The Forced Nudity Boarding School

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This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for the purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be attempted in real life, as that would be harmful and/or illegal. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.

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The Forced Nudity Boarding School
[Alpenhorn 2018]

Part 1: First Day
[Memoirs of Angela Martin]

I spent two months filling in at the F. N. School. These memoirs will (I hope) be published; so the Headmaster has asked that I include neither the real name of the school nor the exact location. I can say only “somewhere in the Caribbean”. Nor can I state the exact year, merely “sometime in the twentieth century”.

I was hired at short notice to fill in for Mr Larkins---a fourth grade teacher who was called away for short-term military duties. While I was at the school, I observed first-hand their program for maintaining discipline and decorum among the pupils. Here, I will describe that discipline program. My experience teaching there I may describe elsewhere.

I arrived at the F. N. school a week before I was to begin teaching. They had provided a guest room where I could stay. Many of the teachers lived in the school permanently.

I came to the school on a Monday. I was to start teaching the following Monday. Tuesday through Friday I was to sit in Mr Larkins’ class; observe; take over little-by-little.

On Monday I did a lot of paperwork with the secretary. Then 15 minutes of general chit-chat with the Headmaster. But most of the morning I was with Mr Howell, Lieutenant to the Headmaster---he was Discipline Officer, among other functions such as orientation of new teachers.

As I sat down in Mr Howell’s office he explained: ‘Generally, the Headmaster deals with the Board of Overseers, the alumni, the government, the police, the press, and so on. While I deal with our pupils.’

*

‘I have been looking at the display on the wall over there,’ I said to Mr Howell at one point.

‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘A reminder of a past time. Perhaps a better time.’

The display contained many implements used for corporal punishment. Paddles, switches, straps, slippers, canes, and such.

‘Corporal punishment was a feature in this school from its founding, until about ten years ago, when it was outlawed by the legislature.’

‘That recently? I thought it was banned long ago.’

‘In the U.S.---or at least many states---it was. But not here.’

‘And was it effective in enforcing discipline?’

‘That was before I was here,’ he replied. ‘Yes, I understand that it was effective. Small breaches of discipline might be remedied by the individual teachers. Extra writing assignments, extra physical activities, staying inside when the others went out to play, after-school detention, and such. And even some minor corporal punishment: a few strokes of a ruler on the hand. In most cases the pupils kept to our rules of decorum after that.’

‘Most cases? But not all?’

‘You remarked on the display, here. When the teacher’s own discipline was not enough, the pupil was sent to this office. And my predecessors here would apply more severe corporal punishment. All the implements in that display were actually used at one time or another.’

I wanted to ask more, but Mr Howell said it was time to tour the school.

The tour was quite confusing to me. There were corridors intersecting at odd angles. There were unexpected stairways here and there. There were short jaunts through outdoor courtyards.

Each corridor was marked by a letter. ‘This is Corridor H as you can see,’ Mr Howell said. ‘We amuse ourselves by using any word beginning with H to refer to it. Corridor Hippopotamus or Corridor Holler, for example.’

‘Here we are: H-6 will be your classroom. Let’s go in so you can meet Mr Larkins and your future pupils.’

*

After that, I continued walking the corridors of the school with Mr Howell. He explained that he patrolled all the corridors at least four times a day.

As we turned a corner, I saw a boy standing in the hallway.

‘I see that Charlie is in the slammer,’ Mr Howell explained to me as we approached. ‘His teacher thought her own discipline was not right in this case, and decided that Charlie should talk to me. She sent him out here to wait. That box on the floor we call the “slammer”, a tradition from years ago.’

There was a square painted on the floor along the wall outside each classroom. Two footprints were painted there, and Charlie had his feet on them, which meant his feet were wide apart. His hands were holding two pegs on the wall, above the level of his head. His back was touching a small shelf.

‘Hello again, Charlie,’ Mr Howell said to the boy.

‘Good morning, Sir.’

‘This is Miss Martin. She will be a substitute in one of the classes for a few weeks.’

‘Good morning, Miss.’

‘Hello, Charlie,’ I replied.

‘Now,’ Mr Howell said with a scowl. ‘Why did Mrs Peters send you out here to the slammer?’

‘Greggie tripped over my foot.’

‘And did your foot suddenly move into the aisle as he was walking past your desk?’

‘I guess so.’

‘And that was not respectful, was it?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘You have talked to me before more than once. What did we say was your problem?’

‘I have poor impulse control.’

‘That’s right. Do you think you are getting better?’

‘I don’t know, Sir.’

Mr Howell sighed. ‘There are drugs that can help with your problem.’

‘No, please, Sir. I don’t want that!’

‘I agree that drugs are not the answer in your case. But your disrespectful behavior is not acceptable in this school.’

‘I will try harder. I promise.’

‘If I may, Mr Howell,’ I said, ‘I have a suggestion. It has worked for me. When I feel one of those urges, I stop and count to ten. After that, I think to myself whether I really want to do it.’

‘Thank you, Miss. I will try it.’

‘Give me your ticket,’ Mr Howell said.

