An American in London

Stirring up the past leads to an overdue correction. By a new writer to us.

By Mary Desmond

I was in my last year at college and it came time to complete an internship as part of the coarse requirements. I was fortunate to land a spot with a major accounting firm whose name I will leave out of the story. I was hoping that this internship would lead to a job offer afterwards. After meeting with the recruiters in the Human Resources office, I was informed that I would be assigned to the London office. I couldn’t believe it; a small town girl from the eastern United States getting the offer of a lifetime, paid relocation, assistance with accommodations plus, although not much, paid on the job training! Years of hard work and good grades were finally paying off.

After several months working at my placement, I was sent off to attend classes to coincide with the unveiling of a new version of a computer program. Seems that programmers get their jollies by making changes just to confuse the rest of us. The class was offered as a night course at nearby Wellington Academy, an all girls school, what I would call a high school back in the States.

After several classes, I wanted to meet with the instructor, Mr Jim Bixby, to make sure I was understanding how to apply the program to the way I used it at work. I had to hurry from work to meet up with Mr Bixby after his last class and passed several students along the way to his office. It was easy to see by the loud chatter and smiles that classes were over for the day.

Seeing these girls in their uniforms reminded me of my own days back in school. Heck, my breasts may have filled out a bit, but I could still be one of them with my small frame and light brown hair flowing though the air as I walked among them. My school’s blazer jackets were a similar maroon color with the school’s crest sewn in, but our pleated skirts were a gray/maroon plaid instead of the solid gray. Also, we didn’t have to wear a tie with our white blouse. As I weaved my way through the hall full of students, one particular conversation caught my ear, but I continued on.

I found myself waiting outside the Computer Science office, staring off and letting my mind delve into a fantasy that I have kept to myself for the past few years. I should explain here. I attribute this fantasy to seeing an old men’s magazine that was discovered in a pile of newspapers. You see, in our senior year, our class did a lot of different money raising projects; raffles, candy sales, dinners, you name it! One particular project was a newspaper drive to raise funds for the Missions. People could drop off or we would go door to door and collect newspaper and magazines and pile them into a huge trailer. The trailer would then be hauled off to a local recycler who would pay us by the weight.

The last period of the day was a free period where you could take an extra class, meet with teachers, go to the library, play intramural sports or use it for a study period. A bunch of students, including me, went down to load up the pile of newspapers that had accumulated. My school was co-educational and the boys would do all of the heavy lifting and high stacking into the trailer.

At one point someone spilled over a box that contained Playboy magazines, and the boys were going crazy leafing through them and earning comments from us girls. Somebody picked up another magazine and it was being passed around with everybody pointing and laughing at it. I could see that it had pictures of young women getting spanked in various ways. I had no idea about such things and was quite shocked when it made its way to me. I had never been spanked like that. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing on those pages and I felt this tingling charge going through me as I held it. I hardly had it before someone grabbed it from me and it eventually got tossed back. I just couldn’t take my eyes off of where it was and I knew that I had to find a way to take it so that I could have a better look. When we finished, I made an excuse to turn back and get something that I had forgotten. I knew where to find it in the pile and quickly stuffed it into my backpack checking that no one saw me.

This magazine would be the start of my journey of looking online at pictures and reading stories to satisfy my curiosity, but I have never taken it any further than just my fantasy.

To be honest, I’m not sure how long Mr Bixby might have been standing there. I didn’t notice him until he called out to me before I came back to earth. I stood and looked up at his 6’ 2” frame towering over me. I apologized as we exchanged hellos. Standing next to him, he seemed so much taller than from a distance in class. He’s definitely not the nerdy type that you’d expect in a computer guy and was rather handsome in his mid thirties. I’m sure many students had a crush on him. With his athletic build he obviously worked out and most likely played sports in school.

He asked me if I was alright as we went through the door.

I said, “I, oh yes, I’m alright. Well, I have to ask you, I have just overheard a bit of a conversation going on down the hall. The girls were talking about another girl who got whacked good today.”

Mr Bixby had an inquisitive look on his face. I continued by saying, “My former school didn’t do anything such as that and I was just thinking of that poor girl.”

The truth was, that overheard conversation was enough to fire up my fantasy. I had an image of a girl bent over feeling the sting of the cane and was wishing I was that girl! Mr Bixby was full of pride as he went on to explain all about the school’s policies, the excellent reputation, the academic programs and how they’ll even take in promising students that couldn’t cut it at other institutions, but here, they become successful young ladies.

I couldn’t believe my luck of landing in the midst of all this and my desire to hear more of English school discipline was at a peak. But, we were soon in front of a computer keyboard and monitor. The Computer Department Head was in his element as he walked me through everything, answering all of my questions about the updated program. I enjoyed sitting next to this very handsome man and I didn’t see a ring. It was easy to turn on the charm.

He said, “If you had been patient, all of this would have been covered in the next session, but I’m always glad to spend time with a student of mine.”

We then talked about my education and work, and small talk before I could turn the conversation back to the subject of school discipline. I thought I could get a little more out of him, but Mr Bixby downplayed his role other than he was responsible for checking for any improper internet usage and media stored on electronic devices. He said that he wasn’t involved in doling out punishments.

I told him, “Well, I sure feel a bit lucky not to have gone to this school!”

He said, “Tell me you’re not saying that you were a little trouble-maker at your school?”

My reply was, “No. No, fortunate I guess to stay out of trouble.”

He then said, “Well I think what you mean to say is, fortunate to not be caught, right? I sense an undertone of guilt here. Is there something you need to fess up about?”

I replied with, “Well, just what would such an unfortunate student be facing? I mean if they hadn’t been caught but later felt the need to confess?”

I think at that point he was getting uncomfortable with where this was going and said, “Come with me, I have someone you should to talk to.” He led me down the hall and ushered me into the outer office of a Mr Thomas Leary, Headmaster of the Academy.

A young Ms Barbara Compton sat at her desk and was currently on the phone. She turned toward us and held up a finger signaling she would be just a moment.

Mr Bixby leaned in to me and whispered, “She will take care of you. I’ll see you at class tomorrow night. Have a good evening.”

My head was spinning as I bid him the same. I didn’t really want to be standing there but suddenly felt trapped into the possibility of meeting with the Headmaster and panic was setting in. All I wanted was a little conversation with Mr Bixby to satisfy that little voice of curiosity. I wasn’t looking to take things any farther. Instead I was left standing there looking at a pretty blonde not much older than me, wondering what to say.

