And a cane
The story you are about to read is true. The names have not been changed to protect the innocent. [And the lady you see in today's image is so not of my former secondary school teacher, Mrs. Hayek.]
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| Yes, that's teach, mistress Hayek |
Most lads had to take the entrance exame multiple times, not me. Guess the teachers immediately understood what made me stand out. Looking back I am terribly proud of what my secondary school did for me. It was a long, harsh journey - but one that made me the man I am today. Back then I felt different. If you're a rebellious teenager, everything is stupid. Especially the alphabet and boobs. Don't worry by the time I was 14 I'd grown over my dislike of books. Funny how that happened. Once my interest in books spiked, my grades began to suffer. My secondary school prided itself on preparing us for elite universities. No-one was left behind. Something which is hard for a 15-year old boy who has developed a sudden crush on books and refuses to study. Desperate times, desperate measures, which is why they brought in a special needs teacher. It only made things worse. In fact, it corrupted me for life. Mrs Hayek's teaching methods are also the reason you're reading this blog now.
You probably don't know this but teenage boys not only love books, they adore entire libraries, I mean all kinds of girls - including librarians. My new special needs teacher Mrs. Hayek was certainly no librarian, despite the fact she is whip smart. Most other boys understood what was best for them and were soon back to their regular class, not Dutch. My secondary school was not gonna let me spoil their perfect record of every student being placed in an elite university so they gave Mrs. Hayek a free hand in which teaching methods to apply. One morning, as I entered class, on time like always, I saw a fresh set of hooks on the wall. As teach entered, I saw her carry something else besides the books she always has with her. A bit like in kinky Harry Potter, she was holding a large variety of whips, canes, paddles and other illegal teaching tools - all outlawed by the Geneva Convention. One by one, she began hanging them on the wall. All I could think of will there be a history clas on the inquisition in Mexico today? But why did Mrs. Hayek only bring her two usual books then? Don't you need more. Not even bound in leather.
"For motivation, dear little Dutch" she said as she leaned forward. "I hope you didn't forget to bring your books today." "You sure didn't forget your books teach." And of course I said that out loud. So stupid of me. Well, you know what happened next. Somehow it felt that first caning my teacher gave me was not to motivate me but for her own enjoyment. Suddenly her books were growing in importance and began pointing towards me. I loved it. No, not the pain but the fact that my teacher loved to see me squirm. Not exactly the proper motivation for a young lad such as Dutch.
I tried, I honestly did but the Spanish language is a harsh mistress to please. Who would have guessed that ti amo has nothing to do with tequilla? Fast lane educational advancement my teacher called it. That first couple of days I just made funny noises whenever she applied extrajudicial educational incentives but the problem with pain is that it hurts and more pain hurts more. My noises began to disturb the other classes but luckily there was a high tech solution availabe, a gag. Sadly gags make it impossible for students to read their books up close and I hated it. Of course it's not what she said when she first gagged me. It's impolite to drool over your teacher young man and I'm gonna help you to overcome that habit after which she forced the gag deep down my throat. All I remember are her eyes, radiating, smiling. It taught me an important lesson, books are nice but eyes are much sexier. And of course after I was gagged, she began disciplining me more often and harder. Because I had to catch up with the others. So much more incentive in fact, she needed a bigger gag. Not that she needed extra incentive to punish me.
The last few weeks before the final exams were crunch time and a few extra physical eductional tools were brought in. Couldn't sit all summer long because of the impact they had. I doubt it worked but Mrs. Hayek was very happy to continue providing her sole pupil with a stimulating teaching environment. Her books were almost non-stop beaming that message to me. One day I finally saw the light. "Yes teach, I now fully understand the difference between Te Amo and Tequilla. Tequilla comes first, Saying Te Amo is often a result of too much tequilla. Different hangover and so on. Why not say Eres mi media naranja [you are my orange half] to avoid confusion? As she walked up to me I wondered what I was being punished for this time. Wrong, she smiled and smiled, and gave me a big hug. I also remember her books joining in, full force. I was extatic. Then the bell rang.
The next morning she brought her two most precious books bound in leather. It was a special occassion. Impossible to swallow, I almost drowned in my own drool. Just in case anyone wonders why I have this love-hate relationship with gags. It also made me understand just how precious books truly are and the importance of treating them with the utmost respect - perhaps even devoting you life to them. I know I pushed you hard little Dutch boy. You're the first student ever I expected to score 11 out of 10. Pour it on! And to make sure you do that we have to address one last little thing. Ti Amo? Te Amo! You know better than that. Up close, her two volumes looked like they were excited trying to escape their leather prison. Mesmerized by her personal library, I only noticed the pain several minutes into it. It was still there the next day on my final test with me as the only student doing his exam standing upright. But what an incentive.
At the graduation party, Mrs. Hayek came up to me. She told me just how proud she was. Then she hugged me. Straight through her favorite, lovely orange dress of hers I could feel just much she meant it. Nothing like the warmth two people share when they truly hug. I was overwhelmed. Books rule. So in the end she did it all for me? Not just pain and games because she loves to see me cry. Godd bless her. "I'm truly happy for you boy" she said as one hand began squeezing my nipple so hard, I almost fainted. That was before her nails dug in. Big surprise [I was 17 at the time] I did not see that coming. Just before I started screaming out in pain, her fingers forced themselves into my mouth and down my throat, suppressing my tongue. Without the blessing of her personal gravity right there and then, I would have lost it.
Shocking twist. The pain refused to leave my body but I needed a clear head to process what just happened. Finally I understood just how awesome my teacher was. Commited to getting me there at any cost. Of course there was no need for all those tears, bruised butts and painfull punishments. Even as a teenager, my beacon in life has been a woman's personal gravity. The moment she laid eyes on me, she knew I would succeed. But as teachers are woefully underpaid, she decided to have a little fun and take advantage of my love of books. And with 'toy' written all over me in invisible inkt, I was doomed from the start.
"Each tear you shed under my cane, each little cry of pain because of it, you trembling whenever I come closer, every little emotion of yours that we shared, they all brought me so much joy. Punishment or not, it made no difference for today's outcome. Deep down you knew from day one, yet you trusted me and allowed me to guide you. I've never seen anyone accept who they are at such a young age. I'm truly proud of you and even more grateful to be the teacher that has guided you into the next phase of your live. "Welcome to the Dark Side young man. We expect a lot of you."
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