Boi Cunt School

©2010 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.

As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you.

.oOo.

Chapter 1

"Mom, please, can't we go back home? Please!! I'll be a good boy. Really. I'll do anything. Please tell him to turn the car around." Bob's eyes were all cried out, but he kept on pleading. He tried to find the magic words that would make this nightmare end.

"Now, Sweetie, we've talked this over many times." Mrs. Leonhardt hugged her only child. "Gaylord and I have decided this is the best way. Just try to enjoy it, Darling. In a month, you'll be back home again. And I bet you'll have lots of exciting stories to tell us."

Bob sucked his thumb, pressed his head into her warm nurturing breast, and pouted, thinking over her words. "Gaylord and I have decided this is the best way." She means HE decided. This is what that guy wants. In three years, Bob has never warmed up to his stepdad. No matter how hard he tried, he never seemed able to please the man. "Just try to enjoy it, Darling." Shit, how could he enjoy it. He had wanted to go to wrestling camp with his cousin, not this. When his friend Rudy from around the corner kept talking about going to baseball camp, Bob couldn't say anything. He couldn't talk about this stupid place he was going. He couldn't even bring himself to speak the name of the place. "In a month, you'll be back home again." One whole fucking month. Four weeks ruined. All of July. He'll even miss celebrating his twelfth birthday at home. And for what! So that Gaylord could get his jollies. "I bet you'll have lots of exciting stories to tell us." Bob hoped he'd never have to talk about it ever again.

It was futile, but Bob tried one more time with the man behind the steering wheel. "Please, Gaylord. I'm begging you. I promise to do what you want. I won't fuss about it any more. I'll let you do that thing to my butt. Can we just go back home? Please."

"Listen, Girl. You're not even trying." Bob hated being called "Girl." At least the way Gaylord said it. It wasn't so bad when his soccer coach sat the team down after a loss and said they all played like girls. And last year when he wouldn't smoke a cigarette with Rudy and his older brother, they started teasing him about being a scaredy cat. "Here she comes," they laughed, "Nervous Nelly." But Bob could laugh along with them. With Gaylord it was different. When he used the word "girl," Bob felt like his balls were literally falling off.

"But..."

"No, no Buts, Girl. You're going to be a good little girl and spend the month at Boi Cunt School and that's final. And by the time you get back home you'll really know how to let me 'do that thing' to your butt, as you so modestly called it. Fuck, you're not even man enough to say the word 'Fuck.' Doesn't that tell you something, Girl? Now I spent a lot of my hard earned money to send you to this school, so you better not screw up. Money doesn't grow on fuckin trees, you know." Gaylord Leonhardt turned off the highway on to a secondary road. "Now, be a good girl and help me find the place. Keep your eyes sharp. We don't want to be late, do we, Girl."

Bob's eyes were sharp. When he played hide and seek with the guys on the block, he could always spot them behind a tree or a shed or crouching by a garbage can. And then if they tried to escape, he could wrestle them down to the ground and make them cry uncle. Why couldn't his stepdad see what a real boy he was? While they were still a hundred yards away, Bob spotted the small sign with the letters BCS and the arrow. His hopes heightened when it looked like Gaylord would drive right past the turn. But at the last moment, the car veered right and they were heading down the road to hell.

.oOo.

"Hi, Marcus. We finally made it."

"Gaylord, good to see you again. How was your trip?"

"Awful! She whined the whole way."

"Ha ha. Girls get that way, you know." The bald headed man in his forties looked into the back seat. "And this must be your family. Good morning, Mrs. Leonhardt, you look like you could use a nice cup of coffee. Down the road, there's a nice little luncheonette. Why don't you stop there before you head back home. And here is your little daughter. Aren't you a cute little honey! But that pouty face doesn't make you look pretty, Honey. Soon you'll be smiling again, I promise." He opened the back door and took Bob's hand. Bob's mother got out the other side. The stranger kept talking, "Now, Honey, you kiss your nice mommy and daddy goodbye. They're going to miss your pretty little face at home. There, that's a good girl."

Marcus held the boy's hand tight as the car drove away. Bob knew instinctively this was not someone to be messed with. Just as his parents were about to go out of sight, they passed another car. "Oh, I see another student is arriving. You go on over to that pavilion up there and meet the other girls. I'll be along soon."

