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 forever 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 Marmaduke 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 then aged eighteen and in our final year at Sheldon when after an afternoon on the playing field we were in the showers, 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 the 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 to exact direct 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 schoolmates?  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 anyone 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 to 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 agreeable 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 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 young man's boy's buttocks were crisscrossed 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's injuries. 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.  But on this occasion, as I was to learn, the beating had been given to Devlin-Smith in front of the entire school."

"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 with his cock sticking out, in process of trying to bugger one of the pupils, a sixteen-year-old boy called John O'Brien. For a brief moment, as I watched, I saw Mr Simmons trying in vain to overcome the resistance of O'Brien, 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 boy; he tried, unsuccessfully to thrust his 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 paederast and you are in the 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 schoolmaster in general. If O'Brien 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 your 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.  They, sir, were of age eighteen at the time which is the legal age of consent in this country. You, sir, are not only a paederast, attempting to bugger a sixteen-year-old, 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 paederast 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'Brien 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'Brien 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'Brien 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 finally the ammunition I needed 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'Brien, 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 to 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'Brien 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'Brien, 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 paederast, 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 schoolmaster 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 he 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 belongings 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, most of 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 the 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 under a bus 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 the hospital."

"No one thought to ask where he was 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