I recently read this quote about all-girl boarding schools: "Just because there aren’t boys in the classroom doesn’t mean that the men don’t play a part in their education. Male faculty members and administrators play an important in role in preparing girls for the world." How true that is in my case, but not in the sense that most people would suspect. What I'm going to relate here is something only a few very good friends know about. It's a little disturbing but, ultimately, I have no regrets. By way of apology to the reader - this is a long, detailed and even lovingly told story. It is a true story, nevertheless. And, like many true stories, it is important. You'll see why as you read. Naturally, I've had years - decades even - to think about and digest these events into a comprehensive narrative. It also should not surprise readers to know that my chosen profession is in the language arts. So don't let the seeming professionalism of this piece dissuade you of its authenticity. When I was thirteen, I was sent off to an exclusive 'girls academy.' It was a full time, year-round boarding school. In retrospect, it was entirely the wrong time to isolate a young girl's budding sexual persona to the nearly exclusive company of other girls and women. However, as the quote above suggests, there are a few male faculty members. If anything, this is a cautionary tale of what happens when well-meaning parents try to mix the two. In those days and in that particular state, corporal punishment was alive and well. All manner of transgression, no matter how slight, seemed to require the swift and immediate use of a cane or paddle. Adult female dorm leaders often meted out such punishment, but more serious 'crimes' went directly Mr. Williams (name changed to protect the not-so-innocent). Being a precocious and outspoken 'young lady' - as we were often called - I attended more than my fair share of disciplinary office visits. Mr. Williams seemed like a giant to a petite girl of thirteen. He had enormous hand with thick, powerful fingers. He was balding with a receding peak of salt and pepper. We sometimes called him the Gorilla, both for fear he inspired in us and his stature. Over my years at the academy, I became quite well known to the Gorilla. By the time I was fifteen I had, as most of the girls had, experimented sexually with some of my classmates. Dorm leaders seemed to turn a blind eye to this. Late night bed sharing was not uncommon and the sounds of passion rose and fell with a natural rhythm. I was notoriously in demand for certain skills I possessed and was often fought over as a prized bed mate. As thrilling as those nights were with my nubile young classmates, my pulse quickened for something more. I tired of soft supple bodies - I wanted something masculine and, frankly, brutal. In retrospect, it was little wonder to whom I turned into my fantasy lover - the Gorilla. My visits to the office walked a delicate line between trembling fear and equally trembling lust. Part of this had to do with the method of penance prescribed by Mr. Williams himself. It was ritualistic, humiliating and had a keen sexual edge to it. I can't have been the only one to think so. The perpetrator was ushered into the office where her crimes were read aloud as she sat silently. She was asked if she had anything to say in her defense. Not that it mattered anyway, the punishment was the same regardless. Mr. Williams would then roll back his chair and she was expected to approach, hike up her skirt, and place herself over his lap. In this position, she had to then pull her panties down just far enough to expose her bare bottom. Once this was accomplished, Mr. Williams reached for his paddle and the punishment was meted out. Naturally, the spankings hurt...they hurt a lot! It wasn't over until the girl was a sobbing, blubbering mess. I was no exception. My tears immediately started welling up in moment Mr. Williams rolled back his chair and it was my cue to submit my body to his cruel punishment. But as I got older and my sexuality started to develop in tune with my body, I would often bite my lip with anticipation at that same moment. Something becomes an obsession when it is a persistent train of thought that almost demands acting upon. I was clearly obsessed about turning punishment into something illicitly sexual. My knees would tremble when I thought about pulling down my panties in front of Mr. Williams. The panties always came down just far enough to expose my bottom, but not enough that he could see my coochie. And in that moment, I had a plan: I stopped wearing panties. It wasn't long after that I once again found myself in the Gorilla's office. This time as my crimes were read, I was squirming with delight. I remember daring to raise my eyes and gaze directly at his cold, blue eyes while my chest with heaving with intense longing. He rolled back his chair and instead of tentatively approaching my fate, I twirled my hair and coyly approached with my first attempt at a seductive walk. I'm quite certain I looked like an idiot trying to sway my hips with ridiculous exaggeration, but at that moment it made me feel sexy and I cared about nothing else. I stood facing him with my whole body trembling and panting loudly as I lifted my skirt. I was desperate for his acknowledgement; I lingered for a moment with my skirt hiked high as if waiting for something different to happen. He only paused for just a moment. I couldn't tell whether he had noticed or not - I had just flashed him! I obediently lay across his lap as he reached for his paddle. I lifted my hips, pushing my butt toward him and spread my legs slightly. I did everything I could to give him a good look. It was the most exciting thing I had ever done...and then the paddle came down! WHACK!! He hit me harder than ever! It kept coming hard and swift. He was grunting with the effort. His hand was swinging well over his head and he brought it down on me with