There was a plastic basket beside the slammer; a laundry basket or something like it. Charlie reached down into the basket, and pulled out a card.

Mr Howell signed it, tore off half for Charlie, and put the other half in his pocket.

‘You may return to class.’

Mr Howell and I continued our walking tour.

‘Charlie sounded American,’ I observed.

‘Oh, yes,’ Mr Howell said. ‘Two thirds or more of our pupils are from the United States. In some cases an American family moves here for career purposes, and want to put their kids in a school such as ours---American-style curriculum, taught in English. But in most cases, the families are back in the U.S. and the kids are sent here. Perhaps having been expelled from their local schools.’

‘So does that result in a big discipline problem here?’

‘Oh, no. We pride ourself in keeping the pupils in order. We insist that they be polite and show respect at all times.’

‘I am wondering how you manage that.’

‘I will explain more as we walk this morning.’

*

We saw other pupils waiting in slammers here and there throughout the school. I won’t describe them all: Just a few unusual ones.

‘Tom, Tom , Tom. What can we do with you? Didn’t I see you just yesterday?’

‘I think it was Friday, actually, Sir.’

‘Oh, that’s right.’

‘Same reason this time?’

‘Yes, Sir: Not doing my homework.’

‘Last time it was math, and this time English. Why do you think this happens?’

‘I don’t seem to have enough time, I guess.’

‘Tom, I am assigning you to study in the Library, evenings from 6 to 8.’

‘Every day?’

‘Weekdays.’

‘But I’ll miss my games in the Lounge!’

‘I think those games may be taking too much of your time. Right?’

‘Yes, Sir,’ the kid replied unhappily.

‘When your homework begins to get done every day on time, I will consider reducing your Library assignment.’

Tom looked dejected.

‘Give me your ticket.’

Tom reached down into the basket to get the ticket. Tom’s shorts were really “short”. As he leaned down, I glimpsed his white underwear through a leg hole.

Mr Howell signed the ticket, and sent him back to class.

As we walked on, I asked Mr Howell about the school uniforms. They were provided to the pupils by the school.

I observed, ‘All the pupils I have seen so far had the dark blue shorts, the light blue T-shirt, and white socks. But their shoes were all different.’

‘It’s true, the dress code does not specify the shoes. So some kids use them to show their individuality. You may also see distinctive bracelets, necklaces, or earrings. Both boys and girls.’ (At that time earrings for boys were unusual in the U.S., though maybe not so rare there in the Caribbean.)

‘The shorts seem very short,’ I observed. ‘I imagine American boys don’t like that.’

‘Possibly. We also provide them with long trousers, also dark blue, made of wool to be warm. And long-sleeved double-thick jumpers---sweaters, as they are called in America. Useful in cold weather. Of course here we have very little cold weather.’

‘But don’t the American boys wear the long pants anyway?’

‘Many of them do, at first. But mostly the weather here is hot, and the school has no air conditioning. So after a short time most of them wear the shorts, despite how short they are. Showing their thighs is preferred to sweating all day.’

*

‘Good morning, Martha.’

Here was a girl waiting in a slammer.

‘I am surprised to see you here. Your first time, is it not?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘And why were you sent out here?’

‘I made an impolite remark.’

‘That’s not like you.’

‘No, Sir.’

‘Tell me what happened.’

‘Well, Alfred was being punished for something. He was in the front of the room, starkers, and he starting crying. I said “What a crybaby” to the girl next to be. But it was loud enough that we were overheard. So the teacher sent me out here.’

‘So, Martha. You agree what you said was not polite?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Even if no one had overheard, it would still not be polite.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Give me your ticket. You may return to class.’

As we walked on, I did not wonder about Martha’s punishment. Instead, I asked about another detail.

‘What was that she said---that Alfred was “starkers”? What’s this?’

‘I did promise to explain something about our discipline system’ Mr Howell said. ‘That is part of it.

‘Let me begin with some history. For may years, when corporal punishment was not permitted in the U.S. but was permitted here, the F. N. school did quite well by accepting kids from the U.S. with discipline problems, and using corporal punishment to get them in line.

‘But, as I said, about ten years ago corporal punishment was outlawed here as well. The school has come up with replacement disciplinary methods.

‘We could no longer attract business using the difference between here and the U.S. in corporal punishment. So we began to use another difference between here and the U.S.---nudity.

‘For some reason, the U.S. has become extremely prudish about nudity in children. I tend to blame the mothers for that; but you will have to ask an expert whether that is the real cause. Anyway: American kids are terrified to be seen naked. Here, it is completely legal for us to strip them if we wish. We use that for discipline.

‘Of course, if the kids become less terrified of nudity it will become less effective as a punishment. So we accommodate their prudishness---even encourage it. For example, we added individual private cubicles in the dormitory showers and in the sport locker-room showers.

‘So the only time we force them to be naked in public is for punishment. That way, it is quite effective.’

‘I find this very interesting,’ I replied. ‘I can see why it cannot be done in the U.S. And that makes it an attractive option for Americans to send their unruly kids here. You use nudity for all infractions?’

