Born in London to a pushy, social-climbing mother and a hen-pecked printer father, the young Morley Gaytor was regularly told by his mummy that he should have been a girl. Had he actually arrived differently equipped, (s)he would have rejoiced in the name Berenice. And thus began one of life's special little interests for the puerile Morley: sex. A rebel from the start, our boy got his first taste of the cane at primary school; and his second, and his third, and his fourth . . . in fact almost the entire staff had a go at one time or another. As did his mother, who used cane, hairbrush and anything else handy to decorate his tiny pink bottom. Apparently, one of her favourite tricks was to listen outside his bedroom door for tell-tale sounds of masturbation. Then burst in and apply the cane with vigour while he lay face-down on his protective rubber sheet experimenting with some juvenile sensual pleasure. Unsurprisingly, this gave Morley yet another interest that has stayed with him through his adult life.
Morley sought refuge in learning, and won his 11-plus place at one of the 'best' schools in London, but, before the end of his first term there, he was expelled for playing with a third-form boy (who just happened to be wearing a leather skirt at the time) during the dress rehearsal for Coriolanus. It will surprise no one that a severe caning was called for before the expulsion. So at the tender age of 11, our future geography master was added to the case-book of the Educational Psychology Service, screwed up on a monumental scale, although the official term was 'seriously maladjusted'. Helpfully the headmaster was too embarrassed to explain to the ed. psych. what had taken place and so Morley had to do the job for him.
It took nine months to find a school willing to risk its reputation by giving our fellow a second chance, but eventually he was sent away to a boarding school in the country for 55 severely maladjusted boys, a third of a mile from a girls borstal, which offered unparalleled opportunity for coeducational discovery. Technically, this was an 'open' borstal, which – we are asked to believe – was a term not intended initially to refer to the legs of the inmates. Morley's new school was conducted on 'advanced educational principles' meaning that the staff had relinquished to the children, all hope of maintaining discipline. Of corporal punishment by staff there was none, infractions being brought before twice-weekly assemblies modelled on local magistrates courts, with three prefects sitting on the bench in judgement. Penalties were either in kind or by monetary fines, repaid by working off physical tasks. Opportunity for nepotism, graft and corruption was legion, but somehow it worked . . . well almost.
The fact that a high proportion of the pupils were at the school because they had problems coming to terms with their sexual development was a godsend to Morley, who rapidly went through the Junior, Senior, Top and Square Yard dorms, the contents of which were uniformly warm, cuddly, pink and available; and also generally curious for any sexual adventure that might present itself. In a semi-monastic environment such was only to be expected, but our hero found all of these to be deeply unsatisfying, and his eyes turned elsewhere. The French master was young, cultured and debonair; he was clearly bi-sexual, and, when he was not away in his native Wales, or exploring the Continent, could be found fucking the school secretary, whose marriage to the lugubrious art master was little more than a sham. Morley saw his opportunity and pulled, and the French master added a willing and rather girly boy to his harem. Their love affaire (for it was nothing less) lasted four years, until Morley was 18, and it equipped him most effectively for a life of amour.
The opportunity of leaving school and entering into tertiary education and work, led the suggestible Morley, in a moment of reformatory zeal, to consider leaving behind the world of pervery and embracing the vanilla; but such thoughts evaporated late one summer evening, in the back of his parents' Austin 1100, when his latest flame pressed her boobs close to him and hesitatingly whispered, 'Do you love me enough to spank me?' Morley never looked back, but – through two universities and a lifetime spent helping others face the mysteries of education – Morley has wistfully longed for a school with the same philosophy as his own boarding school had all those years ago. A place where the near-psychotic and sexually-anarchic pupil would feel at home. Then one day recently, word reached him of a very special educational establishment in east London which had a vacancy for a geography tutor with unusual qualities . . .
These days, Morley's taste in sexual partners is much more restrained than formerly. Today, he confines himself to women exclusively, preferably those who have a mature understanding of their need for corporal punishment. Naughty boys he finds less interesting, but he wouldn't want to disappoint anyone, boy, girl or in-between, who had honestly heard the path of discipline calling them home.
Badge colour: red
>Called universally by staff: MG (Em-gee); no one uses either real name
Called by pupils: Mr Gaytor, and various actionable epithets: Ali has been heard at least once (think about it!)