistress Fredericka and she strongly disapproved of boys pulling down other boys’ shorts and displaying bare bottoms. The offending boy was told to step into the centre of the gym and bend over. She gave the stunned boy this instruction and walked off to the changing room. As she left, uneasy silence gave way to enquiring chatter and nervous giggles.
The new teacher returned, and when she did, Mistress Fredericka was in her right hand. She was black, she was supple, and she packed a vicious sting. She was colloquially called Mistress Fred because she was a plimsoll with Fred chalked backwards in white on her sole. And when she whacked across a boy’s black shorts the name was searingly imprinted. As the deceptively friendly mistress said, and no one argued, Fredericka was such a large name for such small bottoms. Fred was better and Fred could strike with venom. The boys may have chattered and giggled but when Fredericka went to work on the upturned backside of the short lowering boy, bent and ready, all laughter stopped. This new and friendly teacher could hurt just as much as the late, unlamented, sadistic teacher. She may smile, she may be friendly, she may introduce her friend in fun and she may be a woman, but she could whack. The boy on the receiving end gasped and cried as the plimsoll struck into his behind four savage times. Mistress Fred made her mark, literally, and the boy cried and clutched his bum and all watching realised that the friendly new teacher and her Mistress Fred packed an awful punch. And when the boy rose, still clutching his cheeks and still crying, they heard something that made them dismiss all ideas of testing the new regime any more. Mistress Fred could mark and name bare backsides just as effectively as short covered ones. In other words, push her too hard and the new mistress, for that is what she was, and her plimsoll were not averse to giving their attentions to a behind bereft of shorts. The boys admired the marks displayed in the showers but the words, and Mistress Fredericka’s appearance, filled their minds. The circumspect David and the exhibitionist Anthony were just two of many but their views and fears summed up the general consternation.
Mistress Fred did not make another appearance for a few weeks. The lesson had been well learnt and, other than the odd veiled threat, the new teacher never mentioned her. David and Anthony doubted if any boys would be told to drop their pants when she did reappear but they never doubted that she would, one day, take centre stage again. In the curious mind that is a fourteen year old schoolboy they both fervently wished for and feared that day. The new mistress was fun and friendly and fair and even the introspective David was beginning to enjoy, or at least accept, the weekly sessions in the gym. Neither had any serious desire to be on the receiving end of the plimsoll’s attentions but they knew that whoever felt the force would well deserve it. Unlike her predecessor this new teacher had no arbitrary sadistic streak. If she wielded Mistress Fred she would do so with justification and David and Anthony, and most of the others, couldn’t wait to see it in action again. As long as it wasn’t them bending down. The one boy who had received it said it had stung like hell and he had no desire for a repeat. It may be given a cosy name but Mistress Fred, wielded by a thirty year old five foot and ten inches female, packed a punch as nasty as any with the notorious paddle. And at the beginning of the third month of the new mistresses’ appointment, three other boys made the same painful discovery.
The Christmas break had come and past and that is possibly the principal reason why the threat and promise of Mistress Fred had dulled in the memory. It was the third Friday of the new term when, on a cold January day, three disconsolate boys were marched in to the gym. Behind them, holding the famous implement in her right hand, was a serious and determined teacher. They may not know why but all the boys in that room realised, instantly and collectively, that Mistress Fred was about to give her second performance. They should have suspected something was up when they were told to amuse themselves for a few minutes while she rounded up the absentees. And those absentees, as David now realised, must be the ones she had quietly spoken to in the changing room before the lesson. That itself was unusual. This teacher only ever came into the changing room to chivvy the stragglers. Today she had come in while they were all changing, causing not a few blushes at a female presence. Semi naked young male bodies were ignored as peremptory instructions were given. And as a result three of them had remained in the changing room. And the three, one of them almost in tears, were now standing in the middle of the gym awaiting their fate. They did not have long to wait. As the three black shorted boys stood silently in a line and all the surrounding boys watched, the mistress outlined their misdeeds. Being late for school and missing assembly was one thing, attacking the duty prefect was something different. He had no choice but to report them and attacking him only made matters worse. The headmaster had delegated the task of punishing them to the new mistress. They would be in the gymnasium and, therefore, suitably attired and the word was that she was well capable in such matters. As she said this, the friendly young teacher smiled and tapped Mistress Fred down the side of her leg. Her friend had been well chalked, or that is what she told the silent class, but as the three bottoms were to get four plimsoll whacks each she reckoned there would be little chalk remaining by the time she got to the last backside. One or two of the watching boys nervously giggled but when the tall and still gorgeous mistress added that she intended to make each whack hurt, the giggles died.