‘No, certainly not. If overused, it becomes less effective. No, most discipline is still as before: extra writing assignments, extra physical activities, staying inside when the others go out to play, after-school detention. Or, as you saw a few minutes ago, quiet study time in the Library during the evening, instead of fun and games in the Lounge with the other kids.’

*

A girl, Shelly, perhaps 7 years old, was standing in the usual posture. But she was wearing only a pair of pink panties. The rest of her clothes had been placed in the plastic basket beside the slammer.

It seems when a teacher’s own punishment was not working, and simply talking to Mr Howell did not work, either, then this was an escalation in discipline that could be imposed.

Mr Howell talked to Shelly about her behavior (I don’t remember the details).

‘Give me your ticket,’ he concluded. Shelly reached own into the basket, under her clothes, and got the ticket. Mr Howell signed it and kept half.

‘May I go back now?’ she asked.

‘No, I’m afraid not. As you know, this requires you to stay here for fifteen minutes during the interval.’

‘But I learned my lesson!’ she begged.

‘That may be, but the condition remains.’

She seemed unhappy about that.

When Mr Howell and I turned into the next corridor, I asked him what “the interval” meant.

‘The interval is the period between classes, when pupils will be in the corridors. Shelly has to remain in the slammer during that time.’

‘Wearing only panties?’

‘That’s right.’

‘That seems extreme.’

‘In Shelly’s case, lesser discipline has not worked. So we will try this and see if she gets the message, and begins to behave as a civilized person.’

He explained the box painted on the floor around the slammer. Everyone else is required to stay outside the space it defines. So Shelly will be seen, but not touched, by the other kids.

*

Mr Howell and I came up the stairs to Corridor D. I hope I managed to keep my composure and not reveal my surprise a what I saw. A boy in a slammer---perhaps early teens---was completely naked. “Starkers” as they say here. With his feet and hands in the prescribed places. His eyes widened when he saw me, a woman, coming with Mr Howell.

‘So, Wilson,’ Mr Howell began. ‘It seems you are in more trouble than usual.’

‘Yes, Sir.’ He was looking at the floor.

‘Starkers in the slammer.’

Wilson blushed red. ‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Why?’

‘I got in a fight.’

‘Where’s the other one? Shouldn’t he be here, too---just there in the next slammer?’

‘They sent him to the Infirmary.’

‘I won’t ask you why you were fighting. It doesn’t matter.’

‘No, Sir.’

I just stood by and enjoyed watching Wilson (starkers!) while they talked.

‘It is not up to you to enforce decorum on the other pupils,’ Mr Howell went on. ‘It is up to the staff to do that. Fighting with someone is not the way we make them behave. Right?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘You will be here during the interval. I hope it makes a difference to you. I hope you decide that you really do not want to come back to this again. Or something worse.’

‘No, Sir. This will be the last time!’

We left him there looking dejected. I regretted that I could not stay longer and just gaze at Wilson starkers!

‘What discipline is worse than this?’ I asked as we walked.

‘We have not had to go beyond “starkers interval” for two years or so. Usually for Americans, starkers in the classroom---or undies in the interval---is enough to convince them to straighten out, so we rarely even use “starkers interval”. I’m confident that Wilson will not be fighting in school again.’

I noticed that he had not answered my question.

‘You said starkers was enough for Americans. Not the locals?’

‘As I said before, most Americans are terrified to be seen naked. So forced nudity works quite well for discipline. But the locals are different. They have probably been skinny-dipping in the lakes and streams whenever they had a chance. We have the opposite problem with them. We have to train them not to walk around naked in the dormitories---train them to behave like civilized people.’

‘If nudity does not deter them, what do you use on the locals?’

‘Generally, threatening to call their parents is enough. They are terrified of disappointing their relatives back in the villages.’

*

After walking the corridors of the school, we returned to Mr Howell’s office. We talked about my forthcoming teaching duties.

And how I could apply my own discipline.

He must have seen my dreamy look as I imagined it. ‘Sparingly, please,’ he said. ‘Overuse dulls the weapon!’

Mr Howell’s watch beeped. ‘Excuse me for a minute,’ he said. ‘I have to say some words on the P.A.’

He used a microphone that hung from the wall.

‘Hello, F. N.’ I could hear his words echoing in the hallways. ‘As you can see from the clocks, the noon interval begins in two minutes. I have a few announcements.

‘Our basketball team plays this afternoon at San Sebastian. Anyone wishing to attend and cheer them on should be at the bus stop by 3:15.

‘The Art Club show continues today, so why not go and see the work on display there?

‘Finally, you may find it interesting to stroll Corridor Daisy within the next 15 minutes.’ (Corridor D was where Wilson was starkers.)

‘As always: remember that respect and politeness are required!’

After the announcements he turned to me. ‘I should go over and monitor Corridor Dumbbell,’ he said. ‘You may have some time to rest before you meet the Headmaster for lunch. Or you may come with me.’

A choice: Rest, or see a naked boy? Of course I went with him.

*

The bell rang as we walked. Pupils poured out of their classrooms. They were walking everywhere. And there was noise. Lots of noise.