As Bob approached the pavilion, he saw about a dozen other boys there. Some were much older than he was, as much as fifteen or maybe older. Others were even younger. One looked like he was six or seven. A couple were black. Another couple Hispanic. The rest, like Bob, were white. Some had on jeans, others shorts. They wore Ts and caps and one of the teens had a leather jacket even though the day was already hot. A few wore sandals, one had flip-flops on, but most wore their sneakers. Only a couple fellas had socks. As different as they were, they shared several things in common. First, they all looked sullen. None of them were happy to be here. Second, they all were badly in need of a haircut. For two months now, Bob hadn't been allowed to go the barber and his hair was uncomfortably long. Third, none of them had any luggage. Even Bob's mother couldn't understand why he wasn't supposed to bring changes of clothes, or even his toothbrush. Every boy arrived with only the clothes on his back. And fourth, all the boys wore name placards over their chests held by a string around their necks. The signs, about 12" by 4" read "Tom," "Rick," Harvey," etc.

"Here," said the oldest, a tan lad named Pablo, handing Bob a blank sign. "Write your name on this in big letters. There's a blue marker."

"Why?"

"I don't know the fuck why. But that bald guy there, whatever his fuckin name is, told me to make sure everyone gets a name sign." Bob followed orders.

"Hi, Bob, I'm Mike," said a white boy at the end of the table. Mike gave him a good strong handshake. "I'm eleven. How old are you?"

"Almost twelve. Is this like a prison?"

"Sure feels like it. And Baldy there looks like the warden." Bob looked around. It didn't look like a prison. It didn't even look like a school. The pavilion was beside a large green lawn which led up to a large old Victorian home with a wraparound porch. A short walk beyond was the only other building, like a small apartment house. On the other side of the pavilion was a field; Bob immediately envisioned a baseball game there.

"It's worse than a prison, believe me, kids." It was Pablo. He had overheard them whispering. "But, I'll watch your back."

"Thanks, Pablo." Mike was frightened by Pablo's words.

Bob was nervous too, but with at least two friends, he felt safer. "Don't worry, Mike. We'll look out for each other, OK?" He put out his fist and Mike butted it.

Then Pablo butted both their fists with his. "We'll be like the Three Musketeers. All for one and one for all." Mike and Bob had never heard of any musketeers but it sounded reassuring.

Other kids were talking also, but in subdued tones. One of them asked Bob, "Who made you come here, your mom or your dad?"

"Neither one. My stepdad signed me up." A few knowing nods. "You mean some of your moms sent you here?"

"Yeah, mine did," said Tony, at six the youngest boy there. "She said I shoulda been a girl. She useta dress me like a girl 'til I went to school. Now she say she's tired of me being a boy, she want me be a girl again."

"My Dad sent me," said Tom, age nine. "Ever since Mom died, he hasn't been the same."

"My Dad too. He wants me to entertain his friends." Harvey adjusted his package which seemed to be crowded in the old jeans he was wearing.

Just then, another boy joined them, and the conversation quieted again for a while.

.oOo.

About an hour later, Marcus himself came over to the pavilion. "Well, all the girls have now arrived." There were sixteen boys sitting there. Looking at their name signs, he remarked, "Ah, that's excellent, Girls. You all followed directions. As long as you do what I tell you, Girls, everything will go smoothly this month. And I'm sure you've all begun to get acquainted with your new sisters."

Mike whispered so only Bob and Pablo heard him, "Why does Baldy keep calling us girls? He called me one right in front of my mom and dad. What's with that?"

Marcus was at the same time an imposing figure and a paternal one. All his sentences reeked with authority. He smiled and yet the kids somehow knew he would brook no nonsense. Back home, every time they started a new year in school, there would be a period of a few weeks when the students would test the limits of their new teachers. Somehow, these boys felt the limits were nonnegotiable this time.

A young woman came down the path from the apartments carrying a box. She joined Marcus in the pavilion. "Girls, I want you to meet Mizz Harriet. She's going to be one of your teachers. Mizz Harriet, what do you think of your new students so far?"

"You certainly are all very pretty." Harriet collected the blue markers and put brushes and jars of ink on the tables. "Mr. Marcus, why don't you prepare the cards and I'll finish up here." Harriet kissed her boss who then walked to the side of the pavilion and began quietly writing on 3x5 cards.

"Now, Girls." Even Harriet was calling them girls! "I want you all to take off those name signs and put them on the tables in front of you. That's it, Girls. Now open those big jars of black ink in front of you. Careful, don't spill the jar. Now take that paint brush and dip it in the ink and cover up your old name. That's the way. Make sure no part of your old name is visible." Bob wondered what she meant about his "old" name.

Harriet walked around and noticed poor little Tony didn't have much manual dexterity. "Don't worry about getting some on the table, Sweetheart. You won't get punished. The ink dries real fast." Bob noticed the tables did have some old ink stains. "Oh, Honey," she said to Hunter. "I see you spilled some on your old shirt. Well, that doesn't matter either. And guess what, your mommy won't even mind. Hehe. I see you smiling at that, Honey."

.oOo.

As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you.