The next five minutes were extremely painful and distressing to watch. But to some, including David, the enactment of the scene also held a special and inexplicable appeal. This new mistress, clad in her usual attire of black and gold trimmed tracksuit, had long since entered the hearts and minds of an impressionable few and, perversely, they longed for her personal attention. Was bending down to be whacked the only way to get it? David did not think so but he knew, as the first boy stepped forward and bent over, that in some strange way he envied him. What was about to happen would hurt, what was about to happen was humiliating, but for a few moments the first boy would be the only boy in the mind of the new mistress. David longed to be that focus even if he was fearful of the way this poor boy was getting it. Four times the chalked plimsoll whacked into the upturned backside, four times the chalk of Mistress Fred searingly connected with the flimsy black shorts, and four times the bending boy felt a sting to his buttocks which would take a long time to fade. By the time the third of the boys had been dealt with, David sensed that his turn may come. He sensed that he, one day, may get this special and personal attention. Twelve whacks to three bending boys told him it had to be so. He did not know why but when the day came he knew he would welcome it. The gym was virtually silent, only the sniffling of three chastised boys breaking the frozen atmosphere, but David’s head was buzzing. It continued buzzing long after the lesson, long after his friend Anthony cavorted with the afflicted in the showers, and long after they dressed and went to their next lesson. But if it was David who felt an incipient and confusing desire for scholastic discipline from a young and mesmerising mistress it was his friend who suffered the experience. Two months into the spring term Anthony was kept behind in the changing room after their Friday lesson. None knew why but all sensed what was to happen. When the others were dismissed, the disconsolate Anthony and the female teacher remained. He had just finished dressing but in the view of some, including David, he need not have bothered. Mistress Fredericka was about to put in another appearance.
They were an hour into the next lesson before David had any chance to question his friend. Anthony had turned up a few minutes late and hastily taken his seat while the form teacher was distracted. The elderly man, a poor artist but an amusing art historian, turned and saw him but said nothing. Perhaps he knew or perhaps he guessed but, either way, he had no wish to dwell on Anthony’s discomfort. French Impressionism and a dodgy projector for his myriad of slides were more worthy of his attention. It was as they came to the end of much note-taking on the various slides and accompanying comments that David moved to an empty desk next to his friend.
‘Well?’
‘Well what?’
‘Did you get whacked?’
‘Yes.’
‘With Mistress Fred?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I’ll tell you later.’
The elderly form teacher was in the process of packing up the slides and projector and a number of restless boys were eager for the break for lunch, but with the bell still fifteen minutes away David was eager for information.
‘How many?’
‘Six.’
‘Six!’
‘Shush.’
‘No wonder you looked so red eyed when you came in.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes. You must have done something really bad.’
‘I did.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be, David. I deserved it and I don’t resent it. She is a good teacher. I don’t even resent her making me drop my shorts.’
‘What!’
‘Only for the last two.’
David was about to say something else when he realised that a couple of other boys on adjacent desks were showing equal interest in Anthony’s discomfort. He would pursue the matter later. The information he currently had was already making his head reel. His friend, his best friend, had been kept behind in the changing room by the gorgeous mistress and bent over for six whacks of the dreaded Plimsoll. And for two of them he had been required to lower his shorts and take the whacks on his bare behind. From a woman. Not for the first time David found himself envious of a boy in such a painful and humiliating position. He wanted to know what Anthony had done to deserve such a whacking but his reasons for wanting to know were more complex than just mere knowledge. His burning face, his churning stomach, and the strange surge of desire told him he wished it had been him. Regardless of the pain he wanted Mistress Fred, wielded by the female mistress, to sting his behind. And when and if it happened he wanted to be looking at black shorts draped around his feet. David knew all these things about himself and, as they packed away their art notebooks, he knew he had to make it happen.
