With the fright, I lost self control and I began to cry. I cursed myself because I did not understand my effeminate emotional response, did not understand my own reaction of catharsis as well as Miss Antoinette did. She knew me better than I knew myself.
“Oh... such tears already. It is best that I begin, Willie. You’ll feel better about crying if you have some pain to accompany your remorse... stop the guilt... impede the metastasis.”
And so I received my first caning. Ms. Antoinette De La Corte proved to be prescient in limiting my food intake. Sometime after the fourth or fifth searing stroke, the oysters hurled forth. Fortunately she sensed my pending regurgitation and had a bucket waiting. But my vomiting did not hinder the task at hand. She just laughed and continued.
I was skillf
