The story you are about to read is a work of fiction. Certain elements are loosely based on real people and real events however they've been embellished for dramatic effect and all names of people, places and other identifying details have been changed.
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Diary Entry: June 4, 2003

I realize diaries are generally considered to be accounts of things recorded for posterity more or less as they happen, and to some extent this will be true for my diary entries made here. However, I'm aware that many people reading this might think, based on what has been posted in the past week since the group began, that a day in my life is one great whirl of hedonistic, thrilling adventures. Alas, nothing could be further than the truth. I won't bore you with the dull, everyday things that happen unless there's some way to relate them back to something that you'll enjoy reading. I'm sure nobody wants to see entries that read like shopping lists and are twice as boring. 

Interesting events in life seem to go in cycles with long intervening periods of nothingness where one has time to look back and reflect. Being a person that finds a lot of pleasure in daydreaming gives me plenty to do in these times, like now, when nothing much seems to be happening.

Have you ever found yourself looking back and seeing your life as like a parallel to everything else? Maybe like one of those small dirt roads which runs alongside railroad tracks in the country. Sometimes they stretch for miles and while there might be glimpses of more interesting sights on the other side of the tracks, crossing over can only be done at junctions when they appear along the route.

Often these junctions appear suddenly, without flashing warning signals or anything to slow the rapid crossing you make and before you know it you're speeding along on the other side of the tracks. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking for heaven's sake! Get to the point!

Okay, well I'll try and explain it like this. This may take a while so you might like to make yourself comfortable before reading any more.

When I was in high school, and it was an exclusive girl's school I'm talking about and not some liberal minded public school, the strict formalities and rituals of everything were every bit like those people who never went to one of these school might imagine or hear in anecdotes. There were rules for everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, and the enforcement of them was harsh and often unjust.

It's been a bit over twenty years since I finished school so I can't say things are still the same, but when I was there most of the rules - the dress and behavior codes in particular - were enforced, not by the teachers but by "Prefects" who were appointed from the ranks of the senior year girls by the Headmistress. They were a law unto themselves.

Now, being a diligent young student and certainly not a rebellious teenager by any definition, you might think I sailed through my final year at school without any trouble whatsoever. Wrong. I committed that greatest sin of all in a private school: I admitted I had no interest in sport.

It wasn't that I was inactive or anything, I was. Like every young girl my age at the time who was being groomed to become "a lady" I had private tuition in tennis, though I never developed any playing skills, and swimming lessons which I eventually gave up when it became clear the only way to become a proficient swimmer was to put my head under the water. I might have even had lessons in horse riding if I hadn't been so terrified of being around horses. It was the "team sports" that I found objectionable and I made the mistake of admitting that in front of a school Prefect. I've never been one of those competitive types of people and for me the concept of wasting weekday afternoons and entire Saturdays running around with a group of girls, most of whom I had nothing in common with anyway, just seemed incredibly pointless.

I no longer remember the exact details of the transgression because it wasn't immediately brought to my attention when it was said to have happened. All I remember is this. I was in the school library at the time, as I often was during my lunch hour, and a small delegate of Prefects approached me and handed me a "Red Slip". These were small docket-like notices, written in duplicate in a small carbon copy book, and issued much the same way as a parking infringement notice might be issued. They were the most feared pieces of paper in the school and more than one girl I knew withdrew from school rather than face the consequences of having received one. Actually, I think both girls I'm thinking of were on second offense notices which was tantamount to being suspended from school - a punishment that could be prescribed by the Prefect body but which had to be ratified by the Headmistress. Suspensions were usually rubber-stamped by the Headmistress.

On receipt of a Red Slip girls were directed to present themselves to the next convened meeting of the student Prefect body, usually held on a Friday afternoon immediately after school. For me this meant I only had a few hours to dread the appointment as it was already a Friday when I was served with the notice, but some girls had an agonizing week of waiting. You must remember I had no idea at this stage what it was I was supposed to have done. The Red Slip didn't ever make any mention of anything except that you were required to attend and if you didn't, the matter would be referred to the Headmistress which immediately meant the consequences would be dire if you failed to attend. Naturally, having never before this been in trouble at all, I had no idea what to expect at the meeting. None of my friends had ever been in trouble either and of the girls I knew of who had been, none would speak of the experience. I think it really was a case of you don't want to know.