Anthony filled him in on all the details before the end of the day and over the next week the actions in the changing room were re-lived, again and again, in David’s mind. And in each re-living he took Anthony’s place. He had discovered the reason for the whacking and knew he would have to find another way if he was to turn fantasy into reality. Anthony had dropped his trousers and showed his friend his bottom over the weekend and both cheeks had rich red and angry bruises on them. No wonder Anthony had wept a few tears. The last two whacks, one to each bared cheek, had made him screech in pain. It was his own fault. He had got into an argument with a boy from another class on the way home on the Thursday. During the argument he had pushed the boy into the road and an oncoming car braked hard to avoid running over him. The woman driving the car was their dishy PE teacher and the rest, as they say, is history. But it was the history that David was keen to know about in all its details. The mistress checked that the other boy was unharmed and then told Anthony she would deal with him after lessons on Friday. The use of the word ‘deal’ immediately told Anthony he was in for a whacking. The mistress explained why, and repeated it in the changing room, but the intelligent but impulsive Anthony did not need the lecture. It was a silly thing to do and he regretted his action the moment he pushed the other boy. He could have been killed. A smarting behind was a small price to pay for such stupidity. He listened to the lecture when all the other boys had left the changing room and, when instructed, changed back into his PE shorts. The mistress watched him as he took of his clothes and Anthony did his best to remove his trousers and underpants and put on the black shorts without revealing anything untoward. After removing his shirt and vest he was ready and turning to his tormentor he saw that Mistress Fred was in her right hand. There was no chalked name on the sole of the dreaded implement. It was if she was saying that, in private, such theatrics were not necessary. He listened as she told him he would receive six whacks with the plimsoll across his behind and, for the last two, his shorts would be taken down. Anthony gulped but was not shocked. He felt he deserved it and would have accepted all six on the bare bottom if required. He had been stupid and when he bent over and grasped his ankles he prayed that the whacking would hurt. That way he could expunge his guilt. It did hurt and it stung like nothing had ever stung him before. Four times the plimsoll lashed into his buttocks, first one cheek and then the other, and four times he winced and wailed. And when the female hands pulled down his shorts and delivered two more searing whacks to his naked behind he screeched and screamed and, rising and clutching the burning surface of his flesh, his tear filled face turned to face the cause of his pain. Sorry miss was all he could say. He had deserved it for his crass stupidity and he held no anger. Only pain. It was only after she had left, sensitively leaving him to compose himself and get dressed, that Anthony realised his previous decorum was to no avail. He had undressed circumspectly. After his whacking his burning bum was all he considered. He had faced the mistress and clutching his fiery cheeks was oblivious to the fact that his shorts were around his ankles and his fourteen year old nakedness was displayed in all its painful glory. Boys are easily embarrassed but when the bottom burns you can’t think of anything else. Or that is how Anthony explained it to David. And David, absorbing all the details, went home and had a fantasy.
The rest of David’s year as a pupil of 4B was one of frustration, disappointment and relief. The frustration came because, whatever he did, the young, track suited, PE mistress never saw him as whacking material. David was not brave enough to risk anything rash and singular and his school boyish exploits usually involved a number of others in fights or squabbles. The teacher merely called for order and, at least once, said that Mistress Fredericka was quite capable of blistering the bottoms of all the class if necessary. David thrilled at the possibility but knew in his heart it was an empty threat. On one occasion when such action would have been justified, he and two other boys broke a window when messing about in the changing room, she merely said that she would expect them to pay for its repair. One of the other boys said he was convinced they would be whacked and, at the fiscal pronouncement, David sensed disappointment mingled with relief. And when he was called to her during a particularly strenuous PE session and only lectured and dismissed he knew, in his heart, he would never be told to touch his toes. If it was going to happen it would have happened then. He had thumped his friend Anthony, only in fun, but the blow was more severe than intended and Anthony fell over. David heard his name called and the gymnasium stilled as he walked to his expected fate. This was it. The last boy who had hit a fellow pupil during the PE lesson had been given four whacks with the plimsoll. David was sure he would get the same. His stomach churned as he walked across the large hall. But it did not matter. The blow was clearly accidental and he was just warned to be more careful. The lesson continued and the noisy chatter returned and David felt again that mixed feeling of dismay and relief. Why he should want what he clearly feared he did not know. But when the tall and friendly mistress, dressed in a stunning royal blue sports outfit, smiled and ruffled his hair he knew it was never to be. In that moment he knew he was a favourite. And you don’t whack your favourites. David finished the lesson and showered and dressed with a heavy heart.