I was going to slip out behind Mr Bixby, but as I reached for the door the secretary hung up the phone, saying, “May I help you?” which stopped me in my tracks.

My dry throat finally let out a meek request to see the Headmaster. It was a relief to learn that he was out of the office. She said that she expected him back any minute if I’d just have a seat. I declined to wait or give a reason for my visit, nor leave a message for him. She handed me his business card anyway and suggested I call ahead to set up a meeting. A quick thank you and I was out the door and heading for the bus.

Happy to be on my way, I walked swiftly down the main entrance sidewalk only to watch a bus in the distance pull away.

‘Oh great,’ I thought to myself. ‘That’ll mean another thirty minutes before the next one!’ It was a rainy day and the rumble of thunder meant another storm was on the way. I thought, ‘Maybe a taxi?’ but none in sight.

With the sound of my heels on the sidewalk slowing down I could now hear another set of heavy footsteps coming up fast behind me. I turned to face a call out from a man.

“Ms? Oh Ms?” as a fifty something man approached. Somewhat out of breath, he apologized as he went on to ask, “Didn’t you just leave my office?” Then, without waiting for an answer, he said, “You match the description given by my secretary. I must’ve just missed you.” Apologizing again, now with a tone of humor, he finally introduced himself as Thomas Leary, the Headmaster of this grand old institution.

I thought to myself, ‘boy, he’s a fast talker.’

“My secretary said that Jim had brought you to the office to see me.”

“Jim?” I questioned.

“Yes, Jim Bixby, the school’s IT guy. You needed to see me?”

After another rumble from above and rain starting to fall, I replied, “No, not really, nothing important, I’ve got a bus to catch.”

My eyes were checking out this tall, well dressed and handsome gentleman with graying hair, all the while maintaining a couple of arms length away by slowly walking backwards.

Mr Leary replied, “Well, you’ve just missed one and it looks like you’re about to get soaked. Listen, I’ve been in one meeting after another all day and the last thing I want to do is to head back inside to my office. I suggest that I buy a pretty young woman a friendly cup of tea across the way. No pressure, AND you get to stay warm and dry waiting for the next bus. You’d be doing me a favour. Come on, what do you say?”

I couldn’t turn down his sensible offer as the rain increased and, besides, he seemed to be a nice man. He grabbed hold of my arm just above the elbow and we made a beeline dash down and across the street to the nearby shop. I was glad he had a hold of me because I slipped in my heels on the wet brick walk along the way. Once inside, the heavens opened up with a real soaker and we made our way to sit in the corner.

Mr Leary started off with, “Sorry, I haven’t even caught your name, Ms…?” as he extended his hand.

I replied, “It’s Kate, I mean Kathryn Mitchell, Sir. Yes, it’s Miss, not married, too young for that, still in school and all.” My hand was swallowed up in his large hand as we shook.

Tea was ordered. I turned down the offer of cake or a biscuit. We chatted awhile, mostly about the weather. I was starting to feel rather comfortable sitting across from this courteous gentleman in his fifties.

“So, tell me, you’re American, obviously, tell me a little about yourself,” Mr Leary said as we took our first sips of tea.

His phone went off with a beep and he apologized for taking a text message. He appeared to reply to it back and forth, raising an eyebrow from time to time.

I thought, ‘Here I am sitting across from a real English Headmaster, thinking of all of the stories that I have read online at the ‘Over The Desk’ website. I should be a little intimidated but I’m not.’

With his attention back to me, I told him a little of where I grew up, about my college studies and my internship that brought me here to England.

He commended me on my accomplishments and added that the CFO of the company that I was doing my internship with was on the Board of Directors for the Academy and happened to be a good friend of his. Then he encouraged me to continue. I brought up about the night class that I was taking.

“So, you’re actually a student here at the Academy,” he said. “Even those attending night classes are considered students here, you know.”

I responded by saying openly, “Well, I felt just like one of the students today while I was walking through the halls, seeing the girls in uniforms very similar to what I used to wear.”

He received another text and, after reading it, looked up at me and asked, “So why were you here today?”

I explained, “I came in to meet with Mr Bixby for a little help in my class.”

“I see,” said Mr Leary, “but tell me, what brought you into my office? My secretary said that your instructor, Mr Bixby brought you in. Usually when an instructor brings one of his students down, it’s because they are in trouble,” he said with a little chuckle.

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that and there was an uncomfortable moment of silence. Suddenly I was becoming very intimidated by this imposing man.

I eventually replied, “I’m really not sure why he brought me there.”

He said, “Tell me what you and Mr Bixby were discussing before he brought you into my office?”

I remained silent and looked deep into my cup.

He said, “Well, shall I start? Mr Bixby texted me that you were questioning our institution’s policies.”

I still couldn’t muster up the courage to respond now that I knew Bixby was texting about me.

“Well, is there something in particular you wanted to know?” he asked.

Clearing my throat, I finally spoke by telling him about the girls’ conversation in the hall today. “I thought I heard them say a girl in trouble got whacked!” Innocently, I went on by telling him that I didn’t think it was still done these days and I went on that my school didn’t do that.

Mr Leary said, “Yes, I know which girl they were talking about. She had an appointment during lunch period. She’s a repeat offender.” He went on by describing how things were changing as this school is one of the last to phase out forms of corporal punishment. He said that they will be using different sanctions next year and he feared that might leave the only option for more suspensions going forward.

I was thinking of a way to ask him to share details of her punishment, but he went on about politics and the changes prescribed by the board of governors. Nothing that I wanted to hear about, but it was clear that he wasn’t in full agreement. I was a little uncomfortable that others around might hear his little rant. He indicated that some parents rather prefer their daughters to be treated as they were at home.

He asked about my upbringing and pressed for answers until I told him I hadn’t been spanked since I was young. My Dad would only give a swat or two by hand, but Mom kept an old belt hanging from the towel rack in the kitchen. I think she thought it was a deterrent for my older brothers, but I also knew that it was handy for her.

I finally got the courage to blurt right out, “Just what did the girl get today?”

He said, “I don’t like to talk too specifically about a student’s meeting with me, but I can tell you that she earned the cane.”

I spoke shyly, “I have never even seen a cane before.”

He said, “I’d love to take you over and show you now, but with no umbrella we’d get very wet.”

He asked about how I was disciplined at my school. I spoke right up, telling him that I was never in trouble, but they only used after school detentions and then suspension or expulsion for serious matters. I told him that I thought a couple of boys were kicked out for fighting, and that I didn’t hang out with that sort of crowd.

He said, “You were never in trouble at your school? That’s quite a record.”