I presented myself promptly at the time specified on the Red Slip. The Prefects, all of whom were borders at the school (day students like me were excluded from the Prefect selection process), convened their meetings in the recreation room of their dormitory building. It wasn't a very large room and it was windowless which added to the overall gloominess. It's austere, wood paneled walls were adorned with portraits of the sombre faced women who established the school in the late nineteenth century and but for a polished chrome and glass trophy cabinet - the only decor concession to the modern age - I felt like I was in another world. Another time period even.

I'd been ushered into the room by a girl who I remembered had herself been "Red Slipped" the previous week. She didn't speak except to give me directions, telling me I was to stand immediately in front of a large, ornate mahogany desk which had three antique, buttoned leather chairs neatly positioned on the other side of it. The carpet of the area on which I was to stand was almost threadbare from years of girls who'd been, like me, told to stand there. I stood where I was told, nervously patting down my skirt and dusting my blazer with my hands to ensure there wasn't so much as a speck of dust on the sleeves or shoulders. The girl who had escorted me into the room disappeared back out of the room, the door was gently closed behind me, and I was left standing there alone to silently contemplate the situation.

I must have stood there for, I don't know how long. At least twenty minutes but maybe thirty. Anxiety turned to impatience and impatience turned to annoyance at being kept waiting like that but, as always, I kept still and silent, obediently waiting just as I'd been instructed to wait. When a door behind the desk in front of me finally opened, I fought back my instinctive nature to smile and acknowledge the entrance of the three Prefects who in turn sat in the chairs, settling themselves comfortably as yet more Prefects filed into the room after them. The junior Prefects each gave me a disdainful look as they passed me to take their seats in the less ornate brown leather Chesterfields scattered around the room behind me. The room immediately took on the air of a courtroom and I still distinctly remember the peculiar feeling that came over me when I realized it wasn't so much a meeting as a trial and it was me in the dock.

The charge I was facing still eluded me, probably more so even after it was read out to me. It was read by the Prefect sitting to my left at the table. She read it in a monotone, slowly and deliberately speaking every word with the clarity that only comes from a private girl's school education. I listened carefully to every word, trying to comprehend what she was saying. She opened with a statement I still remember. It is as if it's been etched indelibly on my mind: "Ingrid has no school spirit."

I had started to shake my head, not to deny the charge, but because she may as well have been speaking another language for all the sense it made. For a start, I couldn't remember reading anywhere that this lack of so-called school spirit was against any school rule. I'd never heard such a ridiculous thing and I would have burst out laughing if the situation hadn't called for the utmost propriety. She went on to detail the charge, reading from beginning to end of the short paragraph without looking up once until after she'd intoned the final few words: "...is not a member of a single sporting club within the school."

It made no sense whatsoever.

"Ingrid has no school spirit."

The declaration repeating the charge against me came from the girl who until this point had sat in the middle of the other two, listening to what was being read out but gazing off, I think, at the trophy cabinet. When she made the statement she and the other two girls gave me one of those pointed, serious looks that only girls can give each other.

I desperately wanted to say something in my own defense but I didn't know where to begin. Not that I really could have said anything at that point even if I knew what to say. The rules about addressing Prefects were strict at the most casual of times and this certainly wasn't one of those times. So I just stood there doing everything I could to reconcile in my mind everything that was happening.

There was a long silence with me standing there, now rigidly tense with a knotty dread which had taken hold in the pit of my stomach, and with the three Prefects, all sitting relaxed and just staring at me. The Head Prefect in the middle eventually broke her gaze on me, leaned forward, clasped her fingers together on the desk and rocked forward onto her elbows. There was an implicit expression of power in her action. At my school, to put one's elbows on a desk was the equivalent of a person in a managerial position in an office putting their feet on the desk. It just wasn't done except by the most powerful girls in school. To this day I remember her name - Corrine - and she was in that enviable position of being the most powerful girl in school.

It's a paradox that things like "justice" and "values" were taught in classes at my school and yet there, right there at that moment when both these ephemeral things were needed, I was witnessing none of them in practice. I had expected to be allowed to say a few words in my own defense but it became apparent I was not going to be given that opportunity. Corrine, who I recall displayed the hint of a smirk when she said it, said "now read out the punishment."

The girl with the monotone voice slowly read from her prepared sheet. I could hear the hushed titter of some girls sitting behind me when the word "nude" was mentioned and some more when the room was informed I was to receive twenty strokes of "the cane", to be applied to my bare backside by the two girls sitting either side of Corrine.