Mistress Fred only made two more appearances over the next couple of months. Six boys were bent over in the gym and given two strokes each for spending too long in the showers. On a day when the mistress seemed irritable they tested her patience and, quickly donning shorts over wet behinds, they suffered a collective scholastic sting. As two of the six cried the whacks were clearly laid on with venom. And a month before the end of term a tiny freckled face boy who looked no older than ten but was clearly fourteen was given three whacks to his equally small behind. When Mistress Fred was placed across that bent backside in the changing room, for the offence of unseemly singing, the plimsoll almost covered the target. In Anthony’s opinion the whacks were nothing like he got but the boy was red faced and tearful when he rose. And if rubbing a bottom enough could eventually make it and the sting disappear, the freckle faced boy would soon get his wish. He was still rubbing when the mistress and most of the other boys left. There was one other occasion when Mistress Fred did her duty to 4B but that was in a private study and was only heard about not seen. The rumour, ultimately confirmed by the boy in question, was six whacks to his bare backside for stealing money from another boy. The fact that the boy had to drop his pants was the subject of much schoolboy discussion. It explained why the boy was sent to the mistresses’ study rather than being dealt with in the gym or changing room. Anthony didn’t think so. He had been whacked on the bare in the changing room, albeit for only two of his six. He was convinced it was more to do with making the boy wait and adding to his humiliation. Stealing is a serious offence. It was the last remark, issued as another boy observed that dropping one’s trousers was more humbling than dropping one’s PE shorts which registered with David. Stealing was a serious offence. It could get you a serious whacking. Even if you were a favourite. He got little sleep that night.
David and Anthony had been friends for many years and their friendship had taken many twists and turns in its development. But as they approached maturity it was clear that their personalities and emotions were heading in different directions. Only time would tell if the outgoing Anthony and the introspective David would remain close companions. For now they were content to spend much of their spare time with each other but the distracting elements of the adult world were, even at fourteen, beginning to place strains on their usual unspoken understanding. For one thing, Anthony was beginning to take an interest in girls whereas David still did not understand such perplexing creatures. And for another, Anthony had discovered the joys of manipulating his male appendage and all it entailed whereas David still only had the vaguest idea of such matters. He knew that the personal bits got stiff but, so far, he had never experienced the sensation that some of the other boys seemed obsessed with. Masturbation of the penis to a climax that thrilled was still, in spite of many attempts, a promise undelivered. All of David’s thrills were inside his being and none more so than when he thought of the young and friendly PE mistress. The tall and slim Goddess with the friendly smile and the kind and fair manner constantly occupied his thoughts. David wanted nothing more than to be her friend. To be her constant companion, both in school and out. He knew he was a favourite but he wanted to be so much more. He was in love, a schoolboy love that desperately wanted to show all its feelings. But the only time this mistress gave you personal attention, the only time she treated you any differently from all the others, was if she bent you down to whack your bottom. Or that is what David thought and the thought frightened him more than he could say. But if it was the only way he would go through with it. He would get her attention. He would feel her Mistress Fred. And he would do so willingly and lovingly. And it would happen because he would steal that one thing that defined the enigmatic teacher’s personality. He would steal the plimsoll, the dreaded Mistress Fred, and when he returned it the gorgeous obsession of his dreams would tell him to drop his shorts and would whack his bare bum. And David would be happy. The thought of the pain scared him. The thought of all else filled him with a desire he could not explain. He did not tell Anthony, he did not tell anyone. This was between him and his emotions and, if he was successful, Mistress Fredericka would seal a wonderful and inexplicable love.
