Now, how was it? Ah, yes, I remember.
Charlotte giggled with her friend, Helen, "I wonder what it's really like - in the flesh."
The strictest of convent upbringings had not presented the girls with much opportunity to admire the male nude or the sexual attributes of the male of the species. Certainly, they had done biology for 'O' Levels and drawn cross sections of male and female genitalia. They knew what the 'bits' did but had little concept of what the male 'bits' really looked like or, indeed, their size. Most certainly there were no pictures of naked men or genitalia generally in their biology book; no helpful pictorial guide to intercourse. One of the few opportunities was with photographs of classical statuary (or even the two statues in the grounds of the convent school which were much admired) or particularly the photograph of Michelangelo's David. This most perfect of statues interested the girls not least because of the carefully carved penis. Its small size did not surprise, it was commensurate with the pictures of classical statuary, and was accepted by Charlotte and the girls as the norm.
Alone in her bed at night, Charlotte imagined what the penis was like erect as it had to be for 'sexual intercourse.' She knew that. Despite reaching eighteen years she had never so much as had a glimpse of that fabled male organ, not even seen a representation in its aroused state. There had most definitely been no photographs or drawings of that in the School Library. 'The Joy of Sex' was not filed under 'J' - or, of course, filed at all! She imagined the penis rather like her index finger only rigid or 'stiff' (a word she had heard other girls use) and naturally she imagined it like that as she played with herself. Just because she was a Convent girl did not mean she did not have desires, fantasies, or orgasms. Her finger pushed in and out just like the imagined stiff penis.
The appearance of a male teacher was an event. Certainly, the man was only temporary. whilst Sister Clara was in hospital. but it was something that had not happened before - ever -so far as the collective memory of the girls could recall. He was housed in the guest building well away from the convent and the school, but he was on site. The girls were quite beside themselves - there was a man sleeping on site and a young man to boot - with a beard!
Graham Randall was reasonably new to teaching. He had experience not just of teaching practice but working in two other schools. Graham had gone abroad for a sabbatical and now, back in England, was seeking to get back into teaching. The opportunity of short illness cover suited him. He liked the sisters, though was intrigued by the very different life style and ethos in the convent school. He could spot high academic standards a mile off - he could also spot over-sexed girls from quite a long way away and, in their navy blue uniform, the sixth form gave off a palpable aurora of charged sexuality. It amused him.
He had noticed Charlotte early on. Not because she was loud, outspoken, or even flirty. On the contrary she was quiet, but the blond pigtails done up with navy blue bows seemed so inappropriate by the sixth form and drew his attention. Rather little girly - but he supposed that was a bit of a result of the girls being kept in a school environment, away from the world and, indeed, cut off from fashion and socialising with boys.
The talk of the girls was almost exclusively about Graham Randall, certainly for the first few days he was there. He caused a stir. Charlotte was not the only one affected, but she was the one who did something about it and tried to research matters in depth. Perhaps she had meant to tell Helen, but it was her own idea and its execution fell to her alone.
Charlotte well knew where the bathroom was in the guest building flat Mr. Randall was using. She also knew the tree that grew by the guest building and was pretty sure that an easy climb would provide an uninterrupted vantage of the window - a window not, as she recalled, glazed with obscured glass. If she could catch Mr. Randall bathing then she could see what men really looked like - in the flesh. Creeping out late in the evening after the girls were in bed was not difficult; she padded down the dorm. uniform clutched in one hand, shoes in the other; dressed quickly in one of the bathrooms, hanging her nightdress on a peg and was on and out into the dark, keeping to the shadows as she had seen in films. It was exciting if a bit scary - this was 'out of bounds' activity.
The bathroom light was on and Charlotte wasted no time in climbing the tree, it was easy enough for her to do, her pleated skirt allowing her legs plenty of movement. Easing herself onto a bough, she could see clearly into the bathroom and at the open bathroom door, so the first part of her plan had worked out just as she hoped; a possible problem of a steamed up window had not materialised; but he was not there. Charlotte pouted; she could wait.
The sudden sight of Mr. Randall coming through the bathroom door completely naked shocked Charlotte. He was so hairy and his penis so much bigger than she had expected from Michelangelo. Her mouth just opened in surprise. Whether it was the shock or carelessness in moving to get a better look, Charlotte slipped and fell out of the tree with a great rustling of branches and quite a thump on the ground. She lay there winded, dazed, and momentarily confused. The appearance of Mr. Randall in his dressing gown did not lessen her confusion.
