BULLIES GET THEIR COMEUPPANCE m/mm
Posted: Sat Apr 05, 2025 11:44 am
Part 1 of 2
My name is Graeme. I was born in 1955 and now, in 1988, I have a franchise on a successful real estate company.
I would like to relate to you a story about how I was mercilessly and relentlessly bullied by two brothers when I was 13 and 14. The brothers were Lionel and Eric and, when their family moved into the district around 1968 they took an instant dislike to me, for whatever reason I don’t know.
As a schoolboy in my early teens I had very pale skin and a mop of wavy dirty blonde hair which gave me a rather effiminate look. My mother once related to me that, when she was wheeling me around in a pram as a baby, people would often come up to her and ask “What a lovely girl. What is her name?â€
The bullying was ongoing for almost two years. It occurred as I entered the school grounds, during school hours, after school and even at weekends. The teachers and even the principal knew about the bullying episodes but refused to intervene. In the 60’s it was brushed off as childish pranks or ‘boys will be boys’.
The bullying took the form of mental anguish as well as physical attacks. Lionel and Eric, although the same age as me, were much bigger as I was short in stature and could be considered as something of a weakling. I had only two friends I could socialise with and confide in but they would never intervene when I was being tormented. I guess they feared retribution from the brothers. In other words, they were not true friends.
I would like to relate some of the many incidents in which I was bullied. There were the usual head-dunking in the toilet bowl and being ‘dacked’ on a regular basis. (dacked is an Australian slang term which means having your trousers pulled down to cause embarrassment)
The school had a flagpole on which our national flag was proudly displayed. I came to hate that flagpole. One more than occasion I had my hands tied behind the pole, I was dacked, the flag was brought down and my trousers were hoisted to the top of the pole. I was helpless as my co-students thought it was a huge joke, almost pissing themselves with laughter as they watched my trousers fluttering in the breeze. The boys either poked my body or slapped my face whilst the girls just smiled and gave me a ‘poor Graeme’ look.
Our school uniform, even at that age, was a white shirt, a school blazer, a tie and long trousers. My tie was often used to bind my hands but, once, it was knotted around the flagpole in half a dozen knots so tightly that it took me half an hour to untie them. And that was when I was still wearing the tie. It almost choked me.
In the 60’s it was common practice for the schoolkids to buy their lunches from the school canteen. My mother would give just enough money to buy me some sandwiches and a drink but not enough to splurge on lollies. Sometimes I was supplied with a cut lunch.
My tormentors would often grab me as I walked in the school gates. One would twist my arms behind my back while the other would rifle through my satchel and steal the money. If I had a lunchbox from my mother the sandwiches would be gobbled up by the brothers. There were times where I went a whole week without anything to eat for lunch. My mother could never work out why I was so hungry when I came home!
And, of course, I was tied up by Lionel and Eric so many times I lost count. These usually occurred in the school gym when the other students had left to go to the next class or sometimes at the lunch break. I was tied hand and foot and gagged with a cloth cleave gag and often stuffed into a locker or a closet where a teacher or the janitor would find me after the next class.
One of their favourite tie-ups was when they would tie me to a set of parallel bars. Each hand would be tied separately to one of the bars and then my legs would be grabbed and also tied separately to one of the bars. I had a rag stuffed so far into my mouth I couldn’t spit it out. I was left sagging between the parallel bars. It was agonising.
Even my weekends were not sacrosanct from the bullying by the brothers. I played field hockey, another sport which I was not very good at, and of course Lionel and Eric were on the same team. Despite being teammates there were many times when I was whacked ‘accidentally’ in the shins by one of them and even tripped over a few times.
Even though all this bullying continued non-stop for almost two years I didn’t dare mention any of it to my parents or teachers. My father would have told me to ‘man up’ or fight back and my mother would have dashed to the principal to air her concerns. If she had done that I feared that the bullying would have taken a more serious turn.
Even a weakling like me finally came to a point where I decided I had to do something about the brothers who were making my life a living hell. But what could I do?
For a few weeks I took some boxing lessons at the local gym. I had second thoughts when my sparring partners kept knocking me down but I persisted.
I finally worked up enough courage to stand up to the two bullies one morning on my way to school. I stood with my fists clenched in a boxer’s pose ready to pummel Lionel and/or Eric. Before I could lay a fist on them Lionel unleashed a barrage of punches aimed at my body and face and I ended up on the ground with a bloody face. ‘Gee, that worked well’ I groaned through a couple of broken teeth.
Plan A thus went out the window and I had to figure another way to take down these bullies. But what could a weakling like me do up against two boys much bigger and stronger than me?