‘Max! No running.’ Mr Howell called.

In Corridor D, there was Wilson in the slammer box, still starkers. Lots of kids walking back and forth. Of course they all looked at Wilson.

Mr Howell went and stood on one side of Wilson’s slammer. I stood on the other side.

At first I thought Mr Howell was there to make sure Wilson kept his bare feet on their marks, spread far apart. And kept holding the pegs with his hands. So that his nakedness was on display for all the kiddies walking past. But in fact that was not it. Wilson knew very well what he had to do. No (Mr Howell explained) he was there to monitor the behavior of the other kids. To make sure they were polite and respectful.

Both of us were standing beside the slammer, and Mr Howell was glaring. Kids were walking past, looking at Wilson as they passed. I was surprised to find that there was no whistling, taunting, or leering.

I snuck a peek at Wilson. He was clearly not enjoying this ordeal. He struggled to keep his composure.

‘Martha!’ Mr Howell called out. ‘It is not polite to stare.’

Martha looked guilty and quickly walked away.

I snuck a few more peeks: At Wilson’s short light brown hair. At his slightly chubby, extremely nude body. His bare feet.

And of course his privates. LOVELY! Long for his age; just a few wisps of pubic hair down there.

Wilson’s heels were against the wall; his hands on the pegs above the level of his head also nearly touched the wall; and there was a small shelf behind him, holding his hips forward. He was certainly “on display” for everyone.

I found it exciting to see, even if I could only catch brief glimpses (staring is not polite, and I was a role-model now). What I found even more exciting was the idea of all the kiddies walking by and looking. His own classmates; younger kids; older kids; both boys and girls.

‘How are you doing, Wilson?’ Mr Howell asked.

Wilson gasped (or sobbed?) and took a deep breath. ‘Okay.’

‘Only five more minutes.’

Sometimes I thought I recognized a pupil walking past a second time, a third time, or even more.

‘That’s it---fifteen minutes,’ said Mr Howell. ‘Give me your ticket.’

Wilson’s clothes were in the basket on the floor, and his ticket was under them. I admired Wilson’s posterior as he bent down to get it.

‘Here, you can take the basket into the empty classroom to get dressed. But you are expected to go to lunch.’

‘I know.’

‘Are you all right, now?’ he asked the naked boy.

‘Yes, I am, Sir. Thank you for coming. And Miss---?’

‘Miss Martin,’ I replied.

‘Thank you, Miss Martin. Having teachers here helped me get through it.’

Mr Howell and I walked back to the font office.

‘That went well, I think.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘Sometimes, in the past, pupils starkers in the slammer have been treated disrespectfully by other kids. Today this was not only a punishment for Wilson, but also a lesson in civility for all the others.’

*

I met the Headmaster in time for lunch. He took me to the Dining Hall. It was used both by the pupils and the staff.

The place seemed exuberant. And loud.

‘Take a tray,’ he said. ‘Then pick out what you want.’

I started to do it. There was a wide variety to choose from.

‘By the way: Try not to take more than you will eat,’ he said. ‘We tell that to the pupils; and the staff should set an example.’

We sat at a staff table on a raised platform on one side. But some teachers sat among the pupils. Others were walking about, keeping order, and helping. (The smallest kids needed help opening some of the packages. One girl on crutches needed help carrying her tray to her table.)

The noise level declined suddenly. Wilson---the boy who had been starkers in the interval---had come in. Now he was dressed. He got a tray and went to get his lunch. The noise began to return to normal.

A teacher walking around the room called out, ‘Eloise!’

A small girl stood up. ‘Yes, Miss?’

‘That was not polite was it?’

‘Miss?’

‘Laughing and pointing at Wilson.’

‘Pointing?’

‘No use denying it.’

‘No, Miss.’

‘You will write an essay for me. Politeness. Five pages.’

‘Five pages?’ She seemed distressed. It was a lot for someone that young.

‘Yes, five pages. Last month you wrote one page for me. But you seem to have forgotten the lesson.’

‘Yes, Miss. Five pages.’

She looked pale. Perhaps she was thinking that if five pages did not work, next time she may end up starkers herself!

And after that no one else was disrespectful to Wilson. Not even when he was out of earshot.

* * * * *

Part 2: Scary Stories

After I had been teaching at F. N. for a while, I took to spending my evenings in the school Lounge. Pupils and teachers would go there, have informal discussions, read books or newspapers, play quiet games---chess, other board games, card games, jigsaw puzzles. (This was before there was even such a thing as an electronic game.) Side rooms had more vigorous games---arm-wrestling, Twister, ping-pong.

I saw kids shrieking and running out of one of the small side rooms. But they were smiling and laughing too. I went to observe what it was.

That small room was used for scary stories. The lights were turned down low. Kids who wanted to hear would go in, sit on the floor, and wait. Then someone might tell a story. (There was no television in the school. And the World Wide Web was not yet even invented.)

Many of the scary stories were like the ones I used to hear in America. Bloody dismemberment. Ghosts. Humorous predicaments. But there was an extra category of story that was sometimes offered: Forced nudity! That was even scarier than headless ghosts walking the hallways.

