King Tit and the Eraser That Saved My Ass

Ah, grade four. What a great year. Wasn't as good as three but it was before the hell of puberty. The calm before the storm, it was a lull of a year. I liked it. I was a good kid back then. Polite. Attentive. And I had an uncanny knowledge of Transformers and G.I. Joe. However, I was also a bit of a pervert. I don't blame myself. It was curious about the then-foreign topic of sex.

In grade three, my pervert self got me the strap. I first had been caught drawing "naked" stick people in my exercise books. It's just like it sounds. Stick men with added wee wees or boobies. See the picture for my best attempt at recreating them for your enjoyment:

When I was caught, I had to erase every nude stick person in my books. But then a few days later, I honestly accidentally touched a female classmate in the no-no place while we were playing tag. She told on me and because of the naked stick people, the acting principle felt that I deserved to be flogged with a leather strap over my hand. It was unfair and unreasonable and I still can't believe that my parents allowed it to happen.

But anyway, my curiosity waned after being beaten. At least for a while. Grade four came along and I was in Mr. Hodgin's class. Back then, one teacher usually taught several classes, and so it was either language arts or math or social studies that he was teaching. I suppose that doesn't matter here. On the day in question, I was very bored in class and so I decided to make better use of my time. I began drawing an admittedly poor recreation of King Tut's mask. I then gave King Tut's mask a body as though it were the king in the mask. But I was creative and wanted to let that creativity flourish. So instead, I drew eyelashes on King Tut and gave him long hair. I also drew a bow on his "beard" thing. I gave Tut a purse and lipstick and a speech bubble that said something along the lines of "I'm a naked pharaoh lady" or something. I had turned King Tut into a woman. I then finished off my masterpiece by giving King Tut enormous breasts.

While I was labeling my work with the clever title "King Tit," Mr. Hodgins happened to notice that I was drawing and not paying attention. He stormed over and took the picture. Looking at it briefly, Hodgins told me to take the picture to the office and see what the principal thought of it.

Principal Turner was a miserable old bag. He wasn't the one who gave me the strap, but if he had been there then, he would have probably strapped me across the face. He was scary. A deep, bellowing voice wherever he went. He was inhumanely tall to a child, not just because adults are taller but because he had a PRESENCE. He had big aviator-sized glasses that enlarged his evil eyes, and a mustache that seemed to have an angry face of its own.

I left the room and the words "oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck" repeated in my head as I slowly worked my way to the office. I was absolutely terrified. I didn't want the strap just because I gave King Tut some hooters! But the gods were shining upon me that day, my friends. For in my pocket I had a pencil stub...the last remnants of a once amazing pencil. I'm not sure why I had not thrown it away. It was hardly usable as a pencil and the eraser was worn down to the metal that held the eraser in. But I wasn't to be defeated.

I dashed into the public washrooms just a few paces from the office (before the receptionist saw me). I struggled with the pencil and managed to pull the eraser cleanly out of its metal prison. I had done it! I had a small piece of eraser. But would it be enough?

I erased. I erased my ASS off. I erased a breast and then I erased it again to be sure. Things were looking good. King Tut was no longer possessing any of the girly additions I felt compelled to provide him in class. I then took the stubby pencil and I corrected the areas that had been erased and added a few "historically accurate" details (i.e. muscles, a staff with a bird on it, etc) to cover the places where one could still barely make out the remnants of penciled in tits.

My work completed, I exited the washroom. And who was there? Mr. Hodgins. Hands on hips, he asked why I had not yet gone to the office. What? Clearly I was in the can. I told him I had to use the washroom. He said fine and then escorted me to the office. Hodgins told the receptionist that I was there to see Mr. Turner. I sat down and Hodgins fucked back off to the classroom. I waited several minutes and then Mr. Turner came out of his room, omnipotent...like the end boss in a video game. He told me to come in the office and asked me why I was there. I told the truth as much as needed to be said. I was caught drawing a picture and was sent to the office. He looked at it, looked at me, and lectured me about drawing in class. He said it better not happen again and sent me on my way.

Despite the picture being confiscated, I don't think Mr. Hodgins and Mr. Turner compared notes. I never heard anything about it again. But if not for my quick thinking and fortunate pencil-hoarding, things would have likely escalated to something much worse.

Never throw pencils away. You never know when you have to erase tits to avoid a beating.