anarchistic_masochist
07-06-2010, 11:50 PM
It was common practice for all teachers to take work home to mark. That evening, Mr Tennant was sitting at the dining table, surrounded by exercise books and papers. He held up Myra’s test paper and laughed triumphantly. His startled wife bustled in from the kitchen holding a mug of tea, wondering how a student’s work could amuse her husband so much. Mr Tennant gratefully accepted the tea. “Ah, thank you my dear. Let me just tell you that a certain smug, arrogant young lady won’t be having much to smile about tomorrow. It’s time the cocky little braggart was brought down a peg or two.”
Next morning, Myra awoke in her dormitory feeling bright and refreshed. Arising a full two hours before she was due to attend class, she showered in the communal washroom alone. This was due to two main reasons: being more conscientious than most pupils at St. Claire’s, she was often up and dressed before most of the girls had woken up. The second reason was because she was self-conscious about her body and was paranoid that all the other girls would stare at her, critically appraising every inch of flesh. She need not have worried on that score; she was a perfectly normal sixteen-year-old girl who was well on the way to blossoming into a very attractive young woman. Puberty brought with it its own trials; hips and boobs start to grow and expand at what seems like an alarming rate, and finding that hair starts growing in places where it didn’t before also posed to be somewhat problematic to the young Myra. The thatch of pubic hair that once grew between her legs particularly alarmed and disgusted her. Hair holds bacteria and causes smells – a bloody nightmare when it came to menstruation. After much deliberating and agonising, she elected to shave the lot off. She had heard of Brazilian style waxing where only a sliver of hair is left on the outer lips of the vagina, but she could not be bothered with such high maintenance. All that work! It would be like having a Bonsai tree in your knickers. No, bald was best. She felt that she was keeping at least one part of her body in a welcome, secure childlike state, frozen in time whilst her teenage hormones went on the rampage, changing forever the rest of her body completely against her will.
Dripping and shivering, she scuttled down the main corridor, wrapped in a thick, pink towel to the sanctuary of her comparatively warm dorm. She shared it with Lisa Yates, a tall, slim athletically built girl with long blonde hair. She was the Sports Goddess of the school, with medals, trophies and certificates for seemingly every sport you could think of: hockey, netball, even football. (She was a mean centre forward!) It was largely due to her sporting achievements that the display cabinet outside the main assembly hall was crammed to the gills with silverware. Her personal certificates and medals were framed and hung proudly above her bed where she was still sleeping soundly.
Tiptoeing around the room with well-practiced stealth so as not to wake her, she brushed her teeth, scraped her hair into two plaits and put on her freshly washed and ironed uniform which consisted of knee high white socks which Myra detested. She wished that they could be black or grey. For a start, they would look more grown-up and any trace of dirt was extremely noticeable; especially by sharp-eyed teachers who seemed a little too keen to enforce the painful penalty for such an infraction, and if they were not Daz white, the same applied. She lost count of how much of her allowance she spent on Vanish bleaching powder – anything to avoid an encounter with the cane! Uniform-related paranoia was also responsible for her carrying a needle and thread (for emergency repairs), wet wipes (for quickly wiping dirt of her shoes before any teachers spotted them or prefects grassed her up) and a clothes brush (for brushing fluff and lint off her grey school jumper and black blazer) in her brown leather satchel at all times. Next came her white bra (the only item of clothing that was not classed as uniform), regulation white vest, crisp white blouse and the green and red striped tie that was characteristic of St. Claire’s. Her straw boater still hung on her wardrobe door. These much-hated hats was the only garment that was not compulsory, although Myra did occasionally wear it in during the hot summer months to shield her pale skin from the ravages of the sun’s rays. She was fast outgrowing her black pleated skirt, as it was a little too short. It rested about four inches above her knees instead of the required two. Luckily, she had another one on order and the school was well aware of the situation, so no wicked implement was going to be making any impressions on her bottom! Not for that reason anyway. Saint Claire’s seemed to be obsessed with uniform as they even had regulation school knickers. These thick, white, ribbed cotton efforts would not have looked out of place in an old lady’s dresser drawer. Myra nicknamed them her “Bridget Jone’s” as they were enormous compared to the transparent wisps of fabric that usually clothed her backside.
