CHAPTER THREE
Above the desk, I read, as a duty, a poem that said, "She was a phantom of delight." Below the desk, I read a poem scribbled on ruled paper, passed from hand to hand. It concluded:
Mary said O what a whopper Let's lie down and have it proper.
I had already begun to learn that every world has an underworld. I did not mean to miss half of life by sticking to the official, respectable part.
There was giggling at my right, along the row. I saw that my exhibitionist neighbour, Eric, who had passed me the rhyme, had his c**k in his hand and was playing with it gaily, while the English master' talked about the phantom of delight. The ink on Eric's fingers had come off in streaks on the knob of his p***s. I grinned and whispered a remark. The teacher looked up and ordered me out