Perhaps an older pupil would tell the story as though it had happened to him, or someone he knew, just a few years ago. And the younger pupils listening could never be sure that it was made up, and not an actual occurrence.

*

(Howard’s story. First-graders often told very simple stories.)

There was this time. The girls’ swim team was caught cheating. They rigged the timers to give our side an advantage.

So what was the punishment? In the next swim meet, our girls had to swim starkers!

(The kids were running away laughing. It seems that running out of the room was the sign of a good scary story.)

*

(Arturo’s story)

I'm in 9th grade now. But this happened way back when I was in 4th grade. Three of us---Pierre, Michael, and me---were always doing things together. And, unfortunately, sometimes getting into trouble together, too.

Yes, we had even got “starkers interval”. All of us at once. Imagine that: three starkers boys, all in the same corridor, at the same time!

(Hoots from the audience.)

Well, there was this one time. Pierre knew how to capture live scorpions. He got a whole bunch of them. And then the three of us dumped them into the drawer in Mr Kong’s desk.

(Gasps from the audience.)

But of course Mr Kong found out who did it. There are no secrets here.

He didn’t know how to punish us. So he called in Mr Howell, and together they came up with our punishment.

You know the raised platform in the Dining Hall? Where the teachers’ table is? Well, they took that table away, and painted three slammers on the platform. (Even today, if you look carefully, you can still see faint traces of them on the floor.) We three boys had to stand there starkers all during dinner: from 5 to 6:30!

(Eeee, the kids shrieked, running out of the room.)

*

(Stephanie’s story)

Back when I was first here, there was this older boy. All us girls called him “Awful Antoine”.

First it was staring at girls. Calling us names. Then it was touching.

We would be standing somewhere talking, and suddenly: a hand touching us somewhere.

Antoine was caught at it, again and again, and punished. But he would be back at it after a while. None of the usual punishments made him stop.

The final punishment was this. They did it one evening, in a classroom corridor. Awful Antoine had to stand in a slammer, starkers. They put a blindfold over his head, so he couldn’t see. They got ten of us girls, some of Antoine’s victims.

And we could take turns feeling him.

(Ooooh, Aaah. Nervous laughter.)

That was the first time I ever touched a boy...EVERYWHERE.

(Some kids were running out the door already.)

(‘Wait. You said that was the “first time”? You mean there were other times you touched a boy everywhere?’)

Hmmm. That’s a secret. Between me an my boyfriend.

(Older kids were smiling. Younger kids were going “Eeew, gross”.)

*

(Cissie’s story)

Every year in 7th grade there is a unit on anatomy. In preparation for it they “save up” some punishments, starting months in advance. A boy and a girl in 3rd or 4th grade, who should get a starkers punishment, instead get “anatomy model” punishment. And also a boy and a girl in 11th or 12th grade.

On the day of the lesson, all the 7th graders are there to learn. First the two 4th grade anatomy models, a boy and a girl, are brought in. Starkers. The teacher points out everything on their bodies that the 7th graders should learn. The differences between the boy and the girl. All parts of their bodies.

(Ooooh. The audience is shivering with fear. Or with delight.)

Then the 4th graders go outside to wait, and the teacher brings in the 11th grade boy and girl, starkers. And does the same thing. Shows all parts of their bodies.

After that, the two boys: 4th grade and 11th grade. The teacher shows the differences due to puberty. Changed voice. Whiskers. Adam’s apple. And so on: all parts of their bodies. All parts! Especially you-know-what!

(The audience has wide eyes by then)

Then the two girls in the same way. Pubic hair. Wider hips. Big bouncy boobies!

(Nervous laughter)

And, the last thing. The 4th grade models go back to their classes. The two 11th grade models demonstrate SEX. Right there with all the 7th graders watching!

(Aaaah, the kids shrieked, running out of the room.)

*

(Wyatt’s story)

This was how things were in this school many years ago.

In the sports locker rooms, the shower was just one large room with shower heads around the walls. After sports, when they were all sweaty, the kids would go in there starkers and all shower together at the same time!

(No way!)

Yes way.

And guess what: In the dormitories, the showers were also like that. No private cubicles.

(This is unbelievable.)

Kids would change clothes right there in the dorm, where all the others could see.

(Naaaw)

And in the boys’ restrooms they had “urinals” on the walls, connected to the plumbing. Boys would pee into them with no doors or walls to hide from the others.

(Kids were laughing now. They didn’t believe it. So that story was a dud. A story is not scary if it is that unbelievable.)

*

(Another day no one offered a story, so they asked Wyatt to tell more of his funny story.)

Long ago; when nudity wasn't scary; things were different here.

You know: it can be hot here. When you are trying to sleep at night, and it's really hot, you may sleep on top of the covers of your bed.

(Nods)

But sometimes you still can't sleep it is so hot.

(More nods)

Well, back then when it happened, the kids would sleep starkers.

(Laughter)

The dormitories were the same as now, ten beds in a big room. But they would open the windows, and lie there starkers, and the breeze would cool them off.

