“Scarlet Watts, I presume,” the man said as he entered my classroom.
My back was initially toward him, but I quickly turned. The fact that I remained completely without clothing was not entirely lost on me, but as the days have past I have become more tolerant of the situation. Attempting to hide my charms from anyone was a fruitless gesture and it would be rude not to face a person in conversation.
The man was bald and wore gold-rimmed spectacles that gave him the appearance of a numbers man. I was instantly reminded of an IRS accountant, the sort who reveled in his puny role of authority, stretching it beyond all bounds, in an effort to make those he considered more fortunate than himself squirm and sweat. The mustache hanging over his lip suggested he was a Southern man. His eyes looked me over quickly, though his gaze lingered around my pelvis before fixating on my breasts.
I walked toward him. “I am, and you are?”
His head dipped a moment and finally his eyes discovered my neck and face. “Gary Boggs, House Counsellor.”
I stopped at arms distance, mindful to keep my arms at my sides. “Are you here to discuss my feelings about being disciplined?”
He chuckled. “Actually,” he said and raised the laptop held under his left arm, “I was hoping you might be able to restore some lost files for me, but if you’d like to talk about your feelings, I’m told I’m a pretty good listener.”
I blushed, making assumptions has long been a flaw of mine. Someday I’ll learn to patiently hold my tongue and wait for people to reveal their intentions on their own. “What sort of files did you lose and how did you lose them?”
He walked to the nearest student desk and sat the computer on top. “Session notes from last month’s Sunday sessions. I’m not really sure how they got lost, they were in the proper folder yesterday, but today they are gone.” He opened the computer and turned it on.
“Did you try searching for them?” I asked.
He chuckled harder. “If I hadn’t searched for them, how would I know they’re missing?”
I rolled my eyes. “Not the kind of searching I meant, but never mind.” I sat in student chair and began examining his directory structure and file naming habits.
He said, “I’m guessing by the way you take those spankings at dinner, you grew up getting paddled from time to time.”
I brought up the directory search and started the computer looking for his lost files. “Not so much. My Uncle was quite fond of the paddle though.”
He nodded. “And what about you? Was he fond of you?”
“Only when I did as I was told, otherwise he was just fond of that paddle,” I said.
Gary laughed. “How many times would say your Uncle spanked you?”
“Enough,” I said. His files were found, residing in a folder titled, Tanzanite House. “I found your lost files. Shall I put them in the appropriate folder for you or would you like me to show you how to do it yourself?”
He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Go ahead and move them please. I’m sure if I have additional troubles you’ll be able to help me again.”
I dragged the files to their proper home and closed the computer. “Was there anything else?”
He shook his head and picked up his laptop. “I’m all good, thank you. However, if you’d like to talk about things, your punishments here or in the past from your Uncle, my door is always open to you.”
I watched him walk out the door. He was definitely a strange man and I seriously doubted his files had ever been lost. Like many things at Rosecliff, our encounter was likely a test. The question to which I had no definitive answer was whether or not I was passing.