I put on my thinking cap and ...... aha, got it!
My name is Graeme. I was born in 1955 and now, in 1988, I have a franchise on a successful real estate company.
I would like to relate to you a story about how I was mercilessly and relentlessly bullied by two brothers when I was 13 and 14. The brothers were Lionel and Eric and, when their family moved into the district around 1968 they took an instant dislike to me, for whatever reason I don’t know.
As a schoolboy in my early teens I had very pale skin and a mop of wavy dirty blonde hair which gave me a rather effiminate look. My mother once related to me that, when she was wheeling me around in a pram as a baby, people would often come up to her and ask “What a lovely girl. What is her name?â€
The bullying was ongoing for almost two years. It occurred as I entered the school grounds, during school hours, after school and even at weekends. The teachers and even the principal knew about the bullying episodes but refused to intervene. In the 60’s it was brushed off as childish pranks or ‘boys will be boys’.
The bullying took the form of mental anguish as well as physical attacks. Lionel and Eric, although the same age as me, were much bigger as I was short in stature and could be considered as something of a weakling. I had only two friends I could socialise with and confide in but they would never intervene when I was being tormented. I guess they feared retribution from the brothers. In other words, they were not true friends.
I would like to relate some of the many incidents in which I was bullied. There were the usual head-dunking in the toilet bowl and being ‘dacked’ on a regular basis. (dacked is an Australian slang term which means having your trousers pulled down to cause embarrassment)
The school had a flagpole on which our national flag was proudly displayed. I came to hate that flagpole. One more than occasion I had my hands tied behind the pole, I was dacked, the flag was brought down and my trousers were hoisted to the top of the pole. I was helpless as my co-students thought it was a huge joke, almost pissing themselves with laughter as they watched my trousers fluttering in the breeze. The boys either poked my body or slapped my face whilst the girls just smiled and gave me a ‘poor Graeme’ look.
Our school uniform, even at that age, was a white shirt, a school blazer, a tie and long trousers. My tie was often used to bind my hands but, once, it was knotted around the flagpole in half a dozen knots so tightly that it took me half an hour to untie them. And that was when I was still wearing the tie. It almost choked me.
In the 60’s it was common practice for the schoolkids to buy their lunches from the school canteen. My mother would give just enough money to buy me some sandwiches and a drink but not enough to splurge on lollies. Sometimes I was supplied with a cut lunch.
My tormentors would often grab me as I walked in the school gates. One would twist my arms behind my back while the other would rifle through my satchel and steal the money. If I had a lunchbox from my mother the sandwiches would be gobbled up by the brothers. There were times where I went a whole week without anything to eat for lunch. My mother could never work out why I was so hungry when I came home!
And, of course, I was tied up by Lionel and Eric so many times I lost count. These usually occurred in the school gym when the other students had left to go to the next class or sometimes at the lunch break. I was tied hand and foot and gagged with a cloth cleave gag and often stuffed into a locker or a closet where a teacher or the janitor would find me after the next class.
One of their favourite tie-ups was when they would tie me to a set of parallel bars. Each hand would be tied separately to one of the bars and then my legs would be grabbed and also tied separately to one of the bars. I had a rag stuffed so far into my mouth I couldn’t spit it out. I was left sagging between the parallel bars. It was agonising.
Even my weekends were not sacrosanct from the bullying by the brothers. I played field hockey, another sport which I was not very good at, and of course Lionel and Eric were on the same team. Despite being teammates there were many times when I was whacked ‘accidentally’ in the shins by one of them and even tripped over a few times.
Even though all this bullying continued non-stop for almost two years I didn’t dare mention any of it to my parents or teachers. My father would have told me to ‘man up’ or fight back and my mother would have dashed to the principal to air her concerns. If she had done that I feared that the bullying would have taken a more serious turn.
Even a weakling like me finally came to a point where I decided I had to do something about the brothers who were making my life a living hell. But what could I do?
For a few weeks I took some boxing lessons at the local gym. I had second thoughts when my sparring partners kept knocking me down but I persisted.
I finally worked up enough courage to stand up to the two bullies one morning on my way to school. I stood with my fists clenched in a boxer’s pose ready to pummel Lionel and/or Eric. Before I could lay a fist on them Lionel unleashed a barrage of punches aimed at my body and face and I ended up on the ground with a bloody face. ‘Gee, that worked well’ I groaned through a couple of broken teeth.
Plan A thus went out the window and I had to figure another way to take down these bullies. But what could a weakling like me do up against two boys much bigger and stronger than me?
I put on my thinking cap and ...... aha, got it!
