BEXHILL SCHOOL FOR GIRLS, Assembly (7 page)

It made Miss
Holloway shudder, too, but for different reasons. She poured the
hot sauce over the ice cream and placed the dish in front of him.
She put a slightly smaller one down for herself.

“Poor old Dick!
Did you often get caned?”

“Lord, yes! Two
or three times a term. That’s why I was so glad to leave school.
But I can’t believe they treat your girls the same way?”

“No, I don’t
think Mr Masterson or Mrs Winchester is sadistic; they don’t
enjoy
beating the girls. They just believe that corporal
punishment works. The girls have to wait in my office before they
go in to see the headmaster. I feel really sorry for them - some of
them are terribly nervous. He even had to call me in last week to
hold down one who was struggling too much.”

“Good heavens -
that must have been awful for you!”

For a brief
moment she wondered whether to tell Dick that she’d found it turned
her on. She decided against.

“She’d been
caught smoking with two others. It was the first time the wretched
girl had been caned and the headmaster was trying to give her
twelve strokes, but she kept on jumping up. One of the other girls
was the Deputy Head’s daughter - she got it really hard, I suppose
to show that there was no favouritism. I’ve often heard the sound
of punishments being dished out, but I’d never actually seen it
happening before.”

“Were you ever
spanked at school or at home?”

“No, worst
luck.” It just slipped out.

“What do you
mean ‘worst luck’? Would you have
liked
to be spanked?”

Miss Holloway
was now completely flustered and started to blush. Should she admit
it? She thought Dick might find it too ‘kinky’ - he seemed a bit
straight-laced.

“Oh, I don’t
know really,” she babbled, realising how odd she must be appearing.
“Would you like some more desert?”

“It was lovely,
but no more for me thanks. That was a wonderful meal; you went to
so much trouble.”

“It was
nothing, I’m glad you liked it. Shall we go back to the sitting
room?” Rather to Miss Holloway’s relief, it seemed that the
previous conversation was over. Her hormones, however, were still
bubbling away like the coffee would be if she didn’t take it off
the heat very quickly. She lifted the pan, its delicious aroma
wafting through the flat.

“How do like
your coffee? With milk and no sugar, isn’t it?”

“You
remembered! Yes, just white thanks.” While Miss Holloway poured the
liquid into two cups, Dick went into the sitting room and, to Miss
Holloway’s delight, he sat on the sofa. She served the coffee, put
on an Everly Brothers record, and returned to her place on the
sofa. She curled her legs underneath her and wondered how to move
things along from here.

She was
twenty-four years old. Looking at herself carefully in the
full-length mirror in her bedroom - both naked and clothed - she
considered that she was probably quite pretty. Anyway, the male
teachers at the school seemed to find her so, to judge from the way
some of them flirted. She’d had a few boyfriends, but they had
never moved beyond the rather chaste kissing stage. She was still a
virgin, but of course that was certainly not then considered the
social disgrace that it would be a few years later. She was also
fairly sure that she wanted Dick to initiate her into the mysteries
of sex. Tonight. She put her hand on his: maybe this would get him
going.

Dick looked at
her and moved his face closer to hers. She closed her eyes.

“What scent are
you wearing?” he asked. She opened her eyes.

“Chanel No 5.
Do you like it?”

“Yes, it suits
you.”

“How?”

“Well, it’s a
little bit mysterious, like you!” He put an arm around her
shoulder. OK!

“Why am I
‘mysterious’?” she asked archly, moving closer.

“Things you
say.”

“What sort of
things? You mean like ‘worst luck’?” She was looking up into his
eyes, just like she’d seen Deborah Kerr doing.

“Oh yes - that
was one of your mysterious pronouncements!” Great! He was going to
ask her whether she enjoyed the idea of spanking.

He didn’t.

“Marlene - I
must ask you something: have you got a boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

Pause.

“You.”

“Oh, Marlene!”
He pulled her towards him in approved ‘B-movie’ style. Their lips
met. After a while, their tongues also made each other’s
acquaintance. This was definitely better than chaste kisses, but
there seemed to be too much light. She wondered how she could dim
things down a bit.

The Everly
Brothers came to her aid.

