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High Doh by Alan Edward Taken from PANTHOLOGY 2 Co
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
HIGH DOH by Alan Edward
Taken from PANTHOLOGY 2
Copywright by Spartacus, 1982
Rattenburry-Swinge sent for me precisely five seconds after I'd
arrived. The usual. Welcome to the staff, fine team, great
traditions. I looked out of the window, tried not to drum my
fingers. R-S was a worried man. Seventeenth Century endowments
running with twelve per cent inflation, he'd had to take in his
first consignment of paying pupils last year. LES NOUVEAUX
RICHES; how he must have hated it. I'd taken a look at the
place, hedged my bets, then taken a look at the kids, and
accepted. He was lucky, in the ordinary way I wouldn't have
touched it, not with the proverbial, not at that salary!
Subtly, his tone altered. My gaze flicked back from the mock
Gothic; he had my attention again.
"Our duties, Hudson, are many, going in a number of respects
beyond what would be expected of a mere teacher, an instructor.
We are guides, precepters, nurse-maids. I believe I have
explained the main part of your duties to you. However..."
He got up, then sat down again. I could see a small muscle
under his left eye tighten, quiver. Now he was nervous, jumpy.
"The difficulty arises principally with your form, the twelve
and thirteen-year-olds whose time in a choir school is naturally
comming to an end and who we expect to be going to Public Schools
next year. You see, Hudson, the school has certain standards.
Old-fashioned, perhaps, but still.."
The phone rang, he dealt with it, then rose and paced a little.
I waited, silent.
"In effect, Hudson, it is a question of what boys of that age
will or will not be expected to do every night, or nearly every
night - if you follow me - and of whether this is indeed
something they should be encouraged to do THEMSELVES, or whether,
in contradistinction, a member of staff should perform this
office FOR them. I incline personally to the latter view.
Therefore, the admittedly somewhat repetitious duty which I would
like you to undertake with respect to your form - "
The door was knocked and Matron came in, some conversation
about laundry followed. I didn't listen. Soon she was dismissed;
she left.
"Now, where was I? Anyhow, I believe I've made myself clear.
If you think the job perhaps too menial one could - er - ask
Matron, perhaps. Are there any question?"
Oh yes, there were questions. But I wouldn't be asking them!
"Good. Just before they go to sleep is the best. Shouldn't
take you too long. Twelve to twenty - er - strokes each should
do it."
Now, THERE I could have asked how he knew. But I simply ose,
murmured dutifully, 'Thank you, Headmaster.' End of
conversation.
This is one duty I would begin right away. Tonight. I called
in young Chris Teale, Head Chorister, incidently the sort of
thirteen-year-old whose looks grab you in the guts, turn your
knees and stomach to water. Ten minutes, give or take, we chatted
of this and that, then I stopped, cleared my throat, surprising
myself, I was as nervous as King Rat had been.
"Now, just about the - the last thing at night. You know, what
I belive my predecessor's last evening - er duty was."
The boy shook his head. "Oh, I couldn't say, sir. We've all
just come up from the form below, you know."
Of course. God. Now I'd have to explain. I did, but it wasn't
easy, not with those stunning blue eyes on me, wide and puzzled
until he understood. Then, to my relief, the eyes lit, and a
gorgeous smile just about sent me sideways.
"Oh, NOW I see! For a moment I thought you were talking about
extra singing lessons! Gosh sir, it's going to be super being in
the top year, what with extra football, and now this! What time
should I have them ready?"
"Just after they get undressed for bed, about nine. How many
of you are there?"
"Twelve." He caught my expression, grinned. " There are good
parallel bars in the gym, sir. Fine exercise for the wrists!"
I entered into the thing. "Or I'll play you a game of squash,"
I quipped back, "even better!"
"Several!" said the kid.
Bedtime came a century later. Nine o'clock I went into the
dorm, heart thumping like the 6:15 from Paddington. I couldn't
but ask myself would they all want it, but no problem. All were
ready, on their beds, all with pyjama bottoms off. I began at
the end bed. No difficulty here, a hard little pencil, a quick
dozen, AAAH! he tightens and jerks on the bed, a little dampness,
then 'Thank you sir, goodnight.' Problem one, a few others not
quite so ready, but a little movement of the deft Hudson fingers
here and there and ... end of THAT problem. Each kid took it
differently, no two the same. Some absolutely silent, eyes
closed, the only sign that your task was over a little tightening
of the muscles, mouth opens silently, a little 'ooh!' perhaps.
Others more vocal, 'ah-ah-ah-ing' all the way through, then
shouting out at the end. One or two simply quivering a little,
but others bouncing up and down, small behinds thumping on the
bed, then finally just about taking off, body jack-knifing, knees
snapping up at some risk to yours truly, if he wasn't careful.
Chris, who saw fit to lie in my lap - and I wasn't complaining-
was one of the bouncers, and noisier than them all. Problem two,
a little stickiness here and there, partially solved by Chris
making them take off their pj's altogether, setting the example
himself.
End of the first week, Chris came to see me. A simple request;
could he have his afterwords, away from the others. My room, to
be exact. He'd enjoy it more, he said. I understood; a Head
Chorister's precious dignity.
"Okay, I'll take you back with me when I've finished with the
others. Still better than singing lessons, eh?"
He grinned. "Well, you DO make me sing, don't you - every
night. Hadn't you noticed?"
Rattenburry-Swinge sent for me the same day. His tone warm to
begin with. Congratulations on settling in so well, duties all
performed to his satisfaction. He coughed again, changing key.
Except...
"Simply that little duty I referred to last of all. There I'm
NOT so happy, Hudson."
Christ - where were you, in the wardrobe?
"I really think," I said, "that I have done my - "
He held up his hand. "There I'm afraid I can't agree. I do
look around very carefully at morning chapel and, as I said, we
do have our standards, Hudson."
Now he HAD lost me.
"On reflection, I have decided it is probably NOT appropriate
to ask you to brush the boys' hair at night, and I have therefore
asked Matron to perform this duty instead. Yes, Hudson?"
"I didn't speak," I said after a moment.
Just as well.
"One other thing. Christopher Teale is waiting to see you.
About extra singing lessons, he said; I'm glad he's taking an
interest. That will be all, Hudson."
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