Inquisition

“Tell me what you were doing.”

“It’s embarrassing!”

“We’re both males. My job is working with boys. I was a boy once. There isn’t much I don’t know about boy behavior. Anyway, you wanted to avoid being punished, claiming you were doing nothing wrong. I need to know what you were doing to see if it deserves punishment or not. So tell me.”

“I don’t want to!”

“So you’d rather be punished than embarrassed?”

“What’s the punishment?”

“That depends. If you were doing what I was told you were doing, the standard punishment is five paddles on your bare bottom in front of witnesses, and then, if you’re ever caught again, another five plus expulsion.”

“Tell me what you heard I was doing and I can say if that was true or not.”

“You’re not here to set the rules of our investigative procedure. I’m the headmaster; you’re the student in my charge. I decide how things transpire in an investigation, who asks the questions, who answers them. I’m the one who says what the consequences are. Right now, you need to tell me what you were doing when you were caught.”

“But it wasn’t my fault. It was another boy’s. No, I won’t tell you who it was. We don’t do that.”

“So another boy was with you?”

“Yes.”

“Then why wasn’t he caught if he was with you? Lying to the headmaster is very serious.”

“Just before Mrs. Horan came into the cloakroom, my, uh, friend said he needed the boys’ room right away and ran out. That left me alone when Mrs. Horan came in just after. What did she tell you she saw?”

“We just discussed that, Martin. You’re to tell me, and you’re wasting my time. But this is now more serious. You were doing what you were doing with this other boy? You two were doing it together?”

“Yes.”

“Who initiated it?”

“I’m not going to tell you anything about him. Paddle me if you must. But the laws are stronger against corporal punishment in schools these days. I’ve read about it. If you hurt me . . .”

“Oh, it’ll hurt. I guarantee that. You’ll pull down your trousers and underwear, stand in front of us, then turn and lean over so your bare bottom is exposed and unprotected, and it’ll be a nice rosy red when I’m done. I’ll have some of your classmates and Mrs. Horan in to watch so you’ll get the full psychological effect as well as the physical unpleasantness from your punishment: them seeing you exposed and then sobbing and all. But I’ve read the new laws as well. I know how far I can go, and I’m careful not to step too far over the line. People in my position have quite a bit of leeway with judges. Many of them went to private schools. Many of them felt the tingle of the paddle and think there’s nothing wrong with letting today’s miscreants enjoy the same thing they did long ago. Makes a man of you, I’ve heard them say.”

“Now you’re just trying to scare me.”

“Well, I’m tired of you being recalcitrant. It’s time for you to speak.”

“I didn’t do anything deserving getting embarrassed, humiliated and paddled, that’s for sure.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. What did you do?”

“I did what any boy my age would do, does do. You can’t punish me for being a boy. How fair is that?”

“We’re not talking fairness. We’re talking rules and behaviors. You know the rules we have. You signed a document saying you’d read and understood them and agreed to abide by them and accept the consequences laid out for misbehavior. To apply the consequences fairly, I need to hear from your lips what you did. I have Mrs. Horan’s statement. It’s written up and signed. Now I need to hear from you. What does the rule book say about not cooperating and not being totally honest in our investigations of wrongdoing?”

“It says refusal to cooperate will lead to an automatic judgment that the report of the offense is accurate in all details.”

“Exactly. This means your refusal to tell me your side of the story means Mrs. Horan’s account will go into the record as what occurred in that cloakroom. In a way, that works in your favor. Had she seen you had an accomplice doing what you two were doing together, the accountability of your behavior would be much more serious. Expulsion. You’ll be spared that. You won’t be spared the rest unless you tell me now what you were doing, what I’m sure I know you were doing.”

“Oh. Oh! I know what you’re thinking. Now I get it. Oh! Well, I can say this: I wasn’t doing that. Neither was, ah, my companion.”

“Then you have no reason not to say what you were doing.”

“Sure I do. This is bullying. This is over the top, taking some teacher’s word that is unsupported by anything, and I get paddled for that and that other stuff you said? You might not care if that’s not fair, but I do. And I’ll stand up for myself and demand fairness from authority figures. If I have to be a martyr, so be it. Go ahead and paddle me. I’ll make a squawk about it—you can be sure of that. What you said about exposing my body to a group of people is sexual abuse of a minor, and since you’re so big on consequences for wrongful behavior, we’ll see how that goes for you.”

“That’s twaddle. I have in loco parentis rights. What’s important is this: do you refuse to tell me what you did?”

“I do.”

“Then I’ll give you five days to think about this and to prepare yourself to be brought up for your punishment. If during those five days your fears build and courage fails, well, that’s part of the consequences, too. I’m sure you’ll hear horrible tales from boys who’ve gone through this. Some of them left the school, no longer able to face their classmates. One tried to kill himself and ended up in an asylum for the mentally unstable. That’s what you have to look forward to.”

“Still trying to scare me? It won’t work. Are we done now?”

“Yes. Next Monday. Assembly Hall. 8 PM. Be there.”

The assembly hall was full Monday night. The headmaster had made attendance open to everyone, and everyone was excited to see Martin Beasley being stripped and paddled. It had been the talk of the school for the past five days. Everyone wanted to be there.

Mrs. Horan and the other female teachers were up on the stage with Martin and the headmaster. The head was sure that would add to Martin’s humiliation. He was still hoping that the prospect of his female staff seeing him naked would get him to talk. If Martin would talk, then he hoped he would be able to make the punishment less. He didn’t enjoy paddling students. He did know it was effective in curbing some of their excesses, however. He’d never had to do this twice to any one student.