When his phone beeped with another text, I used the interruption to excuse myself to go to the lady’s room. As I stood, he reached out to grab my wrist and told me, “Hold on one moment.”

He read his text then looked at me again. “You might not know this but Jim, I mean Mr Bixby, is a good friend of mine and I must tell you that he has shared a few things in his texts. It seems you were quite inquisitive earlier. I assure you that I am here to help. We’ll have a little talk when you get back.”

I froze for a moment before my feet would move. I could feel my face blush as I walked away to find the ladies room. Immediately, all sorts of thoughts flooded my head. Thinking back to the events and conversations I had earlier and then images from that magazine. Sitting in the bathroom and thinking to myself, ‘What did Bixby tell him anyway? I was just trying to get him to talk about what got dished out to that girl, hoping he’d say some juicy details; foolishly trying to fuel my curiosity was all. Nothing wrong with that? Right?

‘At least Mr Leary confirmed that he used a cane. Maybe he’ll talk a little more about it. I bet he can handle a cane with that build and those hands.’ Looking in the mirror and trying to put on a brave face. ‘Come on, girl, go out and ask to see his cane. Tell him you want a few swats ‘cause you want to know what it feels like. No, be sensible, don’t do that.’ One last look in the mirror for a makeup check.

*          *          *

Meanwhile, back at the table a conversation was taking place.

Tom Leary: Hello Jim, so tell me about this cute little minx that I’m having tea with.

Jim Bixby: Hey Tom, so is she sitting right there now?

Tom: No, she’s gone off to the ladies room. Explain what you were texting me about? She’s in one of your classes. Did you catch her at something?

Jim: Well no, but it sounded like she is guilty of something that she did a few years ago and she was trying to get out of me what would happen to her if she confessed about it. I immediately thought of you, that’s why I brought her to your office. I thought you were there and I left her with Barbara.

Tom: Did she say what she did?

Jim: No, but we were talking about the girl that you caned today and I got the impression she was wondering if she would get the same. I thought she’d be a good one for you.

Tom: Well it would be good to know what she did.

Jim: I know you can get it out of her. You have your ways!

Tom: If it wasn’t raining, I could’ve taken her back in my office to do some interrogation.

Jim: Yea, remember I’ve seen you in action.

Tom: Well if I can corner this one, I’ll let you in on it.

Jim: I can’t wait!

Tom: She’s coming back, I gotta go.

Jim: Keep me posted.

Tom: Ok, I will. Talk to you later.

*          *          *

There were fresh cups of tea brought out and Mr Leary was finishing up a call on his phone as I sat back down. I was worried about his texting with Bixby and remained silent as I looked deep into the cup before me. I could feel his eyes upon me and then our eyes met as I looked up.

“So you didn’t get in trouble?”

I shook my head and let out a hardy audible, “No,” and lowered my eyes back into my cup to take another sip.

“Mr Bixby seems to think there’s something on your mind; something from your time back in school?”

Another period of deafening silence.

“As I said, by you taking a class, you have all of the Academy’s resources available to you, including counseling and ministry, if there’s something on your mind. Is there something you’d like to talk about, Ms Mitchell?”

Still not a single word from me.

“Your body language tells me that you’re hiding something, Ms Mitchell. You know they say that confession will free your soul? It’s the only way to rid yourself from your troubles.”

I said in a soft voice, while still looking down at the table, “There’s nothing, really.” I raised my eyes for a moment to see his piercing eyes looking right through me, then I lowered them again to take another sip. I checked my watch and then looked out the window to notice the sun had begun to peak out.

Mr Leary could see my nervousness and said, “The rain has stopped, maybe we should continue this conversation back in my office?”

Panic fell over me and I could only shake my head to silently say no. I reached for my bag and said, “I, I better be going. I don’t want to miss my bus.”

Mr Leary reached for my hand. He said, I didn’t expect you’d say much right now, but you need to seriously think about what I’ve said,” and offered his card.

I let him know that his secretary had already given me one.

He said, “Good, then I expect to hear from you again soon. You can call or send an email, either would be fine to start, then we can go from there, but I still want to meet with you again. I want to help you. For your sake, don’t put this off, Kathryn.”

I half nodded and said, “Thank you for the tea and the advice, Sir.” I stood and took a few steps before turning to say, “I’ll sleep on it, Sir.” Then I headed off to my bus stop.

I had plenty on my mind for the bus ride home. I was sure that Mr Leary wasn’t going to stop pestering me, especially because I would be seeing his good friend Bixby at class. After the bus ride, I grabbed some take out and continued walking home. After eating and watching some television, I decided to take a soothing bath. I couldn’t avoid thinking about the events of the day and my moments of excitement imagining that girl’s punishment and the conversations that I had. I wish I could’ve been a fly on the wall in Leary’s office at the lunchtime meeting. He actually offered to show me his cane! Now I wish I had taken him up on his offer. Maybe Leary would bend me over for the cane if I told him everything. Or could I ask him to? Images from that old magazine came flooding back.

Before heading off to bed, I sat down to catch up on Facebook and emails. There it sat, Mr Leary’s card which I had tossed there earlier. I kept looking over at it and it stared back at me, just as Mr Leary did. I gave in and finally started emailing some weak confession about something I made up that I thought might satisfy him, hoping this would make him go away, but I stopped typing halfway through.

I thought, ‘What if he sees right through this as fake? What if he’s right? What if I just told the whole thing and got it over with?’

What was it that he said? Something about the truth is good for the soul, or something? Would I get a good taste of the cane like I have dreamt about ever since thumbing through the pages of that smut magazine? But I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get up the courage and I deleted what I started and went off to bed instead.

After hours of tossing in my sleep, I got up somewhere around 1:30 AM to go to the bathroom. I looked into the mirror saying to the image looking back at me, “Where’s that brave girl?”

I could see that I wasn’t going to be sleeping, so, with determination, I decided to send off an email to Mr Leary. ‘Whatever happens, happens,’ I thought. ‘I’ll feel better in the morning.’

I started the email by telling him that he was right about me having something to tell. I said I was young back then and used poor judgment. I laid it all out, disclosing the details about obtaining that spanking magazine when I was in school. I told him how fortunate I was not to be found out. I asked what he thought I should do to clear my conscience and to put this all behind me. With nervous hands, I hovered with the mouse, hesitating, and then clicked SEND.

To be honest, I woke in the morning not feeling better. I wondered if I had done the right thing spilling my past to someone I didn’t know. Was I crazy for telling some stranger? I got myself going for the day and forgot about it once I was at work. Early afternoon, I received a series of texts from Mr Leary. I forgot that all of my contact information was in the auto signature of my emails.