It was a Friday in late May when David saw his opportunity. The PE mistress had taken the boys on a cross country run and one of the boys, stupidly trying to clear a fence, had fallen and twisted his ankle. There was no serious harm done but there was no way the boy could walk back to the school. David volunteered to stay with him whilst the mistress made her way back to the school for her car. The boy gingerly put his arm around David’s neck and they slowly and gently crossed a muddy field to the nearest roadside to await the car. They had been there for about thirty minutes before the car arrived and by the time the mistress and the two boys arrived back at the school the cross country run was well and truly over. All the other boys had showered and dressed and gone on to their next lesson. The mistress took the injured boy and his swelling ankle to the school nurse and, thanking David, told him to shower and dress and get off to his next lesson. It was a strange feeling being in the changing room alone and David took longer over his shower than he normally did. It was as he was dressing that he first noticed the large black sports bag sitting on one of the many benches. His stomach lurched as he realised the bag belonged to the woman who had filled his thoughts for many months. She always placed it in the changing room before PE lessons and, on this eventful day, had not got around to retrieving it. David tentatively approached it and his jangled nerves mingled with excitement. Mistress Fredericka was kept in this bag. All the boys knew that. This was his opportunity if only he had the courage. He stopped and listened and, hearing only silence, touched the bag with his trembling fingers. It did not move and it did not screech in alarm. The bag remained mute and tempting. David placed his fingers on the tag of the zip and slowly, fearfully, drew it along its length. The bag opened and all its contents were revealed. David was now sweating and only his own heavy breathing broke the silence of the changing room. He placed his hand in the bag and frantically feeling around finally felt the touch of the warm and inviting implement of schoolboy pain. The plimsoll was at the bottom of the bag and David ran his fingers over the rough cloth of its surface and the cold, hard, leather of its sole. It was this business end of Mistress Fredericka which thrilled and feared. It was as he placed his hand around it, in preparation for taking it out of the bag, that a calm and distant voice asked him what he was doing. David froze and turned. Caught in an action he could not explain. But he did not need to. The young and heart stopping PE mistress of those dreams did it for him. Having stolen her watch and car keys in recent weeks he was now taking the opportunity to try and steal something else. David said nothing and she repeated the accusation. And when she did David did not deny it. He did not admit it but he did not deny it. He always knew his plan had a major flaw. Would any teacher whack you for stealing the implement that carried out the deed? More likely she would understand, or show concern at such complex emotions, and decline. So David, seeing the fixed and resolute face, did not deny a greater crime of which all were unaware and an hour later stood outside her study to await his fate. He was scared, he was sweating, and he was trembling. And he was going to be whacked for something he did not do. And, knowing this, a tinge of inner excitement laced his sweating nerves.
‘Do you deny it?’
‘No miss.’
‘You stole my watch?’
‘Yes miss.’
‘And my car keys?’
‘Yes miss.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know miss.’
‘And today you intended to steal something else?’
‘Yes miss.’
‘What?’
David paused before replying. He was standing in the centre of the mistress’s study as she prowled around him. All of the questions he had answered instantly. The answers were all lies but he said them with confidence. Only the last question caused him any difficulty. The PE mistress moved to her desk and sat down, crossing her very long legs.
‘I will ask you again, David. What did you intend to steal today?’
‘I don’t know miss. It was an impulse.’
‘And were the other 'occasions' impulses?’
‘Yes miss.’
‘And what did you do with the items you stole?’
‘I threw them over a hedge. Into a field.’
It was a guess but it was a sound one. The sort of thing the real culprit probably did if his actions had been one of revenge rather than gain. It clearly struck home. He was informed that the watch had never turned up but that the car keys were eventually returned to the school. And then came a question he knew could expose his subterfuge.
‘When?’
‘When what? Miss?’
‘When did you steal my watch and throw it into a field?’
David thought rapidly and took a chance.
‘It was the day you slippered those six boys for mucking about in the showers, miss.’
‘I see. And the car keys?’
‘I can’t remember.’
It was a weak answer but the only one David could think of.
‘You can’t remember?’
‘No miss.’
The mistress rose from her chair and turned her back on David to gaze out of her study window. After what seemed an age she turned and looked at the boy. David sensed that this strange interview was nearing its close and his insides had constantly churned in excitement and fear. He knew now that he was in real trouble. Either she believed him or she didn’t but, either way, he had dug a very big hole for himself. And that probably meant one thing and realising this David also, simultaneously, realised that he was very afraid. He wished for nothing more to be able to turn back the clock and be out of a situation which threatened his whole being. His fantasy was on the verge of being brought to real and painful fruition and he did not desire it. Only fear, the fear of a fool he told himself, dominated his thoughts.
‘I am disappointed in you David.’
‘Yes miss.’
‘You were always one of my favourites. Still are in some respects. But you deserve to be punished, and will be punished. Partly for what you have done but also for what you have not done.’
‘Not done miss?’
