He drove an Aston Martin, was the proud owner of a worn and frayed bullwhip, and took his job seriously as headmaster at the prep school just outside Cranbrook. The boys knew him as “Mr. Guy.” He was a firm believer in zero tolerance for faulty behavior on the part of his ward- currrently 23 young British boys, and two visiting American boys. Tall, lanky, stylish mustache and attire, he felt a fatherly affection for the boys, but also cringed when thinking about their naive susceptability to the allure of the latest rock and roll craze, The Beatles. Not to speak of The Rolling Stones! The sex, drugs, and rock and roll fad was interfering with the boy’s growth as worthy subjects of Her Majesty!
Lights out in the dormitory was always a bittersweet time for the boys. The day’s classes and activities finished, their bland British cuisine consumed and digesting, they would all shyly undress and don the nightshirts provided by the school. The beds they’d perfectly made that morning would then be re-arranged to provide fitful and comfortable sleeping. Upon lights out there were always whisperings amongst the boys-mostly lewd and lustful comments about one female or another, and observations made of the attractive and sexy nun who’d just hired on to do God’s work in their Theology class. No topic was off-limits.
The night attendant at the dormitory slept in a small room adjacent to the boy’s quarters. The room was provided with a discrete peephole affording a view of the rows of bunks where the boys slept each night. Their conversations could be heard also, and the attendant regularly reported back to the headmaster the concerning chatter he’d heard through the wall. The boy’s parents had paid many pounds so that their children were cared for and educated to strict British standards of decorum and excellence. On this night he observed a major infraction in real-time, and was appalled by what he saw through the peephole.
In the dim light of the dorm room he observed 25 young boys giggling as they exposed and compared their adolescent erections with each other!
“Mine’s the biggest one here!” one boy exclaimed proudly.
“But it’s not curved like mine!” another boy responded smiling. “I’ll bet I’m better able to make babies!”
“I can’t wait to be old enough to use mine!” another lad declared. “My older brother told me it’s great fun putting it inside a girl!”
“I see that our American guests have weenies too! And they get hard just like ours do! But still, British is best!” one boy crowed while grinning. The boys proceeded to manipulate their members in the fashion taught to them by their older brothers.
The night attendant, having seen and heard enough, phoned Mr. Guy and reported the night’s activities. The headmaster was livid. He left his nearby cottage, fired up his Aston Martin, and drove, fuming, to the dormitory.
The boys heard the throaty sound of the Aston Martin arrive and park just below the window of their dorm. It was Mr. Guy! Quickly they arranged themselves to appear in peaceful slumber, as the door to the room flung open and their headmaster appeared with bullwhip in hand.
“So you thought you’d pull one over on God, huh?” Mr. Guy shouted. “Think again and each of you out of your bunks to stand and receive your punishment!”
Each boy leaned forward and received a lash or two from the frayed bullwhip. When Mr. Guy confronted each of the American guests, instead of delivering justice, the headmaster whispered in their ears, “You are guests of Her Majesty, so I’m not allowed to whip you. But God won’t forget!”
The British boys never forgot that injustice!
CP Butchvarov 2024