He texted, “Thank you for finally coming forward and doing what was right by explaining what had been troubling you. I always tell the students that it is best to be open and honest, even if it means that there are consequences to be dealt with.”

His next text read, “I have spent a good deal of the day considering what would be best for you to put this all behind you as you had asked.”

Next he added that, “I think it best if you came in to my office this coming Saturday morning to discuss how to help you move forward. That way, there will be adequate time for discussion and there is much less going on at the Academy.”

I texted back, “I have an early computer class (my last class) and I could meet right after.”

He texted, “Thank you for agreeing to come in as I didn’t want to resort to using academic sanctions to get you to meet.”

‘Wow!’ I thought. ‘Does he mean he could effect my grade for my class and ruin my internship somehow? They sent me there and expect me to complete the class.’

Later in the afternoon, another text read, “Can you take a call?”

I texted back, “Yes.”

I was on my way to the break area when my phone went off. I continued walking and we said our hellos, and he said, “We can’t go back and change what happened. And wishing that it didn’t happen, or hoping that it happened differently, doesn’t help either. Right?”

I agreed with him.

He continued by saying, “Since you told me earlier that you were reminded of your days back in school when you walked the halls among the students wearing uniforms very similar to our school’s, I have an idea to help you get your mind to go back to the time of your days in school when this all happened. In order to accomplish this, I want you to see my secretary. She will help you with our uniform. She will guide you as to what you need to do. I thought that this will work best so that we can discuss this properly.”

I told him, “I can stop in to see her before my next class,” then we said goodbye.

My mind was in overdrive. I wasn’t sure what to think about all this. Would it be like me standing before my former Principal and admitting everything, getting yelled at, and then serving a week of detention? I didn’t think he would do that, but what else? Would he be applying the Academy’s guidelines and would I feel the cane? That’s what I deserve, a good shock to straighten me out, I thought. Have I let my curiosity get the best of me? I’ve opened the door and it’s too late to turn back now. I’ve got to follow through and not risk loosing my internship.

As directed, I stopped in to see Mr Leary’s secretary, Ms Compton, before my next class on Thursday night. I was already starting to feel more like a schoolgirl as I proceeded slowly down the hall toward the Headmaster’s office. I had been told that she would be working late and waiting for me.

I opened the door slowly like a girl would when reporting for punishment. This time I found her working away on her computer as I entered her office. She immediately stopped and before I could say anything, she greeted me and said, “You must be Kathryn Mitchell.”

I returned the greeting and confirmed her assumption. I have to admit, she was quite beautiful; tall, slim build and well dressed. I was envious of her silky smooth blonde hair, cascading halfway down her back. She said that Mr Leary had filled her in on everything and she stood and walked to a nearby closet.

‘Everything? She knows everything?’ I thought.

“Lets see, let’s get you squared away,” she said as she eyed me up and down, then reached in to pull out a school blazer. She instructed, “Try this one on.”

After finding it a good fit, she put the blazer on a hanger and hooked it on the coat rack. Next, we found a suitable fitting gray skirt which was added with the jacket hanger. She pulled out a tie and handed it to me.

She said, “You need a white blouse with a collar that buttons all of the way up, nothing low cut or sheer; also black shoes with no more than a low heel, no boots, and the girls can choose between ankle socks, knee high socks or opaque tights, depending on the weather, and sensible underwear of course, and that completes the uniform. One more thing, now that you have been issued a uniform you are to wear it at all times while on campus. In other words, dress into your uniform at home and come in to school. No changing into it at school.” She said, “Check the website for the student guidelines. Any questions?”

I shook my head, no.

Then she opened a manila folder on her desk and pulled out a copy of the email that I had sent to Mr Leary. My eyes opened wide to see that she had a copy.

“You need to sign this at the bottom,” she said handing me a pen. She returned it to the folder and then said, “You also need to provide a letter in your own handwriting acknowledging that one: you have read the student guidelines, two: that you are meeting with Mr Leary on your own free will, three: that you will agree with the Headmaster’s decisions, and finally, four: that you will follow all instructions. Here, I wrote a little note to remind you. You are to bring your letter with you on Saturday for your meeting.”

Again she asked if I had any questions to which I shook my head, no.

“Very well then,” she said with a broad smile, “We’ll see you on Saturday. Have a good night.”

I headed off to my computer class carrying my uniform, realizing that next time here I would walk in wearing it. Things were a little strange between me and Mr Bixby, mostly on my part because I knew of his friendship with Mr Leary and their texting. I just knew that he played a big role in Leary hunting me down. He made it obvious that he noticed my uniform on a hanger.

Mr Bixby caught up with me after class and we walked along together. We talked about class and then of the weather once we were outside. He eventually asked how things were going to which I just said, “ok,” and then he offered a ride when we got near the car park. I thanked him but turned it down saying that the bus ride gave me some time alone to think. We bid each other a good evening and he commented, “I think you will look just fine in that uniform, Ms Mitchell.” That comment stuck with me on the way home and made me wondering.

Friday turned out to be a busy day at work. My internship was going very well and I didn’t have much time to think and dwell on my upcoming Saturday meeting. In fact, I hadn’t given it a thought until a call from Barbara Compton, secretary to the Headmaster.

She said, “Just calling to remind you to bring your hand written letter as we discussed.” She asked, “Are you all set with your uniform?”

I told her I was going shopping at lunch time for what I need. My voice gave away my nervousness and she tried to reassure me as best as she could over the phone. She said, “You’ll be fine, just be truthful in answering questions.”

I didn’t want to forget to write that letter so I pulled out the note that Barbara had been so kind to give me as a guideline of what to write. After collecting my thoughts, I began writing. I started off by apologizing again for my foolish actions years ago. I included that I had read through the Student Policies. I wrote that my appearance before the Headmaster is of my own free will. I fully respect Mr Leary’s esteemed position with the Academy, and trust in his judgement, I sincerely ask that he review my admissions and will honor any and all of his decisions as final. I agree to accept the consequences of my actions whatever they may be. I ended by asking for help getting over this. Then I signed it. I hoped that whoever read this could see how sincere I am.

I used my lunch hour to go shopping to secure the rest of my uniform. A nice shop not far from work would have everything I needed; a nice button up white blouse, knee high socks and I bought a couple pair of white cotton briefs like I wore back in school. I looked at shoes but decided that I already had a pair that would work. I was actually having fun shopping for my uniform. It was like getting ready for the first day of school and I was starting to get into my schoolgirl role.