all of his strength. I panicked for a moment, shrieked and tried to escape but he grabbed my long auburn hair and forcefully held me down. He ravaged me...it was truly horrible. I felt violated and angry. When he finally stopped I was a wreck. I was certain I was bleeding. I was sobbing loudly while I was still bent over his lap. Long strands of snot were oozing out of my nose onto the floor. Mr. Williams meanwhile was now the one breathing heavily. I looked up at him accusingly. He looked down at me and said, "You know what that was for. Get up." I slowly got up and grabbed the edge of his desk for support. I took a tissue from the box in front of me to blow my nose while he got up and walked behind me. Suddenly, he was right up on me with his fingers in my hair. My head snapped back as he yanked my hair from behind. I felt his body close to mine as he hissed in my ear, "Don't. You. Ever. do that again. Do you understand?" He was still breathing hard and I could feel his hot breath on my neck. The weight of his body pinned me down on his desk. I could feel his hips pushing against my butt that was a raging fire of pain. His hand was trembling and somehow out of that intense confusion, I knew that I had gotten what I came for. An electrice surge ran through me, knowing that in that moment, he was on the verge of raping me against the edge of his desk. I definitely needed to do this again. Over the holidays I flew home to be with my family. Despite the distraction of holiday preparation and family functions, I spent every waking moment poring over my obsession. I felt ready to implode. I needed help; I needed to tell someone. My cousin had just started college on the East Coast, quite a prestigious one I might add. Despite her academic ambitions, she was a bit of a black sheep in the family. She had an edge to her and a confidence that I respected. I decided to tell her my story. Claire listened carefully when I had finally gotten her alone with my urgent entreaties to speak with her. Her eyebrow punctuated the more salacious aspects of my experience. I breathlessly concluded my story with an admission of what I wanted - I wanted to be sexually violated by a grown man. "I want to you give up on this fantasy," she said. "You don't even realize what you'd be asking him to risk. He probably has a wife and family. You're asking to gamble that as well as his career, jail time and his standing in the community. A woman's sexual lure is incredibly powerful. Yes, you can probably get what you want, but at what price?" It's true, I hadn't thought of how dangerous I was to him. I realized that I was actually in control and the Gorilla, for all his power, was barely able to resist temptation from a fifteen year old girl. "I know what you're thinking," she continued, "I can see it on your face. A little confidence can be a dangerous thing. I don't want to be reading about you in the morning paper. Please think about what you're doing." "I do know what I'm doing," I said. "I don't want to ruin either of us, but I can't let go of this desire. I have to do this. I've long since passed the point where I have a choice anymore. But, please, help me do this in a way that protects us both." She looked at me gravely, sighed and said, "Alright, look, are there hours that he works late in the office...when he'll be alone? Does his door lock? Ok, you'll need to go to him - here's what you do." It was an excellent plan. My cousin's Ivy League education had given her an exquisitely devious ability to devise the perfect crime. I made a mental note to never get on her bad side. I returned to the academy barely able to contain my glee. Two weeks passed. I noted the comings and goings of various office staff and, naturally, of Mr. Williams himself. I discovered that on Fridays, the admin. staff left at about 2pm. Many of the local girls went home for the weekend leaving a skeleton crew in the dorms. Mr. Williams, however, was usually catching up on work before heading back to the city for the weekend. This was the perfect time to catch him alone. However, I couldn't simply be sent to the office - that would leave a witness. I had to go alone. At five in the evening I plucked up my courage and walked across campus to the administrative building. The office was usually a flurry of giggling girls, huffing copiers and clicking keyboards. Today it was silent. I peered down that hall and saw the lone light in Mr. Williams office. I straightened my skirt, fixed my hair and strode confidently down the hall. I tapped on the partially open door. "Yes," he demanded. I peered into his office. When he looked up, he glared at me. Like a hunted animal, I thought. "Um...Mr. Williams? I've...uh...come to confess." Silence. Then. "Confess....what? Go see your dorm leader. She'll get you sorted out." "But, Mr. Williams, she's just going to send me straight back to you. I'm confessing because I'm going to get caught for it anyway. I figure you might be a little more lenient with me." I looked directly in his eyes and said, "I remember what happened last time I was here." After a long pause he said, "Alright, come in and sit down. Tell me what happened." I slipped inside the door and gently closed it behind me...and then I locked it. I made sure that Mr. Williams could hear the bolt sliding into place. He needed a safe place to do what I needed him to do. I told him a story about changing my grade in one of my teacher's exam books, but afterward realizing that the change put me at the top of the class. I had succeeded too well to evade detection. "Alright," he said finally, "what punishment are you expecting?" He held my gaze for a moment. I hadn't expected him to ask me this. He wasn't a fool. He knew something was up. But it also occurred to me that he was asking me to make the first move. "I...uh...I think you should spank me, Mr. Williams." I quickly added softly, "I've been a naughty girl." I felt a hot flush on my cheeks and