I was not proud of what happened with Jack

After Jack left, I turned off the light as required. Everything was dark. This may seem pretty obvious, but it was then that I realized there was darkness and darkness. I opened the curtains and looked out.
My God, who put all those lights in the sky? Of course I had seen stars before, but that is all I had ever done - saw them. I didn't think how pretty they were or nice they looked, they were just there, like the painting on my office wall.
But tonight I saw them. Could they really be so far away? Surely I could reach and touch them? Maybe in some ways that's what I wanted to do - always wanted to do.
I lay on my bed, my mind filled with thoughts. This was not unusual, my mind was always filled with thoughts at night. Tonight though was different.
I wasn't thinking of how I could get results, or who was trying to screw me or the people I represent. I wasn't thinking how I could negate them, who I could use, who I could turn against others.
I was thinking of a cute, naive boy who I had taken advantage of. I was thinking of Father Brian and what he and the nuns represented. I was thinking about who smiled through joy and laughed for pleasure.
I was not proud of what happened with Jack. This time he was not a conquest. I felt guilt. If I have to feel guilty, at least I was in the right place.
My eyes gradually became accustomed to the darkness. For some reason, this simple, empty room devoid of any luxury felt incredibly sexy. I did not know why at first, then I realized it was because it represented discipline, and also the simple things in life.
I removed the hospital style pyjamas that had been left out for me and lay there naked. It was not a warm night, but it felt right to remove the only vestige of comfort I had with me in the room.
I thought about Jack hanging out of the window getting caned by Father Brian. I had heard about caning but never thought much about it. It was not my concern. I didn't have children and if some teacher whacked some brat, I wasn't going to worry about it.
But I found that my thinking was contradictory, for although I claim not to have taken much notice, there was always something lurking below the surface.
I realized that now as I recalled Jack yelling as he was caned. Father Brian was singing My Way, and my body was singing a Bohemian Rhapsody.
I turned on my stomach, rubbing myself against the coarse bedspread. My bottom arched in the air, offering myself to some unknown person. Was it Father Brian or Mother Superior.
Exhaustion set in, and eventually I slept. I slept like an innocent child who knew little of the world beyond school or home. A child ignorant of what goes on behind closed boardroom doors, or cabinet offices. Knowing there were nice people and not so nice people, but not realizing what shits there are out there; those who would sell their mothers or even their country if it suited their purpose.
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