I suffered a nervous night home knowing that I’d have to get an early start in the morning to get ready for class and whatever awaited afterwards. I thought about going out to a nearby club to calm my nerves, but wanting to have a clear head in the morning won out. It seemed strange to stay in on a Friday night. I paced the floor looking to keep busy. My stomach was in knots so I only had a small salad to eat then worked on the computer with the program that I will be tested on in the morning. By now, I knew that thing inside and out because I used it all of the time at work. I checked my emails and then went through social media.

Still having time on my hands, I couldn’t resist searching for and reading some of my favorite spanking stories, in particular, the ones with visits to the headmaster. How fitting, I thought. I decided on another soaking bath before bed, hoping to calm myself. After my bath, I laid out my uniform for the morning to make sure I had everything. White bra from top drawer, and black low heel pumps from the closet are put out with the rest of the uniform. I used the iron to make everything looked crisp. Double checking the alarm to make sure it was set before sliding into bed.

Another restless night of not sleeping, but then it took the alarm to wake me. Off to the bathroom and then a shower, shave legs, underarms, and tidy up down below. Put on a robe, eat some toast, check the clock for the fifth time, finish drying my hair, running around like madman.

‘Keep moving, don’t think about it,’ I said to myself. Then it was time to get dressed. I was doing pretty good until I saw the uniform set out before me.

“Oh girl,” I said out loud, staring at everything.

Panties first and then the rest, one by one, getting ready for school just like years ago. I decided to go light on the makeup with hair pulled back tight into a ponytail. My image in the mirror was of me four years ago. I made sure I brought my handwritten letter and put it in my laptop bag. One more look in the mirror to make sure I had everything right and I was out the door. The breezy cool morning air whirled through the streets making me hold my skirt down as I hurried along. Of all the days, this is one that I’m not going to run late. Every plate glass window I passed contained a reflection of a schoolgirl running along with me. The streets were a little quiet and the bus only had a handful of people on it, nothing like during the week. I was very self conscious and timid as I felt every eye was on me. It was worse because I couldn’t hide among the crowd. I was constantly checking my uniform, smoothing my skirt, fiddling with my tie as others watched me.

‘What could they be thinking?’ I thought. Were they judging me? Would they be thinking, ‘Why is she heading off to school so early on a Saturday morning? To serve a day in detention?’

I arrived at the Academy very early. I hadn’t thought about the bus ride being quicker due to less traffic but it’s better than being late. I didn’t really like the extra time on my hands, too much time to think. I walked up the entrance sidewalk looking at the large stone building before me. I had a feeling much like every student has on their first day of school, as if I was going full time to the Academy. The halls were quiet and I walked slowly toward my class to kill some time and turned into the bathroom due to my nerves telling me to. I passed the large trophy case window with my reflection looking back at me. My heels echoed down the hall and I became very conscious of my uniform, of being the young senior back in school, nothing like the college girl approaching graduation. I thought back to the day of obtaining that magazine and suddenly realized that Mr Leary has done it. He’s got me back to dressing, looking, acting, and thinking just like I was, and now here I am going to class.

Others started to file into the classroom and I could feel their stares at my new look. Mr Bixby arrived and started class going over several exercises and answering questions as he went along. The class would wrap up today ending with an assignment to make sure that we were proficient with using the program. At this point, it was easy for everyone to pass.

As we were working, Mr Bixby walked around the room. He gave his approval on my looks. Later he called out my name and said for me to see him after class. As everyone was leaving, one comment to me was, “All this time I didn’t know that you were a student here.”

What else could I do but agree to it and to be truthful, I was feeling every bit the part. One of the students got a bunch of us together for a group picture. I smiled for the picture, not thinking much about what I was wearing.

As the room cleared, I walked over to Mr Bixby to see what he wanted and he said, “I will be taking you down.”

I stood there stunned and started to blush. I didn’t think that he knew of my appointment today with the headmaster, but I should’ve known if I put two and two together. Once in the hallway, Mr Bixby apparently didn’t approve of my wandering pace that I was taking and grabbed hold of my arm by the elbow to escort me along to the headmaster’s office. We drew the attention of a few students we passed on their way to sports practice.

I could only lower my head as they said, “Good Morning, Mr Bixby!” I imagined what they were thinking seeing me being escorted along.

We were greeted by Barbara Compton and she obviously checked out my uniform. Mr Bixby put a hand at the small of my back and pushed me forward to her desk. Miss Compton held out a hand asking for my letter of consent, as she labeled it. I set my shoulder bag on her desk to retrieve my letter and handed it over. Mr Bixby then grabbed my bag and pulled out my laptop. He asked for my cell phone and I pointed to a small pocket. Without saying a word, he left the room with both of my devices.

Ms Compton stood and pointed to a chair and waited for me to be seated. She walked over to the Headmaster’s door carrying a folder and my letter, then walked in after knocking. I was left by myself for a few minutes before her return. She sat at her desk keeping busy without saying a word. I looked down and pulled at the hem of my skirt, rocking slightly in my seat, my nerves were a wreck.

Before, I was sorry about my curiosity getting the best of me. Now it was more about being sorry for my actions years ago and waiting to be judged for them. As I sat and stewed in my misery, I now knew what it was like to be in the shoes of a girl in trouble. I sat there for what seemed to be an eternity, too scared to look around the room. I jumped when a teacher entered and handed some papers to Ms Compton. They talked for awhile, then, as they started to whisper, I glanced up to see the teacher looking over her shoulder toward me. I lowered my eyes immediately to study the carpet, then saw her shoes turn and point toward me.

She said, “Have I had you in any of my classes before, Miss?” as she reached under my chin to raise my head.

I answered with, “No Ma’am.”

She said, “I surely hope you learn your lesson today, girl!”

My eyes dropped immediately to the floor and I wrung my hands in my lap. Her words were like a punch in the gut. Now, the waiting was absolutely killing me. Every little noise made me jump. Finally Ms Compton’s phone buzzed and she received word that Mr Leary was ready for me. I was told to go right in.

With a deep breath, I knocked, turned the knob and slowly walked forward closing the door behind me. I quickly scanned the room as I took a few steps in. Wood paneling, conference table and chairs, built-in floor to ceiling bookcases and cabinets. Looking to my right, there was a group of over stuffed chairs with a small liquor bar set off to the corner. The carpet was recent but the room held onto its century old heritage. There was a large window straight ahead behind the large oak desk where Mr Leary sat reading. Also, there was a single straight back chair facing toward him. He had my written letter in his hands. I didn’t even consider sitting down.