‘You have not told the truth, David. I suspect that you are covering for someone, probably your young friend, and in doing so have wasted my time. For that fact alone you deserve to feel my plimsoll. Add in the fact that you were caught rifling through my private possessions and I am justified in doubling the punishment. You will be given eight whacks on your behind and I sincerely hope they will teach you a lesson you clearly deserve. If I thought for a moment that you were the real culprit I could have you expelled. But as it is, I shall just ask you to bend over. And there will be no witnesses David. Just you and I. And Mistress Fredericka.’
The mistress paused and David held his breath.
‘And before you do so, drop your trousers. I intend to make your punishment hurt.’
David released his breath. As his hands fumbled on the belt of his trousers he realised that this was the moment he had been waiting for. And now it was here he was as terrified as any fourteen year old in a similar situation would be. He dropped his trousers and bent and waited. Mistress Fred was about to hit a bottom that had yearned for her sting for months. And now it was here the recipient, fearfully, prayed it would soon be over.
He grasped his ankles. He held his breath. He felt the slow removing of his underpants as they glided down his legs and exposed his buttocks. It was to be bare. She hadn’t said but the promise was to be realised. David’s naked bottom arched and glistened in readiness. Never had this boy felt so exposed, so vulnerable. Mistress Fred touched his left cheek and the cold leather brought an instant response from the warm and sweating skin of the unpunished boy. He twitched. He held on firm to his ankles and stared at the study carpet and his tumbled trousers. This was it. Eight the mistress had said. Eight whacks of Mistress Fred to his backside. His bare and upturned backside. David closed his eyes and awaited the first whack that he knew would come. But the moment was delayed. The mistress lifted the boy’s shirt, put her hands on the thighs, and moved the target ever so slightly. It was almost as if she knew that this whacking was a defining act for both the giver and the receiver. The bottom twitched and begged for the sting. David was here now, in the study, trousers dropped and ready, there was no need to wait any more. Hit it, get it over with. Whatever the reason, lying, stealing, wanting, it did not matter. Mistress Fred and a naked behind were a lethal and heady combination. And just when David thought that it would never happen, just when he thought that the ankles grasped was all in vain, the plimsoll, unchalked, lashed into his rear. He gasped at the impact, the sting, and the burn to his cheek and he screwed his eyes in agony. Oh God, it hurt. He shuffled forward and considered rising, considered releasing his hands from his ankles to rub the lacerated cheek. And as he did so the second slap of the plimsoll hit his other cheek and, twinned in unison, the sting to his rear now spread and fired. David’s bottom was ablaze and already he felt the swelling of tears. Two more slaps of the plimsoll, hard and firm, whacked into his bottom, one to each cheek and he started to cry. And after the fifth, which seemed to cross both sides of his bottom, he rose and tearfully pleaded for no more. He rubbed the sting in his backside and asked to be let off the last three. But the PE mistress, the young and gorgeous mistress who David adored to distraction, was not to be deflected. The small bare behind had been awarded eight whacks with Mistress Fredericka, the friendly Fred, and eight whacks were what it would get. Four for lies and four for attempting to steal. Was she not both fair and firm, was that not why the boys admired her? So David bent down again and the now crimson bottom captured the last three, very hard whacks, of the avenging plimsoll. And when it was over David pulled up his underpants and trousers and, bottom throbbing at a job well done, tearfully departed. He was glad there were no witnesses. Only she had seen his bottom. Only she had seen his erection.
The bottom was still throbbing but the tears had dried when David saw Anthony in the local park. He told him what had happened and the reasons for it. And he told him he had no regrets. Discovering that someone had been stealing from the mistress gave his own impulsive and bizarre action a reality that enhanced the excitement and fear. And if it was Anthony who had stolen the watch and car keys, in revenge for his own whacking, that would make the punishment even more worthwhile. Anthony listened and shrugged his shoulders. He did not profess to comprehend. The obsession with the PE mistress was understandable, but the fixation with Mistress Fredericka was outside his emotional development. Only the complex David’s of this world could make sense of that. And as they grew up, close friends but different paths, he continued not to understand. Five years to the day after David’s punishment Anthony confessed that it was indeed him who stole the belongings from their PE teacher’s sports bag. And five years on, David confessed to Anthony that he still re-lived the day he bent down, bare bottom in the air, awaiting eight whacks from Mistress Fred. He would never forget and he would never regret. Anthony, the conventional and uncomplicated Anthony, merely shrugged again.
Alfred Roy (2009 - amended 2012)