started trembling. I could hear Mr. Williams breath hitch ever so slightly. He swallowed hard. "Do you think this is a FUCKING game, Ms. Daniels!?," he shouted, slamming his palm on the desk. I jumped. "Do you think I'm an idiot!? Look at me and answer the fucking question: do you think I'm an idiot?" "No, sir," I replied meekly. Mr. Williams was seething with rage. I couldn't have been more excited. I felt vulnerable in proximity of this tremendously powerful man. His anger was palpable, dangerous and, for me, too sexually alluring to resist. So I spat on his desk. "Fuck," he roared! "You!...." He was up like a shot and had me by the hair faster than I could even flinch. He dragged me across the room, threw me across his lap and shoved my skirt above my waist. I wasn't wearing any panties. But instead of reaching for the paddle, I felt his open palm come down on me as hard as he could muster. I could feel his other hand balled in a trembling fist clutching my hair and violently forcing my head toward the floor. I struggled and fought him as he continued to welt my bare ass with his hand. I screamed. He shook me hard. "Shut up! Shut up! Don't you dare do that again! I swear...you won't be able to walk if you do!" I was thrashed for an eternity it seemed. It was the most violent thing I had ever experienced. He finally stopped - spent. I could feel his body heaving and gasping as he continued to hold me down. I was sobbing and moaning uncontrollably. He finally lifted me up and let my skirt fall back down. I stood in front of him quivering and convulsing. My uniform was a mess, my blouse partly torn open and skirt skewed to one side. I already looked like a victim of some horrible tragedy. I sat on his desk and watched his eyes widen as I lifted my skirt and opened my legs. It was now or never. The next few seconds were a crazy, violent blur; a haze co-mingling pain with shame. I crumpled onto the desk almost at the same time as heard the SMACK of his palm against my face. The powerful momentum took me down immediately. The next moment I’m cringing against a pelting of blows around my face and head. His hands are grappling against mine, seeking out my long, slender neck. He pins me down with his left hand while his right hand is fumbling with his clothing. I hear the clink of his belt and decrescendo of his zipper. His body is leveraged between my legs; I couldn’t close them now if I wanted to - I had lost all control of the situation. He was going to rape me. I could feel the heat of his naked flesh against the inside of my thigh. He spit onto his fingertips and placed them first between my legs and then mine. I felt rough, masculine hands pressing against my vagina. And then I felt the pressure. It was enormous and covered in needle-like pain. He was forcing himself inside me and the next moment I saw stars. I could almost hear the rending of flesh like the tearing of bed sheet. It came fast and relentless, something quickly expanding inside and never seeming to end. I could feel every engorged vein, bulge and curve of his penis - the tip of which, I swear, I could almost taste at the back of my throat. It was hot and salty, like the mixture of mucous and tears I had to keep swallowing in order to breath. His body lurched and convulsed in a syncopated rhythm that my own tiny frame had no choice but to follow. I was impaled on him, our bodies locked together with his turgid fleshy tether. Our dance was horrible and compelling. He huffed like a locomotive his sweat dripping onto my face, stinging my eyes. I could only see vision of his mangled, purple face through the cage of hair lacquered across my eyes and the sting of tears and sweat. The mineral smell of blood hung heavy in the air, the torn shambles of my hymen staining the mahogany desk. I could feel the ground trembling under me - the whole room seemed to shake chaotically. He spat at me and cursed. The throbbing became a pounding became an explosion. I felt my insides go rigid and clutch at the massive column of pain that shot back and forth across my spine. The clock stopped short, stretching, stiffening and then a wave of release - every contour beating out the same, evenly timed pulse. I seemed to overflow and a new smell of salt and musk clutched at the already heavy atmosphere between us. I blindly clutched at my assailant. I wrapped my thighs around him and held his crime inside of me. I started crying. It was a release. This moment was something I could only have once. My first time had come and gone in carnage and pain. I cried that I could only now savor these last fleeting moments. I didn’t care about the outcome anymore. If his wife and children stood in the doorway to see the aftermath of a young girl violated, it was less than nothing. I wanted my moment and would not have it taken away from me. Mr. Williams finally pried him self away from me and collapsed in his chair. A flurry of words floated around my head. I didn’t care to listen to them. A thousand promises rage around me: money, gifts, whatever I wanted...just please, please. As if this moment could be lifted away with a price. What a stupid, stupid man. I only wanted one thing. I sat up, leaned forward, and kissed him. “Don’t...” I said. I whispered, “If you want to be safe, this is the only thing I want.” I dabbed my finger in a smear of semen and blood and put it between his lips. He shook his head. “That’s my price,” I said. “That’s the price you must pay...whenever and wherever I want it.” He remained true to his word, and I to mine. He was my outlet and I was the monkey on his back. I think he feared me and it showed in the abuses he generously gave to me. I tried not to be selfish and did think of his well-being. After all, if he was locked away I would have lost something I could not replace. In fact I refused to let him go, even after I moved on to college. To this day he would fly across the country to be with me. I’ve largely moved on, however.