This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely coincidental. The ideas and thoughts that follow are pure fantasies. In real life, at the very least they would be unpleasant and probably illegal. Fantasies are like that; daydreams where we can contemplate and imagine the sensations without suffering or inflicting the pain, despair or humiliation. © obohobo 2011
"Girls, I think you all know why Robert is taking Games and P.E. with us for the time being..." Miss Coombs the P.E. mistress started.
"Because he's a sissy," Charlotte giggled.
"No," Miss Coombs retorted with more force in her voice than usual, "That's what Mr. Marstone might say, but no boy who stands up to his wrath for what he believes in, should be called a sissy. It took a lot of courage to do that, courage I doubt any of you would have. I don't agree with his beliefs but I will try to accept them and fit them into our schedule as far as possible and you will have to accept them too."
Charlotte looked chastened but brightened when Sarah asked, "Will he be showering with us Miss?"
I had brief visions of seeing naked girls for the first time but Miss Coombs quickly dispelled them. "Sorry to disappoint you Sarah, but having him amongst us is as far as we are going.
"I have a spare P.E. skirt I can loan him, Miss." More giggles.
"Thank you Clara, but that won't be necessary, now let's get this lesson started. Robert go and change in the boy's area and be outside this door in five minutes, girls get into your games kit now."
My confrontation with Mr. Marstone started several years before when I refused to buy football boots. A letter to my parents brought the reply from Mother, "Robert has sufficient allowance to buy his own clothes and he makes his own decisions about what is and what is not necessary. There is no legal requirement for him to provide special footwear for a sport he doesn't wish to participate in." Thereafter Mr. Marstone either ignored me or berated me for not doing things as well or as quickly as he wanted. It came to a head at the beginning of term. Being now in my final year at secondary school and wanting to do well in my academic subjects and always having a hatred for sport, I never put any effort into it and propounded my belief that it promoted aggression, one team trying to out-do the other; one person wanting to be better than his partner. On the football field I never ran towards the ball and if it ended at my feet, I either kicked it off the field or to a player on the opposing team. Mr. Marstone sent me off several times and I withstood verbal abuse from him until he tried to make me run the cross-country course again after I'd jogged round and came to the finish well behind the others. "That's physical abuse," I told him, "You're not allowed to punish pupils physically." The anger showed in his features and he grabbed my arm and told me he'd had enough of my insolence. "That's assault in front of witnesses, Sir, let go or you'll hear from my lawyer in the morning." For a few moments a stand-off ensued, witnessed by my classmates.
Without appearing to back down, he ordered, "Detention, tomorrow after school and you can write an essay on the benefits of sport in keeping a healthy body and promoting cooperation and team spirit. Bring it to me on Monday."
I changed the title to 'The Fallacies of the Benefits of Sport' and researched sports injuries and also found many famous sportsmen and women became obese when they retired but my main thrust highlighted the bullying and humiliation of pupils by draconian sports masters and the effect on their minds and their lives. I didn't mention my P.E. teacher by name but anyone reading it would know to whom I referred. By good fortune, Mother is secretary to Millicent Townley-Pyle a lawyer specialising in no win – no pay accident cases and they've been close friends for many years. I showed the draft to Mother who took it to work and Millicent looked it over and gave several suggestions and case quotes. A note scribbled at the bottom indirectly caused my being with the girls for Games, "Bring your Quakerish beliefs into it and they'll have to regard this as a religious issue also. Hand the printed copy to Marstone only and you will undoubtedly feel his wrath but nothing will change, copy it to your Headmaster and Chair of Governors and any others you feel would help your cause, make sure you mark his copy that you have cc'd it to the others and wait for the fireworks." I emailed it to both of them and to the editor of the school newspaper who forwarded the email to a group of my classmates before the headmaster banned him from printing it. The word quickly spread to the rest of the school and I suddenly found myself at the centre of everyone's attention in a sort of David and Goliath situation.
Our small town secondary school had two classes for each year for pupils aged 11 – 16 and being 15, nearly 16, in the A stream of the fifth year and academically, far ahead of most pupils in my class, I intended to go to college the next year. Having more money than others in my age group and spending more time in the library, hadn't gained me any friends so I was a bit of a loner but I take after my father, a strong willed, determined executive who is rarely at home for more than a few days at a time, in that I too am stubborn and determined once I've set my mind on a course of action. My essay did indeed light the fireworks. Monday afternoon the school secretary called me into the headmaster's office to confront him, Mr. Marstone and Mrs. Sybil Pearson, chair of the governors. Mr. Marstone ranted on and demanded my expulsion but the governor abruptly told him to calm down and pointed out that I had written nothing that named him and my remarks could be taken as comments directed at games teachers in general. Dr. Nelson, the headmaster, suggested giving me a suspension until I calmly asked him to phone Millicent Townley-Pyle, my lawyer, he then retracted it, "She wrote this for you, didn't she?" he questioned.
"No Sir, but she vetted it and gave me the case references."
"Please wait outside while we discuss this further." I sat and waited, listening to the sometimes angry noises coming through the door until break time when Miss Coombs appeared and went in. I heard the sounds of more argument without being able to make out the words and shortly after Mr. Marstone left, slamming the door behind him. They called me in and Miss Coombs spoke, "Robert, Mr. Marstone refuses to have you in his class and if we force him to, your life would be hell with him, but the law says you must have physical education as part of your school curriculum, would you agree to be part of my class and have P.E. with the girls?" I must have looked shocked because she went on, "It's not something I want because he sees it as you being downgraded and my class inferior to his, which it isn't, but the alternative could be litigation and your being transferred to another school. With the excellence of your normal work here, that would be a real shame and a set-back for you and the school. It will mean rearranging your timetable slightly and you will suffer the comments of the rest of your class and from the girls at least for a few weeks but I will do what I can to curb that." I liked Miss Coombs when she taught history and wondered exactly what might happen when I did physical exercises surrounded by a group of nubile girls. Would I be able to control my penis when doing bend and stretch exercises with them and I saw their shapely thighs and bottoms and watched their tits wiggle and shake? I guessed they'd take every opportunity to tease me but I thought I could deal with that and agreed to the change.
Teamed with Fiona
Quickly undressing and locking my clothes away, I hurried back to the girls section and shortly found myself surrounded by two dozen, giggling laughing teenagers making fun of my shorts and shirt until Miss Coombs called them to order and asked me to choose between tennis and netball. Not having a clue on the rules for netball, I chose tennis, not that I knew much about that game either. "Who would like to partner him?"
"Let Fiona, Miss, she pretty useless in any team."
"Yes, I think I'll do that Sarah, but not for the reasons you gave. Fiona may well get more enjoyment out of a slower paced game than when you try to humiliate her with fast balls that send her in all directions."
Fiona, a slightly dumpy, plain looking, B stream girl, smiled and whispered cheekily, "I hope your balls aren't too fast." Fortunately no one else heard and we walked to the tennis store cupboard. By any standards, our game was slow and we didn't even bother to keep score but tried to return each ball to a place where the other could hit it back without moving too far. I quite enjoyed it and Fiona said she did too even when Sarah, playing on the adjacent court, laughed at us saying, "That's not tennis, that's year one pat-a-ball," but we didn't care.
.... There is more of this story ...