"Charlotte - what? Are you hurt?"
It was soon evident she was not much damaged, and Mr. Randall picked her up and took her inside and up to his flat and set her gently down on his sofa. Charlotte lay there as he disappeared and returned with a bowl of hot water and some cotton wool and began to bathe the scratches on her face and on her legs.
Charlotte's thoughts were coming together in one way, but in another were quite wild. Mr. Randall, a man, was touching her legs - admittedly with cotton wool but gently with warm water.
"Charlotte, what on Earth were you doing up that tree?"
It was not an unreasonable question and not one she could think of any answer other than the truth, "I was looking at you sir."
Graham Randall's eyebrows rose, "Why?" He was not stupid, he had a very good idea indeed, and the possibilities of the answer were not uninteresting to him. Charlotte at eighteen was very pleasing to the man in him.
"I've never seen a man in the nude, only pictures of statues and drawings in the Biology book and, and, sorry sir, but I wanted to see for myself..."
"The differences between men and women, boys and girls. I see, or rather did you see?"
Charlotte went red and quiet, "Yes, just a bit and then I fell out of the tree, I am most terribly sorry."
Graham Randall continued his ministrations, folding her skirt quite high up to get at all the scratches; the hot water and his hands touched her thighs, "You've not cut yourself too badly, Charlotte, there may be some bruises, but it seems you are moving properly, so no bones broken. That would have given you some explaining. As it is, all you have to do is explain the scratches - perhaps an early morning run might be in order tomorrow and a plausible accident in some brambles?"
"You're not going to tell the Sisters?"
"No, Charlotte", Mr. Randall smiled, "I am flattered you chose to stare at me and certainly I am not going to get you into trouble over something so slight - in my eyes anyway. Shall I get you some cocoa?"
It was a nice feeling for Charlotte sitting there, mug of cocoa resting on her lap and clasped in her hands, talking easily to Mr. Randall as he sat there in his dressing gown.
"So," he said moving the conversation deliberately, but not unreasonably, back to Charlotte's reason for being outside his window, "did your view confirm your knowledge of male anatomy."
Charlotte went red again, "I didn't realise men were so hairy or so large... I mean..."
"Large? Surely you have noticed men are generally taller than women?" He was being disingenuous.
"Oh yes, I meant, your, your... you know what."
"Ah, really?"
"The pictures of statues from Roman times."
"Ah well that was a stylistic thing. It did not mean the Romans or Greeks had small penises, they just carved or painted them that way. The classical Greeks regarded a small cock, seemingly, as more pleasing to the eye"
He had casually used the words, 'penis' and 'cock,' it caused a little flutter through Charlotte. She ventured a question. It was something she had been puzzling about.
"What's circumcision?"
"Come off it. You know what that is, the cutting of the prepuce - its removal or partial removal."
"Prepuce?"
"Haven't you a brother? It's also called the foreskin. The tube of skin covering the end of the penis, the glans, the bell end. It is there to protect the sensitive skin and retracts when the penis becomes erect."
Charlotte's heart jumped, he had used the 'erect' word.
"You'll have seen it on those statues and paintings you have been looking at too much. The Ancient Greeks valued a long prepuce so you'll see it long and tapering on pictures of grown men, though it makes their cocks look like little boys, unretracted, long and finely tapered. The posthe." The teacher was exerting itself in Mr. Randall.
"Mostly statues seem to have leaves hiding the... penis." She had said it - used the word.
"Ah yes the membrum virile hidden behind a fig leaf. A Victorian idea of modesty, so as not to offend the female sex, but they are all later additions tacked on. Behind the fig leaf will be the real article. The Greeks did not regard the naked body as something to be ashamed of or to be hidden as a matter of modesty. Far from it, their athletes ran and wrestled naked. What was immodest was to reveal your glans, the bell end under the foreskin. Athletes used to tie a string or leather thong around the foreskin to stop it retracting and embarrassing them - the kynodesme - Charlotte, you won't find that word in your school English-Greek dictionary. They regarded circumcision as barbaric as it resulted in permanent exposure of the glans penis."
Charlotte had a momentary image of Mr. Randall giving lessons in sex, historic, theoretical and practical, to her class. A delicious idea.