Martin was one of those students all educators have to deal with, ones they both enjoy and rue. Martin had a sharp mind and an outgoing personality. He was a favorite at the school, and while he was only 12, he had the respect of the older students as well. But he challenged the staff and was clever in how he did it.

He had a cool head and was well-spoken. Now, he came up onto the stage looking far more composed than either the audience or headmaster expected.

“All right,” the head said. “Let’s get this done. Following the rules of the school, this punishment is justified and will now be carried out. Martin, please face the audience. You will remove your trousers and underwear and then, when I say, face the faculty. After that, you will assume the position with your hands on the seat of the chair you see here, and I will perform the physical punishment. Go ahead and disrobe.”

Martin was standing on the stage feeling very alone. But he wasn’t scared. Martin was not a boy who scared easily, and he’d spent a week figuring out how to deal with his situation. He was ready.

“Mr. Stevens, sir, I have read the rule book several times in the past few days. I think I understand my rights. One of them is to face my accuser. The book doesn’t say when that is to take place, but as I haven’t been given the opportunity before this, any punishment before that happens is unjust. So, if I may, I will question Mrs. Horan now.”

He was speaking directly to the headmaster and now raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner, encouraging him to respond.

The head grimaced, shook his head in annoyance, and said, “You may do so. Mrs. Horan, would you please come forward?”

Mrs. Horan was a middle-aged, no-nonsense woman who rarely smiled. She didn’t much like boys; they returned the sentiment. She stepped forward and faced Martin, her profile toward the audience.

Martin was very direct in his question to her. “Mrs. Horan, what did you see in the cloakroom that you reported to the headmaster.” After asking it, he gave the headmaster a quick glance. This was what the head had refused to tell him. Now it would be out in the open, and the head couldn’t stop it.

Mrs. Horan stood as straight and tall as she was able. She was sure Martin was hoping she’d be too proud, too straightlaced, too embarrassed to state her charges out loud to an audience. Well, if Martin thought that, she was delighted knowing that he was in for a surprise. He’d get his comeuppance now, and she was glad to be the one to provide it.

“I saw you in the cloakroom masturbating.” There, she’d said it and hadn’t even blushed.

Martin wasn’t embarrassed, either. “I want to hear more. Were my pants down? Could you see, uh, skin?”

The audience tittered, and Mrs. Horan looked at the head. “Do I have to deal with this? This is unseemly.”

“It will embarrass him more than you, I’m sure. Just answer the few questions he has. When he sees you won’t quail, he’ll stop.”

“Mrs. Horan? Will you answer, please?” Martin was staring at her.

She shook her head, looking disgusted. “No. You were rubbing yourself.”

“Then why would you think I was masturbating? I perhaps had an itch. Boys get itches. Or maybe I had a cramp in my groin and I was rubbing it out.”

Those words brought even more reaction from the audience, but a glare from the head settled them.

“I know what you were doing,” Mrs. Horan said, sniffing in disapproval.

“So you saw me fully dressed, briefly having my hand in my crotch. Is that all you saw?”

“No. I saw you moving your hand in your lap, and you were reading something that you hid when you saw me. A skin magazine, I’m sure. I saw that, saw what it was inspiring you to do, and I left.”

“You saw what you saw, turned right around and left. How long were you in the cloakroom with me?”

“I don’t know. Two minutes? Something like that.”

“Mrs. Horan, you stayed right in the doorway, did you not?”

“Yes.”

“You were fifteen to twenty feet away from me. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“How long did it take for you to determine I was jerking off?”

“Martin!” The headmaster glared at him now. Martin met the man’s eye.

“Sorry, sir, but I’m 12. We don’t call it masturbating. We call it jerking off. I’m simply using the age-appropriate term. That term doesn’t make the activity any better or worse than a more adult one. It’s still the same thing, and I still want an answer.” He turned back to Mrs. Horan, inviting her response.

“I knew what you were doing as soon as I saw it,” she said staunchly.

“And was I constantly rubbing my crotch during the time you were observing me?”

“Uh, well, honestly, no. Not constantly.”

“Actually, just during the moment when you walked in, right?”

“Perhaps.”

“So for the two minutes you were there, we simply stared at each other. For two minutes?”

“I suppose it could have been less than two minutes?”

“In fact, two minutes is an extreme exaggeration. By my recollection, you weren’t in the cloakroom with me, standing a significant distance away, for more than a few seconds. Isn’t that closer to the truth?”

“I didn’t time it.”

“And then you left?”

“And then I left.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Horan. That’s all I need from you.” He then turned to the headmaster. “Sir, I wasn’t jerking off. What I was doing, with another boy, was reading some passages from a book that he found in the school library. The book was Lady Chatterley’s Lover. It’s supposed to be reserved for older kids, but it had been left on a table there where my friend found it. Is the penalty for reading a book from our school’s library public humiliation and physical abuse? If so, how many students will have to subject themselves to this? Singling me out would be outrageous.”

He stopped and stared at the head. The head stared back for a moment. How did it come to this, he wondered? Why hadn’t he questioned Mrs. Horan himself?

He knew he couldn’t go through with Martin’s discipline now—and certainly not with the whole school watching. What he needed was a way to save face somehow. But how?

He didn’t have to find an answer. Martin did it for him.

“Sir, I think we should go to your office and discuss this more thoroughly. Perhaps you’d like proof I was reading that book? I can supply it. Perhaps the audience could be excused and we could do that now.”

For once, the head smiled, a rare occurrence. “Right you are, Martin. Let’s do that. Students,” he said, turning to the front, “you’re dismissed.”

The End