Chapter 8

The big, bright shower room had one side that was open to the locker room and its banks of gray metal doors. Two walls held a series of shower nozzles. There were a few poles down the center of the room that held additional shower heads. The fourth wall, strangely, had three huge mirrors covering its length. The mirrors must’ve been coated with something because they never fogged over in the steamy atmosphere. Flynn could never understand what their purpose was. Mirrors above the sinks in the locker room made sense. Boys wanted to comb their hair and make themselves presentable after a shower.

But in the shower room itself? It was bizarre. The reflections always made him feel like he was showering in a group twice as large as it actually was. Twenty naked boys looked like forty.

Flynn, standing just outside of the shower spray, was once again without his clothes. He kept seeing himself in one of the mirrors as Coleman vigorously rubbed shampoo into his hair. The sight was ludicrous ... a soapy, naked eighteen year old boy crying while being bathed like a baby by a middle-aged female teacher. He tried not to look, but his eyes kept returning through some perverse impulse similar to rubbernecking at car wrecks.

As he watched himself being completely disgraced, he asked himself for the millionth time why he was allowing this to happen. And for the millionth time, he had no answer. It wasn’t discipline. It was nothing but abuse. Coleman had molested him in the Headmistress’ office and was continuing to do so.

He was terrified she’d use the readily available soap to repeat her invasion of his bottom. The physical sensation of her fingers inside him had been unbearable in its intensity. The shame had been even worse.

Why was he submitting? If he’d had full access to his memories of his first day at Bramstock, he would’ve remembered the potion of discretion. It did more than just keep students from talking to outsiders about what went on within the school.

Flynn, in his ignorance, could only think that, like other kids, he’d been told all his life to obey authority. But how far did that obligation go? For him, it should’ve ended the moment Coleman told him to expose himself in the hallway outside her class. He should’ve refused. But she was someone in authority, so he’d obeyed. And he was continuing to obey.

But no ... that didn’t make sense. He’d made rebellion against authority an integral part of his character ever since Stepdad took over his life. Flynn was very confused.

When Coleman finished washing his hair, she moved on to his face. He sputtered and coughed as she got soapy water up his nose and into his mouth. Then she ordered him to raise his arms so she could soap his armpits. Her control over him was so complete, he did it automatically. She rubbed the soap in by hand, working it into his underarm hair.

Telling him to keep his arms up, she rubbed her slick hands over his shoulders, chest, and belly and around his back. Her attentions lasted longer than necessary. She kept looking to his face to make sure the involuntary bath was having the desired effect on him. She was obviously satisfied with the misery she saw.