He remained silent until looking up at me, saying, “Stop that fidgeting girl! Stand straight, hands at your side!”

I jumped to attention and corrected my position. It was clear that he was in charge and would be directing these proceedings.

I squeaked out, “sorry,” but was instructed to not speak unless asked to.

He returned to the papers spread out in front of him, eventually sorting it all and putting them into a folder. He added my letter on top as well, then slid the folder to the side. I could clearly see my name in bold lettering on it.

He then looked up and said, “Ms Mitchell, why don’t you have a seat and we can get started. I’ll ask you to start by telling me about the events surrounding your involvement with the project to raise funds for the missions.”

I retold much of what I had already stated in my email and how there was a box that had some men’s magazines that were discovered among the newspapers collected. He grilled me with questions as I went along, making me feel very intimidated. I couldn’t say who found them when asked, only saying that it wasn’t me.

I started talking about the boys who were looking at the Playboys and he stopped me there by saying, “We’re not here to discuss what the boys did, we are here to discuss what you did, Ms Mitchell!”

I felt a tightness in my chest as I realized he was going to make me confess everything and not try to spread the blame. I felt as if I had been caught red handed in my senior year. I told him that someone found a magazine that had pictures of girls getting spanked and started to pass it around. It eventually made its way to me. It was open and I flipped though a couple of pages before someone took it from me.

I was stopped there by Mr Leary as he said, “You mean to tell me that you already knew there were pictures in this magazine that you shouldn’t be looking at before it got into your hands?”

My eyes fell to the top of his desk and I nodded my head.

“Speak up, Ms Mitchell,” he said.

I replied, “Yes Sir, I knew it,” and lowered my head.

“Stand up Ms Mitchell and fold your arms behind you!” he commanded.

I stood and folded my arms as told.

With that he called his secretary and told her, “Ms Compton, I will need you in here.” A moment later, Ms Compton entered the room carrying a notepad and stood near me. Mr Leary rose up and said to her, “I’m sorry to take you from your work but I need you here as a witness today and to take notes.”

Ms Compton walked over to the conference table and took a seat facing our direction.

He started in by asking, “So tell me again, for Ms Compton’s benefit, before you put your hands on this magazine, you knew that it contained pictures you shouldn’t be looking at, correct Ms Mitchell?”

“Yes Sir,” was my reply.

“Keep your head up, Ms Mitchell,” he said as he started to pace back and forth.

“You knew better! Didn’t you?”

I hesitated.

“This is where you answer, Ms Mitchell.”

“Yes Sir,” I said.

He started to walk around his desk and then around me, talking close to my ear. “I’m sure you were brought up better!” he continued scolding. “I can’t imagine seeing your mother’s face finding out about this.”

He continued on with his rant, but then there was a pause before he stood at his desk again and asked, “In the pictures of that magazine, tell me what you saw? Come on, speak right up,” as he pushed for a response.

With a tear running down my cheek, I said, “There were girls getting spanked, some on their bare bottom, Sir.”

His face became angry and he raised his arm, pointing to the far wall, and said, “Go face the wall and keep your arms folded. I want you to think long and hard about what you should and shouldn’t be looking at.”

I could feel my face blushing as I moved quickly and stood as told. I was feeling embarrassed more than ever now that Ms Compton was here and listening to my words. I could hear the two of them chatting over at the table, but I didn’t pay attention to their conversation as I was deep in my own thought. ‘I had never viewed dirty pictures before, so why now,’ I asked myself. ‘I knew it was wrong. Mr Leary is right. I was brought up to know better, much better.’

Mr Leary called over for me to return and face him again after about five minutes. The waiting made it hard to tell time. I glanced over to see Ms Compton watching my return, keeping my arms in place behind me until I stood at his desk.

Mr Leary said, “So after you viewed that magazine, which you admittedly knew you shouldn’t have, tell me what happened next. How did it come to be in your possession?”

With my eyes looking down at his desktop, I continued to tell how I went back into the trailer to retrieve the magazine. He pried deeper with questions, asking how I knew where it was and wasn’t anyone else there to see me? I told him that I wanted to see the magazine again and knew where to find it. I made sure no one else was around and made an excuse to go back to the trailer and then hide it in my backpack.

Mr Leary said, “So let’s see if we have this right. You just thought that you could go and take something for yourself that was donated for a worthwhile cause. Further, you had to be a sneak about it. Correct?”

I nodded my head.

“Speak up, Ms Mitchell!”

I said, “Yes Sir.”

Mr Leary said, “Don’t you know that was stealing? Even something of such little value, it is still stealing! Little things lead to bigger things later in life! And stealing from the Missions, no less. You should be ashamed, and doing all this during school hours! What if it got out that one of our students took possession of such materials? You must think of the damage to the Academy’s reputation!”

There was a long pause, then he shook his head and stood pointing to the wall again. Another tear fell down my cheek as I went to face the wall. I had never thought of it as stealing. I only thought about wanting it, my foolish curiosity wanting it and I started to leak tears down my cheeks.

Mr Leary suggested tea and I could hear Ms Compton leave the room. The room was silent except for my sniffles. Barbara returned and they chatted while sipping their teas. It was almost worse being ignored.

My time was finally up facing the wall. The tears had stopped, but not the feeling of guilt. I was called back to the desk to face the Headmaster.

“Ok, let’s see where we are here,” Mr Leary said. “You looked at pictures that you knew you weren’t supposed to. You stole the magazine away from a charity, all of this during school hours, and now I want you continue with what went on.”

I said, “The magazine was in my backpack for the bus ride home and I went straight to my room.”

He asked, “Did you see your mother when you got home?”

I said, “Yes I did. She had a plate of fresh cookies, but I told her that I had homework to do and went to my room.”

He said, “So you sneak this dirty magazine into the house and then lie to your mother. Is that right?”

“Y-yes, Sir,” I said as my eyes welled up with tears again.

Mr Leary stood and said, “Go face the wall, Ms Mitchell. Nothing worse than telling a lie! You have a lot to consider for lying to your mother! You should also think of how you put your future at risk.”

The headmaster and his pretty secretary carried on conversations from school sports to end of term celebrations. I could hear more tea poured and continued conversation, including their planned vacations.

I was called back by the Headmaster to face him. He asked if there was anything else to add to which I said, “No Sir.”

Mr Leary continued. “Nothing worse than telling a lie! Your poor mother, what would she say? What would she do, Ms Mitchell? You’re awful quiet.”

