Boris

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic


schoolmaster caught out in secret perversion

Submitted: August 12, 2018

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Submitted: August 12, 2018

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The Director of Studies’ foibles.

 

The director’s study is a nasty monastic room of carved stone and white rendering, and the overwhelming first impression is of the smell of tobacco. The absent occupant is a heavy smoker; a pipe smoker judging by the rack of dissimilar pipes and the bundle of white pipe cleaners in the corner of the cluttered desk. The dominant colour is brownish yellow apparent in the thin curtains and the once-white paintwork of the window frame.

 

The man is an academic. The books are of all mismatched shapes and sizes, some on the inadequate bookcase but most in piles on the floor, others perched on the ugly oak desk. The typewriter has been consigned to the floor next to the heavy elm captain’s chair. There is a small scrap of carpet under it reaching into the kneehole of the desk. On a shelf under the small mirror on the wall opposite the door is a Remington razor; a small dust-pile of desiccated whiskers beneath. But the focus quickening the heart rate of the boys making their elicit visit, is the stack of polished, slightly curved bamboo canes in the far corner.

 

Their purpose is to find the O level papers. They know the type of envelope containing them and they have meticulously planned to open it, photograph the papers and reseal the envelope so their visit would be undetected. Their quest was commercial; they are already contracted to a hopeful bunch of ready cheats.

 

If Johnson’s dad had not given him the digital spy camera for his birthday they would not have hatched the plot.

 

Johnson goes in while Lawton keeps guard near the door. Lawton would willingly abandon the original plan to destroy all the hated canes in the corner instead. Johnson is closing the top drawer.

 

“Try the second drawer.” whispers Lawton.

 

“It’s locked.”

 

“Look, keys hanging on that hook next to the mirror.”

 

He opens the drawers with a key. There is nothing of interest in the top or second drawer just the usual detritus, paper clips, bulldog clips, various scruffy bits of forgotten homework, a stapler, ball point pens, pencils, erasers and so on. But on opening the bottom drawer Johnson smiles broadly, holding up a half bottle of Gordon’s gin. 

 

“Look! This is what he sneaks out for halfway through lessons.”

 

They each take a swig, choking on the unfamiliar spirit.

 

 Johnson sees an envelope below where the bottle had been lying. It is of a similar type to the exam board’s. He tips out the contents and gasps.

 

“Look at this. It’s full of pictures of naked boys in the showers!”

 

“Shit.” exclaims Lawton. “Come on, Boris. Damn the papers. Let’s go.”

 

“No! No! No! We’ve hit gold here. Never mind the gin. These pictures are worth a bundle.”

 

“You mean money?”

 

“No! No! No! Influence, leverage.  Money would be too dangerous, but it might be nice to be Head of School, what? Or pass all sorts of internal exams and avoid all those irritating summary punishments. Here, let’s take some photos. We’ll take a shot of the pictures spilling out of the envelope with none of the rude bits showing to indicate what we know, then we take copies of the most lewd ones. Blimey look at this!” says Boris, concentrating hard on the task in hand.

 

“Now we see if we can find the exam papers but I think the dirty old bugger has hidden them somewhere else like under his pillow.”

 

“Look at the bloody time.” whispers Lawton.

 

“O.K.” replies Johnson, “five minutes and we’re gone.”


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