‘
And I
didn't realize what a kiss could be...be...be...be...be...’

“I’ll fix it.”
She disentangled herself, went over to the gramophone and gave the
arm a nudge.

‘
Mmm, ya got
a way about ya

Now I can't
live without ya’

She switched
out the lights. The darkness was relieved only by the dim street
lighting filtering through the curtains. It took a moment for her
to get used to it. When she got back to Dick, his inhibitions had
gone. He stood up and threw his arms around her, pulling her
tightly to him. Their lips and tongues met again. His right hand
slid down her back until it was caressing her bottom, his left held
the nape of her neck. He moved his mouth from hers and kissed her
ears and neck, working his way around to her lifted throat. She
knew then, absolutely, that this was going to be the first night of
the rest of her life. She surrendered to the idea with an almost
imperceptible shudder.

He moved his
left hand and started unbuttoning the front of her shirt.

“Naughty boy!”
she murmured. “No wonder you got caned!”

“For this, it
would have been worth it.” He slid her shirt off her right
shoulder, put his hand under the material and fumbled behind her
back for the clasp to her bra.

“Dick,” she
said, trying to see his eyes through the darkness, “shall we do
this in the bedroom?”

“Yes,
let’s.”

She released
herself from him, let her shirt drop to the floor and led him down
the darkened corridor to her bedroom. The curtains were still open,
so the room was lit by the solitary light on the path that led
behind the flats. She moved to close the curtains, but Dick put his
arms around her and pulled her back.

“No. Leave them
open. I want to be able to see you.”

“But what about
the neighbours?”

“They can’t see
in, silly, but even if they could - all the better. I’d enjoy their
jealousy!”

He reached
behind her and unzipped her skirt. It fell around her ankles. She
stepped out of it and put her arms around his waist. He slipped his
fingers into the waistband of her knickers.

“Wait a
moment.” She leaned back and picked up the long-handled hairbrush
from her dressing table. “I’m being a bad girl, aren’t I? Don’t you
think you should teach me a lesson?”

“What do you
mean?” asked Dick, sounding puzzled.

“Well,
shouldn’t bad girls be put over someone’s knee and spanked?”

“But of course
I don’t want to spank you! I’m very
glad
you’re being a bad
girl!”

He wasn’t
getting ‘on message’.

“Dick, I don’t
mind if you spank me - really.” She hoped she didn’t sound too
desperate.

“Of course I’m
not going to spank you - I wouldn’t hurt you for anything! I like
you much too much. Now come here, darling.”

He drew her
back to him. She could feel a tumescence beneath his trousers as he
held her to him once again, kissing her passionately. She enjoyed
the feeling of his tongue entwined with hers and the manliness of
his arms around her, but she knew, absolutely, that something was
missing -and she knew what that something was.

He let go of
her and started taking his own clothes off. She stood there, still
clasping the hairbrush.

“Dick - it’s my
first time. You’ll be gentle, won’t you?”

“Of course,
darling. Now put the hairbrush down. You won’t be feeling that on
your bottom. How silly of you to feel that you had to mortify your
soul or something! But it
was
rather sweet, all the
same!”

Reluctantly,
she laid the brush back on the glass top of the dressing table.

“Now, come
here!” He pulled her gently down on to the bed, moving the sheet
and blanket aside so that they could slip underneath. She could
feel his manhood hard against her groin. She knew she wanted to do
this, but somehow she didn’t feel quite ready. She took a deep
breath.

“It’s OK,
sweetie.” She heard the tearing of foil and then a sharp, almost
pungent smell. She could feel him groping to slip on the condom.
Then he rolled her over on to her back and was kissing her again,
on the mouth, the neck, her throat, and lower. He ran his tongue
softly around her nipples, trying to tease them into arousal. They
sulked.

His right hand
caressed her leg, moved up her thigh, and cupped itself around her
bottom. This was better. She wiggled gently. Then, just as she was
feeling that things were moving in a more promising direction, he
slipped his hand across the top of her hips and his fingers started
a gentle delving. Once again, her libido threatened to take a lunch
break. She sighed. Encouraged, Dick probed further. He was
breathing heavily now, reaching the stage where brakes are no
longer available. He pushed is way into her, there was a momentary
stab of pain, and then a rhythmical movement which reminded her,
for some completely inappropriate reason, of the motor of her
beloved Morris Minor. These are not the sort of thoughts you are
supposed to entertain in this rather special situation. The engine
jerked a few times and then puttered to a stop.