“She would be upset with me,” I finally said.

“That’s all, just upset?” Mr Leary said. Turning to his secretary, “I think, Barbara, we should sit down and use your notes to draft a letter to send home with Ms Mitchell for her mother to sign off on. Then her daughter here will see just how upset her mother might be.”

I spoke right up, “Please Sir, do you have to send a letter, Sir?”

He replied, “Why the concern, Ms Mitchell? Does your mother still have that leather belt hanging around?”

“No Sir,” I said. “Well I’m not sure, she might still have it, Sir. I just don’t want to disappoint her, that’s all. I’d rather that she was kept out of this, Sir.”

He said, “Are you too ashamed to let her know?”

My reply was, “No Sir, I’m already ashamed of my actions. I’d rather this be dealt with here, at the Academy, Sir.”

The headmaster sat in thought for a moment. Then he said, “For you to be dealt with properly, you should be assigned to full day Saturday detentions. The problem with that, Ms Mitchell, there are not enough Saturdays left in the term for what you deserve. There is always assigning a short term suspension, but that doesn’t really work and I don’t think that would look very good on your otherwise unblemished record. What would happen to your education scholarships? Would they get pulled, leaving you to foot the bill? Not to mention future employment. That would follow you forever, despite your outstanding academic scores! I truly feel the Academy would be satisfied if your mother dealt with your poor judgment!”

I pleaded with him, “Please Sir, please reconsider.”

Mr Leary remained quiet for the moment, sitting at his desk as he fiddled with the pen in his hands. He appeared, I hoped, to consider another option.

I added to my plea, “Sir, Please, I want this done and behind me.”

My mind was raging, fighting with myself. ‘Go ahead,’ I said to myself. ‘Go ahead and ask for the cane. Be brave. All this time, you’ve wanted to experience it. Now is the time. Mr Leary worked hard to help get you back to your senior year to face this. You know you actually deserve it now. Just ask Kate! Just ask!’

“Sir, p-please cane me,” I said.

Mr Leary replied wide eyed, “Are you sure about that, Ms Mitchell?”

“Yes Sir,” I said. “That’s what I deserve!”

Mr Leary then said, “You shouldn’t be too quick or make your decision lightly. I must warn you, a punishment caning given in this office is severe, so severe that rarely is there ever a girl coming back for a second time.”

My lips felt numb and a hot wave flowed over me listening to him speak.

“Also, you should know that the strokes will be applied with your skirt raised, Ms Mitchell.” Mr Leary continued. “Before you decide which way you want this resolved, you should know that if you choose the cane, once I start the proceedings, you will not be able to change your mind. I will continue with the punishment until completed. Also, you must stay in position or you will earn additional penalty strokes. So, Ms Mitchell, before you make a hasty decision, go back and face the wall once more as you consider your previous request, this time with your hands on your head, if it’s the cane that you want. If you still have them there when I call you back, I will know that you haven’t changed your mind about the cane. Or, if you’d rather a letter be sent, then put your arms behind your back.”

About a minute later, there was a knock on the door. I froze in terror as Barbara opened the door to let in Mr Bixby. I was so embarrassed and humiliated at being seen in this position. I could hear the two good friends talking and laughing and then I clearly heard Bixby say that he had gone through both my laptop and cell phone. I forgot that he took them earlier. I heard him say the phone was clean but there was some activity on the laptop. I could hear them chatting and drinking tea like I wasn’t there. I was left to consider my choices but I was determined to experience the cane and leave with a clean slate. I definitely didn’t want a letter sent home.

I was called back over to the desk and Mr Leary said, “I can see you have made up your mind, Ms Mitchell. Last chance?”

My reply was, “I’ll take the cane, Sir.”

Mr Leary said, “Very well, Ms Mitchell. I am in agreement with your request, although you may not agree with me on the number that you will receive.”

He continued, “Mr Bixby has found that you have disregarded the Student Code of Conduct by visiting forbidden websites! Anything to say?”

“No Sir,” I said with my hands still on my head.

“Very well then, Ms Mitchell.” He stood and pointed over to a cabinet surrounded by the jam packed bookcases. “Bring me the senior cane, Ms Mitchell. It’s on the right, inside of that cabinet,” commanded Mr Leary.

The room was quiet and all eyes were on me as I walked over slowly and pulled open the door to take my first look at a cane. I gently removed it from its hook and held it in both hands to examine it, to study it, feel its weight, it’s coolness to the touch. My eyes were wide as I inspected it and felt it’s smoothness as I ran my fingers along its length. It must have been at least three feet long. I tapped it lightly in my palm. I thought, ‘Oh gawd, what have I done!’

Mr Leary called out, “Bring it to me, Ms Mitchell, bring it over here,” which got me out of my trance.

I walked back carrying the cane with two hands in front of me as if it was part of a ceremony.

Mr Leary repeated, “Bring it here, Ms Mitchell, and ask for it again!”

I continued walking, then reached out to hand it over, saying, “Please cane me, Sir.”

Mr Leary set the cane on his desk telling me to go remove my jacket.

I walked past Mr Bixby to where there was an empty chair around the conference table. I removed my blazer and hung it over the back of the chair. I turned around to see Mr Leary move a chair to the middle of the room as I placed my hands once again on my head. He removed his own jacket, then took hold of the cane again and started flexing it and swishing it through the air.

I was seriously doubting my decision to ask to be caned, but this might be my only opportunity and I was determined to experience this. After all, if I had gone to this school and been caught, I’d be standing right here with my Headmaster. I thought, I just respectfully called him my Headmaster!

He tapped the cane on the back of the chair indicating I should come forward.

I told myself, ‘Here we go, Kate, this is it, girl.’

He said, “Four strokes with the senior cane are awarded to first time offenders in the sixth form. You, my girl, have earned six strokes, extras added for your internet exploration. Lift the back of your skirt right up and bend over the back of the chair, Ms Mitchell. Make sure your shirt tail is pulled up and out of the way as well,” he commanded. “Now reach out and grab hold of the seat. Over as far as you can.”

He then had me spread my feet as far as I could, leaving me on my toes and most of my weight forward.

Mr Leary said, “Hold on tight and do not get up or extras will be awarded, Understand?”

I answered, “Yes Sir.”

I felt the first taps of the cane on my bottom and took in a series of short, audible breaths, bracing myself for the first taste of Mr Leary’s cane. I felt it leave my bottom and heard it swish down hitting dead center. It was a moment before the pain registered but I held on, releasing a moan through clenched teeth.