Now, you're probably thinking that something like this would never happen in reality, but I assure you it did happen and I've since learned it not only happened at my school but was common practice everywhere in schools such as the one I attended. It wasn't just a punishment. It was the continuation of a tradition which had gone on for years, if not centuries. Institutionalized and ritualized.

I knew better than to get myself into deeper trouble by speaking out against my punishment. I should add that I was given this option but it was put to me in a way that either I accept the punishment exactly as prescribed or I be sent immediately to the Headmistress with another Red Slip informing her of the Prefect's decision to suspend me from school. This I knew would be the worse of two evils as I'd never be able to explain myself or the reasons for my exclusion from school to my parents, who I feared even more than the school Headmistress.

The borders at school, which as I've already mentioned included every Prefect present, were rumored to share beds with each other at night and do all sorts of things that an innocent girl like me (yes, I was completely naive and innocent back then) didn't completely understand but intuitively knew weren't supposed to be done between two girls. That was something I always remember about the borders at school. They always seemed far more sexually advanced than a girl like me whose parents didn't even allow to go on dates with boys until I was nineteen and in my first year at university. So you can imagine my fear of removing all my clothes in front of a room full of these types of girls.

I still get a tingle when I think back to the way I undressed. Nervous and shaking like the proverbial leaf, I slowly removed every item of my school uniform, folding things neatly and making a small pile of them on the floor beside my feet. As I was undressing the two girls whose sombre duty it was to cane me selected their implements from a cupboard behind the desk; a cupboard I couldn't help but notice was filled with all manner of bizarre paraphernalia that looked like it belonged in a museum. In the medieval inquisition exhibit at the museum!

Corrine remained in her seat, now leaning back in it and relaxing as she watched me step forward to bend over and place my hands on the edge of the desk. I couldn't look as the other two Prefects took their positions behind me and awaited their command from Corrine to begin punishing me. I had expected something like a sign or a "begin" from Corrine but instead she informed me that it was custom before a caning for the wrongdoer to accept a few "warm up" hits before the real discipline began. It felt like a trap to me. I was given the option of bypassing the warm up and going straight to the punishment part although there was also the implied threat that if I went this route the two girls caning me would feel more inclined to cane me harder than they might if they were allowed this preliminary ritual. Reluctantly because I knew I had no choice, I agreed.

Now, this is where I recall things started getting really strange. I flinched each time I heard the whistling sound of the canes whizzing through the air; a high pitched sound abruptly cut short by a light sounding slap when the cane struck my backside. To my astonishment, even though I had steeled myself for something really painful the blows, despite the sounds being made, were actually feather soft. A small sting, perhaps, but nothing at all like I was expecting.

This continued for, I don't know how long. Stroke after stroke falling with a gentle and rhythmic sound on my behind. Of course, if one strike was to land where another had just fallen, I'd tense up and feel a slightly hotter burning sensation, but on the whole I found it quite pleasant. Almost like a massage.

I remained leaning on the desk, keeping my eyes fixed on a spot on the desk for a while before eventually realizing I wasn't looking at anything at all anymore and had my eyes closed. It was a surreal moment, lost in a world of giddy emotions which I'd never previously experienced. Corrine had been saying something to me before it actually registered but I remember her saying something like "see, this is what team work is all about" referring of course to the concerted efforts of the two girls caning me.

But this feeling of sublime bliss was short lived. Corrine's soft spoken but commanding tone broke into my thoughts and she announced it was time for the punishment to begin. She may have even winked at me, which I thought was a clear sign she knew she'd enjoy what was about to happen as much as I'd been secretly enjoying what had been happening to that point.

I could tell from the sound of the canes whistling through the air that the strikes would sting, and sting they did but still not as much as I could have predicted. After each I was expected to loudly count its number, something I remember feeling more embarrassed about doing than any other part of my punishment. By the time I got to ten I could really feel the burning sting of every blow. I guess I must have endured it and counted the full twenty strokes, but I really don't remember much past eleven or twelve. My head was somewhere else entirely by that stage and even though I twisted and squirmed after each biting strike my bottom, as if possessed with a mind of its own, continued to remain propped back and ready for more. I do however still remember "that look" in Corrine's magnetic green eyes. A hungry, satisfied look as she watched me taking my punishment. 

I began this little tale by talking about roads that cross back and forth across railroad lines and you might be wondering what any of this had to do with the story I've just told. That metaphorical road I spoke of recently crossed the tracks and took me face to face with somebody else who has that very same look I saw all those years ago in Corrine's eyes. It's a look I never realized I'd ever be so excited to see again...

END