“Oh, darling,”
Dick was almost hyperventilating, “that was
wonderful
. Was
it good for you, too?”

“Mmmm!
Terrific!” At least she didn’t add “Thank you.”

Minutes later,
Dick was fast asleep, purring like a cat. Miss Holloway lay on her
back, staring at the gently moving pattern made by the shadow of
the trees on the ceiling.

So that, she
wondered, was
it
?

Some more
months would pass before she would find out that it wasn’t.

Anna, alone in
the house, watched the raindrops running down her bedroom window.
She was trying to stimulate herself, but somehow she couldn’t get
into the required spirit. She sat up, straightened her knickers and
lay back on her bed. What was the missing element?

She shared the
interests of so many girls of that era as they approached
adulthood. Her hormones raged at the sight and sound of Elvis and
his gyrating hips. Posters of a smouldering James Dean decorated
her walls. Like most - if not all her friends, despite some of
their fanciful boasts - she was still a virgin. Sex had only raised
its head in her life in the form of some back-row fumblings in the
cinema, where - despite her own arousal - she had always arrested
the boy’s creeping hand before it had reached its goal. She had, of
course, masturbated for years - something she acknowledged only to
her closest friends during particularly intimate girly-talk
sessions. But today none of the usual imaginary triggers - tall,
lantern-jawed adolescents with smoky eyes, swivel-hipped rock
musicians, or even assured and confident father-figures - was doing
anything for her.

She sighed, got
up and sat at her dressing table. She examined herself in the
mirror. She was tall for her age, with long legs that she knew
attracted admiring glances from the boys, especially when she wore
her most daringly short skirts (the ones she changed into at
friends’ houses so that her own parents wouldn’t see them). Today,
however, she was wearing jeans. She stood and half turned,
examining her bottom. The jeans had been an expensive buy, but
worth it for the way they clung to her cheeks. If anything needed
some improvement, she thought, it was her bum: it was definitely on
the small side, which meant that jeans and trousers had to be of
high quality if they weren’t to look baggy on her.

She sat down
again and continued the evaluation. She touched her breasts: they
were firm and developing nicely. Her face was pretty, she thought,
even though - like her bottom - it could be described as
petite
. To try to disguise this, she wore her auburn hair
full and long. Her hair was really good: glossy and shining with
health. She rewarded it by picking up her hairbrush and sweeping it
through the locks, teasing out the few knots. With a sudden
insight, she pulled the brush from her hair. It had quite a long
handle and the bristles were attached to a heavy, oval wooden head.
It looked, she realised, a lot like ‘Stinger’.

‘Stinger’ was
the hairbrush which the headmaster at Bexhill resorted to when
scoldings had either fallen on deaf ears or when the offence
merited the immediate use of physical correction short of a caning.
Mr Masterson and his Deputy, Mrs Winchester, used the hairbrush
mainly for first offences committed by junior girls. It was often
their introduction to the school’s corporal punishment repertoire.
Mrs Winchester’s brush, a little lighter and so less formidable
than Stinger, was known as ‘Tingle’.

Now, as Anna
looked at the brush in her hands, she recalled the ambivalent
emotions she had felt when Mr Masterson had been obliged to spank
her with Stinger at the beginning of her first year at the
school.

The term had
been less than a month old when she and a friend had been caught
whispering together and sharing a stick of chewing gum during the
Sunday chapel service. A teacher, whom they hadn’t noticed in the
pew behind them, tapped them both on their shoulders and whispered
that they were ‘on report’. Their stomachs somersaulted and they
paid little attention to the rest of the service, and - most
unwisely - none at all to the headmaster’s sermon. The teacher was
as good as his word, and shortly after lunch both girls were
summoned to see Mr Masterson. He looked grim as they stood before
the desk in his study, their hands clasped behind their backs,
fingers twirling nervously.