I felt the taps of the cane less than a minute later and I braced myself again with short audible breaths, then whoosh-crack, landing a little higher than the first. I let out a cry, holding tight to keep my position. Tears were returning to my eyes. I thought of the show Bixby was getting watching me bent over, my skirt pulled up showing off my schoolgirl bottom and my legs stretched out. I could imagine what he might be thinking. I braced for my third one and was more vocal as he lined up his next stroke. “Aah-aah-aah-aah,” until swish-crack. I threw my head back and screeched out. It felt lower than the first as my teary eyes started to flow. I cried out, “Oh Sir,” and banged my fist on the chair seat.

A minute later, I could look back to see Leary’s feet move around to my left side and I felt him lining up his next stroke. Again, I was panting and breathing in and out hard, trying to prepare myself. Then another swish-crack. I snapped my head back and let out a guttural yell as that one landed low, hitting mostly exposed skin near where my thighs blend into my bottom. I lifted one leg and stamped the carpet a few times and then positioned my legs as before.

Mr Leary stood directly behind me and warned me about holding my position. He had me pull up my skirt that had slipped down. I saw stars with that last one and tears fell onto the seat. Again, I felt the tapping of his cane and he cracked a good one at the underside of my cheeks. I let out a long, “Aaauuugh!”

The chair seat was covered with tears. He was right back lining up the sixth and last one. I tried to prepare by breathing in and out rapidly through clenched teeth and then a wide open mouth. Mr Leary then delivered his hardest yet to the center of my bottom, leaving me bawling.

Mr Leary stood next to me and said, “I hope you have learned a lesson, Ms Mitchell.”

I slowly stood and reached back under my skirt to cover my bottom with my trembling hands. Ms Compton came over to me with Kleenex and helped me settle down.

I asked, “How bad?”

She lifted my skirt and pulled my panties aside to quickly look and said, “Six good weals. It will be quite sore.”

Mr Leary put the cane away then sat at his desk.

Ms Compton half dragged me over to stand in front and face him. She pulled my arms, helping me fold them behind me.

After I had calmed down, he asked, “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Ms Mitchell?”

I tried to put on a brave face and replied in midst of sighs and fighting the throbbing pain. “Sir, I am very sorry for what I have done and for not coming forward sooner to make a confession.” The tears leaked down my cheek as I paused to take a breath. “I’m sorry for breaking the student code of conduct, Sir, and I promise to obey them in the future.”

With that I was dismissed. Ms Compton held onto my arm to help me cross the room to retrieve my blazer.

Leary and Bixby retired to the overstuffed chairs and were sipping brandy as I pulled on my jacket. They didn’t hold back their enjoyment, while I was left in misery on the other side of the room.

Ms Compton held me upright as we walked out of the study. She grabbed a Kleenex from her desk and gave it to me. We continued down the hall and made our way to her car. She was very kind, helping me get into her car and then she took me home. I couldn’t imagine what a bus ride would be like, I was such a mess. She helped me from her car to my bedroom, then assisted removing my clothing until I was stripped naked. When I hit the bed, all I wanted to do was cry as I lay on my tummy.

Barbara gave me a Kleenex and said, “I have something to make it feel better, Katie.”

I hadn’t been called Katie since I was young. She reached in her bag and pulled out a jar of soothing cold cream which she applied, rubbing it gently across my welts.

She said, “You got some real good ones. This one wrapped around the side and another got you at an angle going down into your upper thigh. And this low one? That will hurt the longest.” She kept applying the cream and finished by saying, “You’ll be sore for a few days, but this cream will help with the marks.” She handed me another Kleenex and caressed my head. “That’s it,” she said. “Have a good cry, everything will be alright. I’m going to leave you now.” She leaned over and kissed my cheek, then left.

I cried myself to sleep and woke with the sun setting. I made my way to a full length mirror attached to the back of the bathroom door to examine the damage. The welts were clearly visible. The pain had become dull except for the welts across my lower bottom and especially the one near the crease. Those really stung.

I made some soup and ate it standing up. Then decided a soaking bath would ease the sting. Getting down into the tub proved to be a challenge. I soaked for some time and thought over the events of the day. This was the first time I could think of any thing else except for my sore bottom since leaving Leary’s office. I thought of the image of Leary and his buddy sitting in their chairs drinking liquor and lighting up cigars, just like they were celebrating how they conspired to get me into their office. And, silly me, I played right into their hands. Or did I just allow them to do it. I have to admit that Leary did a good job of getting me back to my school days. I had truly become the former girl that I was. He took me back to face what I had done. I didn’t realize all of the lying, sneaking and stealing. I deserved everything he gave me. Best of all, I got up the courage to ask him to cane me and, as hard as it was, I endured it and I’m here to tell about. I had made the most of an opportunity that I may never have again. Soon I’ll be heading of home for graduation and parties and looking for a job.

When I made it to my bedroom, I saw that Barbara had neatly hung up my uniform for me. I stood and stared at it for a moment thinking about the journey it took me on. I went back to bed feeling good with myself. I learned that I can be brave and I wiped away the past. I can now easily move on with my life. I’ll have to send off a nice email to Leary thanking him for what he has done for me.

On Monday, I got up early and sent off that nice email to Mr Leary, copying in his secretary, Ms Compton. I told him I appreciated his guidance and helping me move on in life. I apologized for my past and included some of my words I used when in his study. I also praised his efficient and helpful secretary. She had helped with my uniform and she took care of my paperwork. She also went above and beyond to care for me afterwards. I added that my internship was coming to an end and would be leaving soon to return home for graduation and to pursue employment. I had enjoyed my stay here and would always remember my experience in London.

Two weeks later, just before leaving to go home for graduation, I sent another email to the Headmaster of Wellington Academy to share some new information and I wanted to make sure that he had it before the end of term.

Hello Mr Leary,

I have some news to share with you as I head home for my graduation ceremony. I feel very fortunate to have secured a position of employment with the corporation that I had just completed my internship with. Even though my mother wanted me near home, I have chosen to return to the London office as I have made friends here and have grown fond of London.

The CFO has offered to arrange for my continued education starting as early as the summer term. He said that they are also willing to flex my work schedule around any class schedules. He said that he will be checking into the curriculum available at the Academy. I remember you saying that he is on the Academy’s Board of Trustees and a friend of yours.

I am looking forward to coming back and settling in.

I want to say thank you again and I’m hoping we could meet for tea sometime.

Best wishes,

Kathryn Mitchell

The End

© Mary Desmond 2019


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