(Good idea. But too fantastic to be true.)

What about this. In those days, sunlight was considered to be good for you. People would lie outdoors in the sun. They wanted their skins to turn brown and beautiful, rather than remain pale and ugly. “Sunbathing” they called it.

(More laughter.)

Sometimes here at our school, girls would sunbathe starkers in the courtyard. They would post “No boys allowed” signs on the doors going out there. But boys might go up to the second floor and look out the windows to see them.

(Ooooh.)

Streaking. That was a fad one year. A group of 5 or 10 kids would wait until the middle of the lunch period. Then they would take off all their clothes (except their running shoes) and run as fast as they could right through the Dining Hall.

(Completely unbelievable.)

Sometimes on the playground, boys would wrestle each other. They might do it starkers, so that their uniforms would not get dirty.

(Aaah.)

The other kids would gather around the wrestling pit and cheer for them.

(Laughter. Too funny.)

*

(I asked if teachers could tell the stories, too. ‘Sure, why not,’ they said. So one day I told one.)

You all know Mr Howell.

(Mmmm)

Kind Mr Howell.

(Mmmm.)

Fair Mr Howell.

(Mmmm.)

Strict Mr Howell.

(Yeah, that’s him.)

Lovable Mr Howell.

(Well, not exactly.)

But let me tell you about Mr Howell when he first got this job.

He was mean. He was cruel. He would give big punishments to kids for small offenses. He would punish kids for nothing at all, just because he felt like it. He would call kids to his office an make them stand there starkers.

(Everyone was quiet at that.)

The Headmaster saw that this was not good. So he called in the Board of Overseers. And together they punished Mr Howell!

(No, really?)

One evening they put him in a slammer. Starkers.

(Eeew.)

And invited all the kids to come and look.

(Gross. He must be a hundred years old!)

Well, as you guessed, very few of the kids came to look. But the Board of Overseers came. The teachers and staff came.

So Mr Howell learned his lesson.

After that he was the lovable guy you all know. He was kind and helpful to the pupils. He was fair---but strict---in his punishments. He was the one who brought all the kids in line, and made sure they left the school ready to be productive members of society.

(Mmmm.)

There is a bit more to the story.

A woman named Marie was on the Board of Overseers. When she saw Mr Howell starkers, it was love at first sight! And she is now Mrs Howell.

(No way!)

(Marie Howell had a good laugh when someone repeated the story to her later.)

*****

Part 3: Miss Martin vs. Boz

Many years after my stint at the F.N. School, I received an email signed “Xavier R. Boswell”. He explained that he had been a boy in my class back then. And then he thanked me for “straightening out” his life. That was very gratifying! Occasionally, the pupils do realize later that the discipline at the school improved them: made them into polite and respectful people; subsequently living better lives because of that.

He thought perhaps I wouldn’t remember him. But of course I do. Naked boys are not so common that I would forget a single one!

He was known as “Boz” back then. I no longer remember the details of his infractions. But I do remember the discipline I administered to him for those infractions. As I said, I never forget a naked boy.

*

For a short time I taught a fourth-grade class at the F.N. School as a substitute for Mr Larkins. During the week before he left, I was in his classroom every day.

Boz was the first one punished by Mr Larkins during that week. He sent Boz to the slammer in the corridor to wait for Mr Howell. Later Mr Larkins explained to me that Boz was new to the school. He had been there only about two weeks, and had already been given many lesser punishments. Mr Larkins said his guess was that Boz had been kicked out of his previous school for unruly behavior. But it was only a guess, because teachers were not given private information about the pupils.

*

The first day I had the class alone, Boz was already in trouble. I guess he had the idea that he could get away with more when there was a substitute teacher. Of course I had to take action to prevent the others from getting the idea that they could get away with things, too.

‘Boz!’ I said.

He stood up, looking surprised. ‘Yes, Miss?’

‘You will write me an essay. Ten pages. On civility. What it means to you, what it means to the school, what it means to society.’

‘Ten pages?’

‘Due on Wednesday.’

*

Whenever I disciplined Boz, he would then be an exemplary pupil for the next few days. But after a while he would lapse, and get into trouble again.

*

‘Boz, what can we do with you?’ I begin on another occasion. ‘Recess begins soon, but you will stay inside here with me while the others go outside and have fun.’

Boz looked dejected. But then, he always looked dejected when I disciplined him. So maybe it was genuine, or maybe not.

While we were there together alone, we discussed his current infraction. We discussed the concepts of politeness and civility. And there was the threat that the discipline would get more severe if he did not shape up.

*

Another time, I handed a discipline card to Boz, and sent him to the slammer in the hall to meet Mr Howell. I guess Mr Larkins had reached that point after two weeks, and so did I.

*

‘Boz!’ I said as usual. He had been rude to Amber.

‘Yes, Miss?’ He stood up.

‘You will write an apology to Amber. One page---or even half a page---should be OK if it is sincere enough. Amber will be the one to judge whether you need to try again.’

*

‘Boz, come up here, please.’