Checking her appearance one last time in the full-length mirror that hung on the wardrobe door, she was satisfied that all was present and correct. She half wondered if the uniform was deliberately designed to be as sensual as possible. She did have to admit that she did feel perversely sexy wearing such an ensemble. “You’ll do!” she said, winking at her own reflection, before scuttling off to morning registration.
Next morning, Myra awoke in her dormitory feeling bright and refreshed. Arising a full two hours before she was due to attend class, she showered in the communal washroom alone. This was due to two main reasons: being more conscientious than most pupils at St. Claire’s, she was often up and dressed before most of the girls had woken up. The second reason was because she was self-conscious about her body and was paranoid that all the other girls would stare at her, critically appraising every inch of flesh. She need not have worried on that score; she was a perfectly normal sixteen-year-old girl who was well on the way to blossoming into a very attractive young woman. Puberty brought with it its own trials; hips and boobs start to grow and expand at what seems like an alarming rate, and finding that hair starts growing in places where it didn’t before also posed to be somewhat problematic to the young Myra. The thatch of pubic hair that once grew between her legs particularly alarmed and disgusted her. Hair holds bacteria and causes smells – a bloody nightmare when it came to menstruation. After much deliberating and agonising, she elected to shave the lot off. She had heard of Brazilian style waxing where only a sliver of hair is left on the outer lips of the vagina, but she could not be bothered with such high maintenance. All that work! It would be like having a Bonsai tree in your knickers. No, bald was best. She felt that she was keeping at least one part of her body in a welcome, secure childlike state, frozen in time whilst her teenage hormones went on the rampage, changing forever the rest of her body completely against her will.
Dripping and shivering, she scuttled down the main corridor, wrapped in a thick, pink towel to the sanctuary of her comparatively warm dorm. She shared it with Lisa Yates, a tall, slim athletically built girl with long blonde hair. She was the Sports Goddess of the school, with medals, trophies and certificates for seemingly every sport you could think of: hockey, netball, even football. (She was a mean centre forward!) It was largely due to her sporting achievements that the display cabinet outside the main assembly hall was crammed to the gills with silverware. Her personal certificates and medals were framed and hung proudly above her bed where she was still sleeping soundly.
Tiptoeing around the room with well-practiced stealth so as not to wake her, she brushed her teeth, scraped her hair into two plaits and put on her freshly washed and ironed uniform which consisted of knee high white socks which Myra detested. She wished that they could be black or grey. For a start, they would look more grown-up and any trace of dirt was extremely noticeable; especially by sharp-eyed teachers who seemed a little too keen to enforce the painful penalty for such an infraction, and if they were not Daz white, the same applied. She lost count of how much of her allowance she spent on Vanish bleaching powder – anything to avoid an encounter with the cane! Uniform-related paranoia was also responsible for her carrying a needle and thread (for emergency repairs), wet wipes (for quickly wiping dirt of her shoes before any teachers spotted them or prefects grassed her up) and a clothes brush (for brushing fluff and lint off her grey school jumper and black blazer) in her brown leather satchel at all times. Next came her white bra (the only item of clothing that was not classed as uniform), regulation white vest, crisp white blouse and the green and red striped tie that was characteristic of St. Claire’s. Her straw boater still hung on her wardrobe door. These much-hated hats was the only garment that was not compulsory, although Myra did occasionally wear it in during the hot summer months to shield her pale skin from the ravages of the sun’s rays. She was fast outgrowing her black pleated skirt, as it was a little too short. It rested about four inches above her knees instead of the required two. Luckily, she had another one on order and the school was well aware of the situation, so no wicked implement was going to be making any impressions on her bottom! Not for that reason anyway. Saint Claire’s seemed to be obsessed with uniform as they even had regulation school knickers. These thick, white, ribbed cotton efforts would not have looked out of place in an old lady’s dresser drawer. Myra nicknamed them her “Bridget Jone’s” as they were enormous compared to the transparent wisps of fabric that usually clothed her backside.
Checking her appearance one last time in the full-length mirror that hung on the wardrobe door, she was satisfied that all was present and correct. She half wondered if the uniform was deliberately designed to be as sensual as possible. She did have to admit that she did feel perversely sexy wearing such an ensemble. “You’ll do!” she said, winking at her own reflection, before scuttling off to morning registration.