He reluctantly came to join me in the front of the classroom. Of course he knew that discipline was due.

‘Stand here in the slammer,’ I said. A slammer was painted on the floor in the front of each classroom, similar to the ones in the corridors: Footprints far apart for his feet. Pegs on the wall for his hands to hold.

‘Turn around and face the wall.’

Boz stood there as the lesson continued for the others in the class.

*

‘Boz! When will you ever learn?’ I was quite angry at him. ‘Get up here. In the slammer.’

He stood facing the wall.

‘No, facing the class.’

I was getting ready to say: ‘I want you starkers, young man!’ But I didn’t. First I closed my eyes and counted silently to 10. By then I knew that such a large escalation would have been unwarranted.

So Boz stood there facing the class as we continued our lesson.

After the usual ten minutes, I commented, ‘OK, Boz, you may sit down. But you have to realize. If you do not calm down in the future, you will be losing your clothes!’

His shocked look made me think he had learned his lesson. But, no, after a few days he was back at it.

*

‘Time for recess,’ I announced. ‘Boz, stay behind.’

He sat there as the others ran out to have fun. We both knew that staying in during recess was not the next step in his discipline.

‘Sit here quietly for 18 minutes,’ I told him. ‘Then I will tell you what your punishment will be.’ I did it this way because the other kids would return after 20 minutes.

Boz seemed unhappy as he waited.

‘OK, it’s time,’ I said later. ‘When the others get back, I want you in your undies. The rest of your clothes in the basket. And you in the slammer in the front of the room.’

Boz was reluctant. Maybe near tears. But he did it.

The class returned, talking loudly. Boz in the slammer in only his briefs was not what they expected. I watched them carefully until they had taken their seats.

‘Sarah, Tommy, Freddy,’ I said then. ‘Please stand up.’

They stood. From their faces, I guessed they knew why.

‘I know you were surprised to see Boz, here, almost naked. But rude comments are still rude. And Freddy: a whistle? You know that was not polite at all.’

They hung their heads.

‘Each of you will write me an essay,’ I said. I gave the formula I had used in the past: ‘Ten pages. On civility. What it means to you, what it means to the school, what it means to society.’

‘Yes, Miss.’

‘You three may sit down. The rest of you: Remember that staring is not polite. Boz will be standing there for a while yet, but I want you to pay attention to our lessons. The lesson is about the newspaper articles I assigned you for last night, not the body of Boz.’

*

‘Boz!,’ I sighed. ‘In the slammer.’

As he came to the front of the room, he was almost in tears. We all knew that “starkers in front of the whole class” was the next stage of his discipline program.

But I said: ‘No, not starkers.’ The whole class seemed to let out their breath at once. ‘But as close as possible.’

Boz stood there in the slammer, and wondered what it would be.

‘Freddy, please come to the front.’

He did.

‘Remove Boz’s shirt.’

Freddy and Boz both seemed surprised. Freddy pulled the T-shirt up and over Boz’s head. Boz released the handholds so that the shirt could come off. Freddy put the shirt into the basket.

‘Thank you, Freddy. Please sit down.’

Everyone was looking at that bare torso. And now---for a short time---they would not even be in trouble for staring.

‘Let’s see ... Amber,’ I continued. ‘Please come to the front.’

She seemed happier about it.

‘Remove his shoes and socks.’

Amber knelt down and did it. Boz helped by lifting each foot in turn. Amber put them into the basket.

‘Thank you,’ I continued. ‘Next, Owen. Remove Boz’s shorts.’

Owen knelt down and pulled the dark blue shorts down to the floor. Boz stepped out. Owen put them into the basket.

Boz was left in only his “tighty-whity” briefs. Owen returned to his place.

I waited a few seconds for the kids to stare. Then we continued the lesson. There were no rude remarks. But I may have disciplined one or two for looking at Boz when they should have been paying attention to our studies.

*

Next discipline was “undies interval”. Boz had to go to the slammer in the corridor, undress down to his undies, and talk to Mr Howell. Then the worst part: he had to remain standing there in his undies for 15 minutes during the interval. Anyone in the school could see him if they happened to pass by.

*

‘Boz, Boz, Boz. And you were doing so well. There is no more delay. You will be starkers this time.’

The class was stunned.

‘But it’s time for recess,’ I continued. ‘Everyone may go. Boz you remain. Your sentence will be during recess.’

After everyone else had left, I went on. ‘Take off everything. You will be starkers for 18 minutes.’

So the two of us had a memorable time. Boz standing there in the slammer starkers. Me at my desk, a few meters away. Part of the time, I worked at my tasks, glancing at the naked boy now and then. Part of the time, we talked. About civility in general. About the discipline program. About how he could try to avoid future discipline. Naturally, when we were talking, I was looking in his direction. That is only natural; it is not staring, right?

Anyway. Although it is now many years later I still remember every intimate detail about Boz’s naked body. This was fourth grade, so he would have been about ten years old.

Boz seemed very uneasy. Naked in front of a grown woman. His breathing was irregular. His face had a pinched expression. But as the time passed, he relaxed a bit.

At the appropriate time, I let Boz get dressed and sit down.

The others in the class returned and sat down, as usual.

I said loudly: ‘Amber, Sarah, Owen, Freddy, Lucy. Please stand up.’

They looked uncertain as they did.

‘Freddy, tell us what you did wrong.’

‘Well, Miss,’ he spoke quietly.

‘Loud enough that we can all hear.’

‘I looked in the window during recess.’

‘And why?’

‘To see Boz starkers, of course.’ Some of the others laughed. Boz yelped.

‘Just so,’ I replied. ‘I saw all five of you look into the room sometime during recess. And of course you know that voyeurism is rude, right?’

They nodded.

Boz looked stunned---those kids had seen him naked, and he hadn’t even known it!

‘Each of you will write an apology to Boz.’ I continued with my usual formula: ‘One page---or even half a page---should be enough if it is sincere. Boz will be the one to judge whether you need to try again.’

They sat down.

I continued: ‘And, Freddy? Describing his naked body is not a good way to apologize!’

*

Boz was behaving himself for longer and longer periods. But then he did it again.

‘OK. In the slammer.’

As I had done before, I had different classmates remove different items of clothing.

When he was left wearing only briefs: ‘Tommy and Lucy. You will have the final honors.’

They smiled as they came forward.

‘One of you grasp the waist on each side. You will pull down together. On 3; I will count.’

They knelt down, one on each side of Boz. They inserted their fingertips inside the waistband of the briefs. They looked at me and waited. The whole class waited. I think the place had never before been this quiet. The tension was building.

‘Boz, stand strong,’ I instructed. ‘Everyone, remember. Respect and politeness are required.’

‘Ready. 1...2...3.’

Lucy and Tommy swished the briefs down. Boz stepped out of them.

And Boz was starkers.

The whole class was barely breathing.

Boz's privates were just 10 or 15 centimeters [4 to 6 inches] from Lucy’s and Tommy’s wide eyes. The two would have loved to remain there, kneeling worshipfully, contemplating that sight. But---after two or three years in the F.N. School---they knew it would not be polite. So they reluctantly went back to their seats.

Boz was red in the face, with his eyes closed. His breathing was jerky.

I was proud of the class. There were no rude remarks or taunts. True, they were staring, but in a sense he was the focus of the class then.

‘Let us continue with our lesson now,’ I began.

Everyone looked at Boz now and then, but I kept watch for undue staring. Boz's breathing returned to normal. He opened his eyes. But clearly he was not enjoying it.

Starkers, before the whole class.

Boz got through it somehow. At the right time, I let him get dressed and sit down. ‘You know, Boz,’ I said. ‘After this, the next discipline would be “starkers in the interval”.’

That was Boz’s last serious discipline while I was at the school. Remarkably, Boz now seemed to have some friends. Not just detractors. I could see him engaged in the games in the Lounge every evening. He was no longer a loner sitting to the side.

*

Here is another incident from that time. I assigned the class to write some poetry.

Later in the day Amber raised her hand. ‘Yes?’ I called on her.

‘Um, Miss Martin, I wondered. Well, some of us wondered. Um. If it would be all right. You know. You gave us a nice title for a poem: “The Body of Boz”. Could we, like, describe Boz starkers in our poems?’

‘Good question,’ I was surprised. ‘What do the rest of you think?’

‘That would be rude’

‘That would be funny.’

‘That would be great.’

‘Boz would be offended, and that is what makes it impolite.’

‘It’s a subject we all know a lot about.’

Boz was sitting there smiling during the discussion.

Finally there was this suggestion: ‘What if we ask Boz? And then only do it if he agrees?’

‘I like it,’ I said. ‘That is a good way to make sure what you propose to do is not going to offend him.’

The kids were excited. ‘Boz, old friend. Can we do it? Can we make funny poems about your naked body?’

Boz was blushing.

‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘We will give him a while to think about it. Boz, could we get your answer after lunch? If you want to talk to me about it, you can stay for a few minutes after the lunch bell.’

So that is how we ended up with a booklet of humorous but risqué verse. At that age, they wrote only about nudity---not about sex. The whole class seemed enthusiastic about writing their poems; even the ones who normally did not do much at all.

*

The Body of Boz

written and compiled by
4th grade class H-6
November, 19XX

Contents

Whoa
Circumcision
Family Jewels
1, 2, 3, Starkers
The Red Face of Boz
Dimples in His Knees
On Seeing a Naked Boy
His Privates Went Public
Boz’s Willy, Short and Silly
Quads and Glutes, Pecs and Delts
We Acclaim His Round and Wrinkled Goolies
I’m Sorry I Whistled When I Saw Your Weenie

*

Whoa
by X. Boswell

I’m losing my shirt
my trousers invert
my undies slide down to the dirt.

My prick is on show
my balls hanging low
so everyone gawks and cries ‘whoa!’

The girls of the clique
when taking a peek
all shudder and giggle and shriek.

A boy who can see
humiliates me
by wolfishly whistling ‘fwoo wheee!’

(End of File)